I have reason to believe that a quick little disclaimer is in order. This is not a happy story; at least not in the technical definition of a 'happy' story. Dear readers, these are going to be dark chapters, dabbling with things such as mental illness, depression, and bullying. These retellings of the Harry Potter series are dark and will get even darker as the story progresses. So, I feel inclined to tell you this. If you come looking for the average Dark fic then prepare yourself, for I do not spare feelings. Characters die here, some which do not perish in the original books. Now please, read on and enjoy.

The moon set behind the mountains and night turned to day as the sun arose. Hogwarts became full of yawns and the bleary eyed looks of sleepy students who just wanted five more minutes to sleep before having to get out of their comfortable and warm beds. Marcus Flint, the captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team, had arisen a little earlier than the rest of the castle and opened the door to the small dormitory where Harry and Ron slept. He ignored the Weasley boy and instead pulled back the curtains of Harry's bed, all dressed in his flying uniform. "Wake up, Potter." He said, waving his wand and turning on the lamps, setting them as bright as they could go before pulling the sheets away. Harry awoke with a start, snapping out of his comfortable dream of solitude, thinking for a moment that he was back at the Durlsey's and that Dudley wanted to start the day's torture session early.

"W-what?" He asked numbly, a hand rubbing at his face while the other searched for his glasses. Marcus handed them to him and then pulled him off the bed, handing him the green and silver uniform of a Slytherin seeker. Harry put his glasses on and then looked at Marcus. He had no idea of how to put it on. The captain rolled his eyes and motioned at himself. "It's like a robe, mate." He looked at Harry in the eyes, "It's not that difficult." Marcus said before exiting. "I'll wait out here; we have some practicing to do." Ron groaned and covered his face with his blankets. He had no clue as to what was going on but he disliked having to wake up so early. Muttering something about just five more minutes, he turned in place and resumed snoring gently while Harry dressed in his outfit.

It consisted of a comfortable green cardigan with some grey highlights and a pair of very comfortable light grey pants, which Harry pulled up and had to secure with his only belt in order to prevent them from falling. The smooth green silk of the flight robes hung loosely around his shoulders before he cinched the leather straps tight, closing them around him as he stood before the mirror. He had to admit, it was one of the nicest looking outfits he had ever worn, even surpassing the Hogwarts uniform which had been sown to his exact measurements. Marcus had left a pair of leather boots at the foot of his bed and Harry sat on the comfortable mattress, linking slowly as the heat of the bed sheets made him want to consider maybe just a little more sleep. Before he could even consider the thought though, the captain opened the door, looking slightly annoyed at the time it was taking Harry to get ready. "Come on Potter, you're burning daylight!" He snapped before shutting the door. Harry arched an eyebrow before pulling on the boots and lacing them up, the soft leather fitting him snugly and setting comfortably around his leg. After putting the other one on, he grabbed his gloves which were also leather and walked to the door, opening it.

"Okay Marcus, I'm good to go." He said before noticing that there were a few more people awake than just Marcus. The entire team was assembled and they were running through their strategies at the light of the fire and the rays of the sun that made their way past the water of the lake, bathing the scene in a light orange and soft green. Marcus motioned with his hand to the assembled team. "Everyone, this is Harry Potter. He's our new seeker." A few of the teammates grumbled at having someone so young added to their ranks but Marcus snapped at them. It was too early for that. "Quiet!" He shouted at them, walking to one of the couches and taking the parchment with him as a few of the team continued to grumble watching Marcus stalking to the doors before opening them wide and turning around. "Well what are you waiting for? We have to practice, no?" The team quickly stood and rushed to him, Harry following amidst them all and off to the quidditch pitch.

They made their way through the castle, quiet stillness filling the air as they were the only ones awake for the moment, the rest of the students and most of the faculty still having a few more hours of sleep before their day officially began. The team exited the large building and made their way to the quidditch pitch, the faint rays of the sun shooting through the clouds of the fall morning and illuminating the castle walls and lake. Harry looked at the scenery, in love with the beauty of it all. The entirety of it all was breathtakingly magical and not for the last time did Harry feel a sense of warmth in his chest as he took it all in. This was where he belonged, amidst magic and people like him. He was sure of it.

Dew sparkled in the soft grass that covered the pitch and the team all sat down as Marcus extended out the parchment, causing it to levitate with a flick of his wand. Impressive as it might seem, that was the entirety of the magical spells the captain knew, preferring to deal with things head on, or as he liked to call it, 'the right way… With your fists. Preferably with both of them, if you can help it.' Still, some magic was useful and now he was free to use both hands as he pointed at several of the crosses on the paper, which moved over it and around several circles and talking about ducks and dodges, how and when the beaters would strike the bludgers and direct them away from their seeker. Harry perked up at that with some apprehension. What did he mean by that? He raised a hand and Marcus pointed at him.

"What is it, Potter?" He asked, as he needed to get the strategy through to Barret and Lennard who were characteristically big, brutish and somewhat slow; the stereotypical beaters. Many times had he explained to them his plans and had wished that the Terrible Twins were in Slytherin as their bludger game was a great deal a great deal better than what his team had. Harry lowered his hand, pointing at the map. "Bludgers? Why would they attack me?" Marcus looked at Harry as if he had sprung out of thin air, the question made no sense to him. "The bludgers… Potter, have you ever heard of Quidditch?" He asked incredulously, the team grumbling as their morning practice session was further delayed. Marcus could not believe the young seeker. What was professor Snape thinking, putting a novice in their team?

Harry flushed as the team complained before nodding slowly at the captain. Marcus groaned and waved a hand. "Alright you lot, start your formations and run through them, I want you all to be able to fly through them forwards and back, maybe sideways if I feel like it. Oh quit your gripping and get to it!" He shouted and the team stood, going into their locker stores and grabbing their brooms, Marcus turning to Harry and motioning for him to follow. They made their way to the center of the field where a large box had been placed earlier that morning at Marcus' request. He kicked it and the lid snapped open, revealing a large orange ball, twin leather spheres that were bound by several chains and a few shields that lined the top of the chest. Harry stared at the contents, interested in knowing more about the sport and somewhat concerned as to what the chains were supposed to do.

Marcus grabbed the center sphere, large and surprisingly light for its size. He passed it to Harry, who grabbed it and almost dropped it, having expected a much greater weight from it. He looked at it, his reflection somewhat visible in the polished surface as he tossed it back to Marcus. "That, is the quaffle." Harry nodded slowly, reciting the name in his mind and getting used to it. Marcus hefted it and pointed at the triple rings that were at each end of the stadium. "This ball can be carried by the chasers, who are the ones meant to carry it to the enemy goals. If the chasers throw it and it goes through the bottom two goals then we get five points. If it goes through the top one, we get ten points." Explanation finished, Marcus yelled at the team and threw the ball in the air, the three chasers entering into formation and grabbing it with a shout of victory when they took it.

Harry watched as they flew away, a wide grin on his face as they flew away from each other, the three chasers splitting apart and proceeding to race after the chaser that held the quaffle. It seemed that Marcus had instructed the three players to act as if the other two were enemy chasers, thus causing them to think strategically on how to hold the quaffle for the longest time possible, each vying to steal the ball and avoid any attempts of stealing it from the other two. Marcus looked pleased with his strategy and rightly so; he had been the captain for as long as Slytherin had been the winners of the quidditch cup. He kicked the chest, bringing Harry's attention to it. The bludgers within it strained against their chains, the metal creaking with the stress.

Harry wondered about their nature, though they were clearly enchanted. "These are the bludgers. Your worst enemy aside from the enemy seeker," said Marcus. "They will fly through the pitch and try to knock you off your broom." Harry looked at them warily, unsure if Marcus was being serious. "Do they hit hard?" He wondered and the captain's reply was to hand him a bat. It sat heavy in his hand, short and somewhat stout and clearly made of solid wood. Harry gave a few swings, getting accustomed to the weight of the bat. Marcus looked at his style and shrugged. If all else failed then he could make a fair beater and maybe replace Barret. "Heads up." He said, to which Harry looked at him in confusion. Marcus knelt beside the chest and looked up at the team, putting two fingers in his mouth and letting out a shrill whistle. The two beaters, Barret and Lennard, shouted loudly, waving their own bats at each other before clashing together with a loud clack after which they shot to opposing ends of the pitch.

Marcus grinned and nodded at Harry. "Watch this, Potter." He said before flicking open the chains that bound the bludgers into the chest. For a split second they stood still, their subtle movements gone before they shot up into the air, shrieking loudly as they spun and split off, curving around the stadium and attempting to strike the flying players, their practice session filled with the animated shouting of the team taunting each other, the bludgers zipping along as the two beaters struck them, the loud crack of their bats echoing as they trained. Harry grinned as the team fell into their motions, the chasers corkscrewing around each other in attempts to grab the quaffle and the two large beaters sending the bludgers at one another while also attempting to strike their own players. It was a dangerous training style but it made the other houses look tame in their own training sessions. Marcus opened one of the shields within the lid and extracted a tiny golden ball, holding it out to Harry. "This… this is the reason you are here. This little ball is the snitch. It's worth one-hundred and fifty points. You grab it? The game ends." He said and Harry took it, holding it between two fingers. A pair of wafer thing wings unfolded from its inlays, the golden filaments shimmering in the light as it beat its wings twice.

Harry could not help but stare at it. It was beautiful. "Now release it." Ordered Marcus; he had gone to grab two brooms while Harry had been admiring the work of the ball. As instructed, Harry let it go and it flew off, even faster than the two bludgers had gone. He grabbed the broom offered by the captain and they took off, Marcus shouting instructions to the rest of the team while Harry rose up into the sky, leaning into the broomstick as his body pressed against the wood and his broom sent him rocketing into the air. The wind rustled his hair and his eyes teared up, forcing him to blink freely in order to see. Slowly, the sounds of practice receded away, letting Harry feel as if he was by himself, alone and content and then… In a glorious burst of light that left Harry breathless, he surpassed the mountains and the sun shone with all its might, warming him as it glowed with power.

Harry blinked, leaning back and merely floating as he enjoyed the solitude of flight. He griped with one hand the stick of the broom and basked in the warmth of the light before remembering where he was. He looked past his broom and swinging feet, down at the quidditch pitch where he could discern the forms of his teammates flying back and forth. How small they seemed, chasing after their momentary goals. The two beaters wacked at the bludgers, sending them shooting through the pitch, the chasers darting about like flies after each other, deftly dodging the enchanted projectiles while also training themselves to succeed; yet how small it all looked from so high up. A faint buzzing distracted Harry and he looked about. Off to his right was the snitch, its golden exterior shining in the sun and just within arm's reach. Harry lunged at it, almost falling off his broom in excitement as he tried to grab the ball but it wove around his fingers and zoomed to within inches of his face, hovering before him as he righted himself and then shooting down away from him, causing Harry to follow it in a mad chase.

He had thought that the bludgers had crafty enchantments but it was clear now that the snitch was the meanest of them all, as it was sending him through the wooden towers that lined the limits of the pitch and down to the sidelines, making him duck and weave around the wood pillars that jutted out at odd angles. If he did not fly with caution, he could end up seriously injured. Harry flew for a while, always a few meters behind the golden ball, his fellow players shouting as they went about their training. Then, the opportunity presented itself. Harry extended his arm out, the wind swirling around him as his robes flapped in the air, making his way ever closer to the golden ball. He almost had it; he was just so close he could practically taste the metal. At last, his fingers curled around the small ball, its wings beating hard against his palm before he shot up and glided to the center, holding aloft the snitch, flapping slowly before curling the thin wings back into the intricate work that was the tracery of its golden body. Marcus flew to him, reining back his broom as if it were an anxious horse and nodded approvingly.

"Not bad, Potter!" He shouted as he deftly dodged the bludger that Barret had accidentally smacked in his direction. "Fancy flying like that, I'd say that you have quidditch in your blood. Keep it up and we'll win the quidditch cup again before long." Harry grinned with pride, unused to receiving compliments. "Thanks, captain." He breathed and they made their way to the grass, the training session over and the sun shining on the field, which meant that it was time to eat something, preferably after bathing and changing to more comfortable clothes. After all, the entire team was drenched in sweat, their breathing heavy as they made their way from the field back to the castle, a few of the Slytherins clapping Harry's shoulder and commenting on his skills with the broom. Harry laughed at their jokes and listened to them as they talked. Despite having just met them, he felt included and that was a feeling he had not felt in well… ever. He kind of liked it.

While Harry joined his team in the showers, Hermione was about ready to awaken. She had had some sleep that permitted her to feel rested but there was an edge to her. A few hours after putting on her uniform, Duchess would begin to feel the effects of Hermione's potion. First would come the unbearably bad breath followed by the pimples which would also cause her skin to wrinkle and then lastly she'd smell as bad as the quidditch team after practice. It felt petty but Hermione was done with being the underdog, the butt of xenophobic jokes. This was a school, a place of learning, where those that wished to be educated could do so in peace without fear of repercussion. She had no tolerance for bullies, as was about to be made very explicitly clear, very soon.

The girls all woke up as the lights turned on, groaning and cursing sparking alongside the flickering flames within the lanterns that hung from the ceiling. A few called for others to shut the lights and the rest acted like sensible beings and got out of bed, Hermione being amongst the latter, changing from her pajamas to her uniform amidst the grumblings of those slower to rise. She was brushing her hair, which due to it not being cut had grown far past her shoulders and required care both in the morning and the evening. Hermione was almost done when into the mirrored section came Duchess and her cronies, who were chatting and laughing amidst themselves. Hermione noticed with a shiver that her bully was actually wearing the robes she had used her potion on. Indeed, already she could see a few bumps along Duchess' hairline, signifying that the bad breath was not far behind. This being the first human trial of her potion, despite the possibilities of more abuse, Hermione wanted to see its development.

"Out of the way, Granger! We real witches need to use the mirrors, so get your mudblood ass out of here." The girls laughed snidely, pushing past Hermione and not noticing the thin grin that was forming on her lips. Duchess' breath had been bad. Not in an overly noticeable way, no. More along the lines of 'barely there but once it's noticed it becomes impossible to ignore and thus a massive distraction from any conversation.' Hermione shrugged off the insults, standing tall and proud as she made her way to the common room where she found Ron, his tie slightly disheveled as he blinked around, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He did not look particularly pleased with having been awoken even though she assumed he had had a full nights rest. His shirt was not tucked in, tie was off center and his hair was messy. She clicked her tongue and shook her head, hair bouncing with the movement.

"Ron." She said and he yawned before covering his mouth and nodding. "Yeah, Hermione?" Asked Ron who did not understand why she seemed so stressed. She helped him improve his image, centering his tie and smoothing the creases of his robe before handing him her hair brush. "You look ridiculous." His ears glowed red and Hermione bit back a curse for her thoughtlessness. There was no reason to treat a real friend like that and she felt ashamed of herself, though before she could apologize Ron grumbled and went to the window, using the dull reflection to brush as his hair, organizing it somewhat before turning back to Hermione, arms out at either side. "Better?" He asked, somewhat exasperatedly at her insistence. Hermione nodded and grabbed her brush, spinning around as Duchess and her group of friends laughed at her.

"Look at the mudblood! Isn't she so cute with the blood-traitor?" She commented, causing both Hermione and Ron to flush which started a fit of chuckles and giggles from the witches that surrounded the bully. In the wizarding community, being called a blood-traitor was almost as bad as being called a mudblood in terms of social status. Ron was of a pure-blooded family but the Weasley's appearance to the rest of the witches and wizards was somewhat of a joke, usually at high-society dinner parties where the wealthy talked about themselves and nothing else. The group exited the common room, making their way to the great hall to eat and prepare for the day. Hermione took careful note of the fact that the two girls that usually pressed at both sides of Duchess now stood a little farther apart meant that either her breath had worsened a great deal or that the first aspects of body odor had began to develop. She took Ron by the arm and pulled him along. "Come on, don't want to be late." Ron followed, unsure of what was happening before noticing the oddity of the statement. "Late for what?" He asked, though Hermione gave no answer.

The great hall was packed with students, the bustle of large crowds deafening now that almost all of the inhabitants of the castle were contained within it. The Slytherin team joined their table late as they had been forced to find another spot to shower due to the Gryffindors taking over the bathing room which Marcus had intended to use. They had grumbled for a bit before making their adjustments to their plans and eventually they made their way to the rest of their class mates. Harry found Ron and Hermione sitting by themselves at one of the extremes of the table, Hermione looked down the length of it and writing quick notes, for what reason Harry did not know. Ron looked as if he had had a bad night's sleep but otherwise, everything seemed to be all right. They chatted for a bit, Harry telling them about the excitement that was quidditch and how the team had warmed up to him being their new seeker. Just as he was about to tell them about the way he caught the snitch, when in flew Hedwig who was laden with a large package that suspiciously looked like a broom.

She deposited the wrapped gift before Harry, giving him a warbling hoot before flapping her wings and flying away. They looked at her as the rest of their table muttered with excitement and crowded around them, any animosity that might have existed gone with the sight of such a package. "What do you think it is?" Asked Harry, to which Hermione and Ron gave each other knowing glances. There were not many items with that same shape so the possibilities were few. Ron shrugged before giving his answer. "I doubt it's a dragon but who knows." Harry chuckled as he pulled at the thread that bound the brown wrapping paper and revealed the polished shaft of a brand new broom. The students crowding them burst in loud chatter, a few of the girls making room around Duchess to which Hermione made due notes, not wanting to miss any of the effects her potion was taking.

At the reveal of the broom, Ron looked at it, eyes wide with wonder. "It's a Nimbus 2000!" He exclaimed, to which Harry looked at him with curiosity, as clearly Ron knew more about it than he did. "It's the fastest broom in the world, no other can beat it." They all crowded around and Harry picked it, heavy in one hand before bracing it with the other. It had a sleek body and silvery footrests with which to support his legs, something that Harry had noticed could improve his flying; the other broom had forced him to force his legs up with only brute force to keep them tucked in. They all admired it and then Harry began to think, asking himself just who could afford such an extravagant gift and, most importantly, who had given it to him? He rummaged through the wrappings but found no notes. "There is no letter or writing of who's sent this to me." Ron frowned past a slice of toast and joined in the search for any clue as to the mysterious benefactor. Nothing turned up.

"Weird…" They both said, glancing at each other before turning to Hermione. She was immersed in her papers, quill scratching softly as she discreetly observed the progress of her plan, the effects developing slowly but noticeably. Where at first only a few pimples had lined her hairline now Duchess had a mild case of acne popping over her forehead and cheeks, her lips lined with mild wrinkles and a few of the girls she turned to talk to flinched at her breath. Still, the Slytherin remained blissfully unaware of her effect and Hermione made sure to write down every little detail she could see. This was, after all, her first original potion and thus any and all effects had to be thoroughly examined, recorded and quantified for the future. She was completely absorbed in the research and thus only barely noticed the fact that Harry had received mail.

"Come on, Potter. Give it a go!" Said Duchess, who elbowed her way closer to the action and wanted to get in Harry's good graces; this was the Boy Who Lived and it would be worthwhile to be seen with him. Harry flinched back at the barging female, his face scrunching up as her foul breath wafted over him. Who was this woman? He wondered to himself, not recognizing her from any of his classes. Ron too made a face as he took a faint whiff of the offending smell, unsure as to what had caused it until he took a look at Duchess. The corners of her mouth had a few lines due from early wrinkles but Ron did not think she was old enough to be one of the teachers at Hogwarts. He had never heard of a professor with such bad breath, the twins would have been all over it if they had known. "And you are?" He asked, leaning slightly afar lest she turn her rancid breath to him.

The woman turned to Ron with an arched eyebrow. "Mind your own business, Weasley." She snapped and Ron almost fainted at how foul her breath had gotten. Did this crazy girl not keep her teeth clean at all? Never mind the rudeness displayed to him, the girl had a much greater problem going on with her mouth. "Bloody hell…" He said, waving a hand before his nose. He had been struck dead center by her breath and he could see that a few drops of sweat were dribbling down the sides of her face. Ron blinked repeatedly and coughed before turning back to her. "What's wrong with your breath…" He gasped as she huffed in exasperation, sending more of the rancid smell in his direction before she turned to her friends, giggling and pointing at Ron before she herself frowned.

Duchess' friends had enjoyed a momentary respite of her smell, not daring to mention to her that something was off in a less than flattering way. As she grew anxious, some more sweat formed and rolled down her skin, further increasing the strong smell of sweat that surrounded her. "What?" She said, her friends flinching at her ire. They did not particularly enjoy her anger and usually found ways to distract her. She was descended of a very wealthy and influential pure-blood family, her parents both being powerful members of the Wizengamot that held a large quantity of votes due to the distribution of ballots and the influence they exerted on the rest of the voters. While all of this was transpiring, Hermione had been writing many, many notes on the progress Dutchess was making. It seemed that the potions effects were developing a great deal faster than she had expected, but that did not matter. As she spoke, Hermione noted the development of even more pimples over her nose, sweat rolling down her face and forcing her to blink repeatedly as she drew shaky breaths, her anxiety ramping up as the rest of the students noticed that something was wrong with her and slowly backed away.

The bully whirled around, spittle forming and trickling down her chin as she gasped for breath. Duchess was used to being the center of attention but this was not something she liked, as the faces that looked at her were not of awe and admiration, which she richly deserved; no, these were faces of repulsion, disgust and to those who were nose-blind, mere distaste at the sight of her wrinkles and pimples, both extremely unsightly now that her agitation was speeding up the effects of Hermione's potion. The girl shouted at all of them to stop looking at her, causing a scene and getting even more people to stare at her now. The Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs in the great hall were all standing and glancing at the Slytherin table, the Ravenclaws pointedly ignoring the commotion as there were a great deal of exams soon and none of them wanted to get low grades all because their morning study session had been interrupted.

A few of the professors at the teachers table glanced from their morning meals with frowns aimed at the noisy Slytherins, unsure as to what could possibly be causing such a commotion from any one student. The sun shone bright past the clouds that had covered it just a little after that morning's quidditch practice, streaming its rays through the large windows of the great hall and bathing them all in its warm light. Duchess happened to stand directly beneath one of the windows as the sun became uncovered, its powerful rays shooting through and striking at her and she shrieked, her skin smoking as it crackled loudly, her flesh popping with smoke as her arms and face became mired with lines, the usually pink skin turning a soft grey as her features slowly set in literal stone. It was impossible for her to shriek any louder, the pain was just extraordinary.

Hermione was staring, as horrified by the event as everyone else in the great hall was and the teachers shot up, startled by the blood curdling screams that emanated from the suffering student. Hermione had not foreseen such a result from her brewing. It was only supposed to make the bully ugly and unpleasant to be with, revealing on the outside that which lurked within. Why was she turning to stone, then? Unbeknownst to Hermione, there was one factor that she had forgotten about trolls; their weakness to sunlight. Trolls are nocturnal creatures who shy away from the light of any source; one of the reasons why during Hallows Eve'n professor Quirrel had shouted that the troll had been spotted in the dungeons was because the beast had followed its natural instinct and gone underground. The legends muggles tell of trolls turning to stone are all based in fact, to a certain degree. Here Duchess was experiencing the effects on sunlight on a troll first hand.

The cause of the Slytherin suffering in such a manner was unexplainable for all present save for Hermione, who knew what she had done even if she did not understand why this was happening. The potion she had prepared was actually derived from a skin potion, designed to smooth wrinkles and cure the user of pimples for hours after application on the skin, the mix absorbed into the body through coetaneous contact. The addition of the troll's hairs and skin had taken a negative effect which of course was the intention. If the potion before the extra addition had been supposed to make one beautiful, then this one did the exact opposite. It actually had taken an extraordinary twist to its original purpose, as Hermione had noticed while writing down her observations. The girl had quickly become increasingly unpleasant to be around and even her closest friends had shied away given the fact that she no longer had her good looks to camouflage her hideous personality. Hermione had intended for that to be the end of it, the potions effects would dissipate a few weeks after application and all would go back to normal, save for the fact that Duchess' reputation would have taken an enormous blow from which she would never recover as long as she stayed in Hogwarts.

Professors Snape and Flitwick reached the table first while McGonagall called for the rest of the tables to keep to their own affairs, one of the prefects having made his way to the infirmary and informed Madame Pomfrey that a student would be reaching her promptly, sending the nurse to prepare a bed and some potions. The prefect had sounded somewhat unsettled so she prepared for the worst. Snape waved back the students, who quickly fell away in a circle around the fallen student and the two teachers. The vapors that exited the cracks which ran over Duchess' body reeked and only Snape's strong stomach kept him from growing nauseaus. "Oh my…" whispered Professor Flitwick who sat his diminutive form on the stone floor and fanned his face, both to dissipate the odors that reached him and also to comprehend the sight before him. The girl was becoming petrified, or at least her skin was. One of the slabs of rocks that now formed her jaw cracked and blood pooled out, her eyes wide behind stone features that had been set on a permanent shriek. Her eyes rolled and she succumbed to unconsciousness due to the pain.

"Professor." Said Snape, extending his wand to the frozen form of the student; Flitwick followed suit and they both waved their wands in unison, causing the girl to float in the air. They both looked at each other, deadly serious as they considered what to do. Blood kept dripping from her open wounds, pooling on the stone floor as her skin could not mend itself while turned to stone. Suddenly, with a loud snap that caused those nearby to look up in surprise, Duchess' left arm fell clean off, sliding down the fabric of her robes and shattering into hundreds of pieces when it landed on the floor, the stone shards spinning off in all directions. With such a development, the professors waved their wands and rushed her unconscious form to the infirmary, Hermione could only stare at the perfectly cast pinkie finger that had landed on her roll of parchment. This was not what she had wanted to happen at all, never in a thousand years had she wanted to cause this to happen. She blinked, numbly staring at the stone digit and trying to stop tears from forming. She tried to convince herself that there was nothing she could have done and really, she was right. That did not make it any easier to accept.

She had killed someone, or had gotten perilously close to doing so and that was not okay. It did not mean that she was not relieved that her tormentor had been dealt with, her original plan had accounted for that; no, what was not acceptable was for her to have almost taken a life. All of the lessons her parents had taught built up to one principle, and that was that under no circumstances was she to do anything that would hurt or harm others. No matter how justified she could feel about doing just that, they had taught her that she should not ever stoop so low as her bullies. The problem was, she had ignored their lessons and was now seeing the result of her actions. Still… one had to admit that the power she wielded was awe-inspiring. Despite being wrong to Hermione, she still could see just how satisfying it was to turn the tables on ones bullies. Despite the guilt of causing someone else pain, it felt well… good. It felt good to not be the victim, to not have to cower and fear the verbal lashes and strikes of her tormentors.

Harry and Ron had been just as shocked, terrified and mystified by the events. It had all transpired rather quickly and too fast for anyone to have helped in any meaningful way. It was a brutal reminder to Harry that this was no normal school. Here there were dangers that were very real and while the magic that they learned was extraordinary and beautiful it too, could turn ugly. Harry had no clue as to why the annoying Slytherin had suddenly suffered such a fate, which was most stomach turning as the drops of her blood made a beeline out of the great hall. Many of the students glanced over to the Slytherin table, the older years muttering amongst their fellows about the drama caused by the Slytherins and their love for attention. Despite the suddenness of the accident, only a few of the students were truly aware of what had happened, the rest of the great hall blissfully unaware of what had transpired. Ron had looked at the events with horror and some fright. He had been told by his older siblings of accidents happening in the castle and about students who had been sent to St Mungos Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries for not being careful with their studies. Ron could only assume that such an experiment had backfired on the rude girl and had caused her to suffer greatly at her own hand.

Breakfast ended and they all made their way to their classes. Meanwhile, in the infirmary of the school were gathered Snape, Dumbledore and Madame Pomfrey who were all deep in conversation as to how they could help the student. Her name was Amelia Everdeen and if this could not be reversed then the school would find itself in a great deal of trouble. Snape glanced at the visible wounds, eyes squinting as vapors emanated from Amelia's body, Madame Pomfrey looking on with abject horror. This was far worse than what she had prepared herself for when the prefect told her she'd be receiving an urgent patient. This was beyond what she could do at the school; Amelia needed to be transferred to St Mungo's and undergo a great deal of magical treatment. The skin over the entirety of her body had been turned into stone and the unnatural combination had caused the slabs to break apart, exposing the muscle and sinew beneath.

Dumbledore looked on with mild curiosity and just a little bit of disinterest. One of the Slytherins he had been told about, Amelie garnered no sympathy from him as he despised any that discriminated within his school, as it ate away at the foundations of what Hogwarts stood for. He looked at Madame Pomfrey, who turned to him somewhat flustered. "Well, my dear?" He asked, voice raspy pas this extensive beard. "What is there to be done for our Miss Everdeen?" Snape traced his wand over the stub of her left arm, her bone and muscle slowly turning to stone and crumbling off with each minute. If she was not treated soon, she would crumble apart and die. Snape reached his conclusions once he was finished examining the wound.

"Headmaster, this girl is suffering from a very severe reaction to some brew, most likely one of the many skin lotions that students her age obsess over." Said the potions master, who recognized the faint acrid smell of burnt hair and fermented Devil's Wit vine, both of which were somewhat common to come upon but not likely to cause such a reaction when combined. He was surprised, which was an uncommon emotion for Snape to feel in the realm of potion making as he was considered by the magical community to be one of the best in the business. This was one of the strangest cases he had ever seen and he had seen a great deal of them in his time spent traveling abroad. Dumbledore looked on with interest at the wound that Snape was pointing at and arched an eyebrow as a bit of muscle tissue turned grey, solidified and then crumbled off onto the sheets.

"Ah… Interesting…" Said the headmaster, who pulled his glasses further down his nose in order to observe the damage a little closer, covering his nose and mouth with a long sleeve as a wave of vapor made its way to his face, causing him to cough softly before standing back up. "Madame Pomfrey, please… contact St. Mungos. They will be receiving a patient of the utmost urgency." Dumbledore told her before turning back to the girl. Although she was turning to stone, potions derived from mandrake juice would do her no good as she was not in a literal state of petrification. The nurse made her way to the owlery while the two professors talked in quietness. Something was wrong in Hogwarts, they both could sense it but there was no way of knowing what the future held in store; neither of them was gifted in the arts of divination.

Harry, Hermione and Ron made their ways through the day, attending their classes and studying for the exams that were soon approaching. Harry and Ron paid attention to their lessons, both of them managing to take down notes with which to study for their tests. It was one thing that Harry noticed Hogwarts had in common with muggle schools. Standardized testing; however to Hogwarts' credit, the school did it better. Hermione though was distracted through the classes, in a daze throughout the day and when night reached them she forgot to fulfill her promise to Myrtle and visit the ghost in the abandoned lavatories. Harry stayed in the common room after all of the Slytherins went to bed, he had some papers to write assigned to him by professor Snape on the properties of Wormwood and powdered Asphodel root. From McGonagall, he had been assigned to write a five thousand word parchment on the properties of the Alohomora enchantment and its uses in the muggle world. He also had to ensure he slept soundly as he had quidditch practice again the next morning; they had a game soon and Harry was rather excited at the prospect.

Ron had excused himself earlier, grabbing the book of the Ancient Religion and casually walking to the Astrology tower, making his way up the moving stairs and casually avoiding eye contact with any students. Dinner had ender early for him and he had intended on letting Luna know that he would be in the Astronomy deck, this time with a quill, ink and some parchment with which to write down notes. Even though the day had started very strangely life went on and he was excited to learn more about the religion that Luna and her father practiced. He had been thinking on what lessons the story she had told him the previous night held. About the Bright Lady and the Dark Man and the way that Creation treated them both. He walked up the changing stairs, his attention on his thoughts and not on where he was going.

Ron almost bumped into a wall before he noticed where he was, his mind ceasing to take apart the probably meanings behind Beetle the Bard's story. He found himself in an empty hallway and unsure as to what he was doing there. It was later after dinner and by then all students were supposed to be within their common rooms. Ron whirled around as a cat meowed and he stared into the red eyes of Mrs. Norris, Filch's grungy looking cat, which meant that the caretaker was not far behind... Just as Ron thought of that, he heard the pounding of boots on the ground, a lantern shakily growing near as Ron turned tail and ran in the opposite direction. Mr. Filch was infamous in the castle for his love of medieval punishments which he almost never got to enact but still loved to threaten students with. He was not going to give the caretaker the pleasure of adding his name to his list of students to keep an eye on in the future.

The hallway was long and Ron could only see a few steps ahead as the rest was plunged in darkness. Eventually, he reached a wooden door which he slammed against, the book he had been carrying almost falling to the floor as he frantically tried to pry the door open. It was locked and would not budge. Ron turned around, the lantern flickering softly as Filch made his way through the corridor. The old caretaker was hard of hearing and thus only knew that a student was in the hallway, having lost sight of Ron seconds after he entered the hallway within which was his cat, meowing for him to come to her. He could see nothing, lifting his lamp shakily in one hand as he picked up the purring feline. "Whose there…" He grumbled, shakily walking onwards, the metal handle of his lantern creaking softly as it swayed about. The cat hissed and Mr. Filch glanced in all directions, not seeing anyone. Perhaps the cat had been following a ghost and the specter had moved in past a wall; either way, there was no one there and the ancient caretaker turned around, exiting the hallway.

Ron had his surprisingly quick wits to thanks as at the last second he had remembered the correct wand movements for the 'Alohomora' spell. Earlier that morning, McGonagall had gone on a long discourse on the origins of the spell. Old West Africa Sidiki sorcerers had devised the spell while practicing geomancy when one of them had left her divining rod locked inside a wooden chest and forgotten to bring the key with her. In the ancient dialect it meant, 'friendly to thieves,' which had been rather interesting for Ron to learn as he had all of a sudden developed an interest in ancient languages. A passing fancy, McGonagall assumed, who was already used to the pranks pulled by his older siblings, especially the twins. Ron breathed a soft sigh and pressed his forehead to the old wood of the door. That had been far too close.

A rattling wind blew over Ron, musky and rank. He slowly turned around before freezing on the spot as he appreciated the room's single occupant. In his musings, Ron had wandered into the second floor which was strictly off limits to all students and not knowing where he was, had run to the nearest door. That door also happened to be the reason why the entire floor had been forbidden to all students, as it contained one of the most fearsome guardians the castle knew. A towering, thirty-foot tall, three headed dog stood with in it; all three heads growling as they each turned to Ron who felt that his knees would weaken and collapse beneath him at any moment. He whimpered and stumbled back as the giant dog growled loudly, the sound echoing within the room with the force to shake the floor. Ron did not know why the dog was there but he most definitely knew that it was not going to let him stay there for a chat and some tea and crumpets. Finished issuing its challenge, the dog began barking, all three jaws snapping up and down as the main body inched forward, straining against the shackles that bound it. Ron turned around and threw open the door, sending it slamming against the wall and running for his life. It was not a night he would forget anytime soon.

Hermione lay on her bed, the covers covering her body as she stared up at the ceiling. That was not the way she had imagined her plan to go. The results had been extraordinary and great but not good. Hermione felt twin tears trail down the sides of her face, mingling with a few more that had been shed onto her hair and pillow. She felt extraordinary guilt, crushing almost. No one deserved to feel such pain, such agony. Hermione prided herself in her capacity to see the outcomes of all possible plans. Everything was logical and had to follow a path that connected with a machination, which lead to a result and ended with the intended consequence. Only this time… well, this time it seemed that she had overstepped her capacity to foresee consequences. She had spent a day free of bullying but she had not been able to appreciate it until past dinner time when she had joined the rest of Slytherin house in the common room. The girls that had beforehand made fun of her now left her alone, most of the quietly whispering about the cause of Amelia's ailment.

She could not handle it anymore and she got out of bed, her mind filled to bursting with the effects her potion had taken on her bully, replaying over and over the skin turning grey and cracking, thin rivers of blood cascading down her body and onto the floor. In her memory, the sound was loud, almost as loud as rain falling from the sky onto the lake. The cracking felt to her as strong as thunder and the eyes… That morning, Amelia had been too distracted with the changes she was undergoing to Hermione's guilt riddled mind conjured up thoughts of the girl turning her and staring… just staring. Hermione thought of Amelia's face set in stone, her eyes slowly milking over and solidifying… She had reached the common room and found Harry, who was immersed in a paper he was writing, a few parchments crumpled up around his feet. He was too absorbed in his work and thus did not notice the state she was in, mouthing his writing as the quill scratched at the parchment, the sounds filling the air.

Hermione sat on the border of the window, concentrating on the outside lake, the water glowing a deep green and the fish that swam within it glimmering silver as soft moonlight bounced off their scales. She enjoyed the quiet that surrounded the windows, almost as if there had been a noise dampening spell placed around them. At that moment, Hermione did not care one way or the other. She had wanted to get revenge on someone who had made her life hard for no other reason than their entertainment and the result had been less than optimal. She had heard the whispers. The girl had been sent to St. Mungos in an emergency train ride and by the time she had arrived it was rumored that she had been almost a statue. Hermione shook her head and glared daggers at the green backdrop though she knew she was being illogical, as the accident had not been the lakes fault. She shivered and hugged her knees to her chest, looking idly as a fish swam before her, its round eyes darting back and forth, swimming along and inhaling smaller fish before being devoured by a large grindylow, which ripped into the fish and clouded the water with dust, grime and fish entrails. Hermione felt ill at the sight and walked to one of the couches, feeling as if her body was made of helium, since she could not feel much of anything.

With a bang, the common room door opened and both her and Harry jumped, startled before realizing that it was just Ron. Then Harry noticed that Ron seemed to be in a state of panic as he looked about ready to cry and was almost dropping his book. "G-g-g-g-g-g-g…" He stuttered, shakily making his way to the couches and promptly dropping himself in one. For a few minutes, no one said anything save for Ron's stuttering though that did not really count as speaking. "Ron?" Asked Harry, who was somewhat surprised to find that his friend had not been in bed already; most odd. "It was a giant dog!" Shouted Ron, looking at them both with startled eyes and a face that seemed about ready to shriek at a moment's notice; Harry could see now that something bad had happened to Ron, but what did he mean with giant dog?

Eventually, both Harry and Hermione managed to calm down Ron, Hermione talking to him in soothing tones while Harry had the kettle brew a calming tisane. After a while, Ron held the cup in his hands, shivering as he recounted to them his experience with the hallway, Filch and the eventual meet up with a giant, three headed dog. They all sat in silence, realizing just how close Ron had been to dying at that moment and how lucky he had been to not get mauled by the beast. Only Hermione, now distracted from her own self-destructive thoughts, asked the real questions. "What do you think it's doing there?" She wondered out loud though Harry and Ron had no answers. Ron could not believe his luck and decided to sent Luna a note to thank her for teaching him and to see if she could help him find a safer time to meet and talk. Ron did not want the incident happening again, as he doubted he would survive a second encounter with the monster.

The three chatted softly and slowly the gloomy mood that had set that morning vanished as they laughed, being children once more and forgetting for a moment that the world they lived in was far from safe and treacherous. Harry wondered to himself and then turned to Ron and Hermione. "You know who I think can tell us about the dog?" He asked them and they looked at each other, the three reaching the same conclusions and voicing them at the same time. "Hagrid!" They glanced at one another, excited grins on their faces. If there was one person in the school who would know about it and be willing to accidentally tell them, it had to be Hagrid, the groundskeeper. So, they made plans for the next evening and then left for bed. It would be an interesting day, tomorrow.

Harry wished Ron a goodnight and lay on bed, turning off the lights with one hand and with the other placing his glasses on the side table. He closed his eyes, feeling himself sink into the realm of dreams once again and this time in more control of himself. He was in the dark hallway but this time he was not forced to walk to the fear-inducing door. He strolled through the place, completely unaware of where he was but knowing that if he was seeing it, it had to be because there was something there that he had to see. Harry did not believe in fate or in destiny, his childhood had taken that belief out of him quickly. However he did think that all things happened for a reason. Thus, he concluded that if he was seeing that strange place again, it had to be for something.

Ron shivered quietly as he replayed the meeting he had had with the monstrous dog. He really could not believe how lucky he had gotten. By all rights, he should have died and been on his way to becoming fertilizer. Ron did not know why he had been spared but he did know that something was being guarded by that dog and he wanted to know why. Whatever it was, it had to be worth a lot if it meant that it was being protected by such an extreme guard. Before drifting off to sleep, he vaguely thought of the issue of the Daily Prophet they had read those weeks ago, how Harry had described the item as small, stone-like and then how Hagrid had stopped himself from saying the name of the other party involved in the scheme. Nich something… Well, Ron thought. If it was important then they would figure out in the morning. He yawned and stretched before setting in comfortably in his bed, pulling the covers up and tucking his legs up as he began to snore softly.

Hermione found it troubling to sleep but she managed and was blessed with a dreamless sleep, her breathing steadying as she slowly let herself go into sleep. It had been a long day and all she wanted to do was sleep. So she did, completely passed out in her bed as the strain of the day left her body. She forgot about the imaginary look given to her by Amelie, about the augmented sounds of blood striking the floor and the wailing shrieks that the girl had somehow managed to release from herself. All Hermione saw was darkness in her dreams, floating about and not seeing anything. For once, she was happy that way. Not knowing was a welcome change and she slept soundly.

The moon made its course through the heavens, the stars circling over the sky and a few stray comets shooting by. Luna sat in the Astronomy tower, not caring one way or the other that Ron had not shown up. She liked the peace and solitude almost as much as she liked the pleasant company he had proven to be. It was quiet and nice and Luna thought back to her early childhood as another shooting star made its way through the cosmos. She closed her eyes, making her wish once more. It was for her to see her mother again. Pandora Lovegood had been an extraordinary witch, loved by her peers and who also loved her husband and daughter fiercely. She was a practitioner of the old Religion, much like Xenophilius and Luna were though she took it a step further and devised spells which were a mix of the magic brought to England by the Romans and the old language of magic that the druids had spoken. Pandora had been devising one such spell when it went horribly, horribly wrong. Worse, it had backfired on her before the very eyes of Luna who was then traumatized and remained disconnected for weeks after the funeral. It had been a closed casket affair.

Luna firmly believed that she would see her mother again once she too, died. But there were moments when she wished that she could have hugged her mom, one last time.

All things have consequences, those that we can foresee and those we cannot. It is up to us to deal with them appropriately and to, if at all possible, avoid the negative outcomes while preserving the positive ones. I hope you enjoyed yourselves, as writing this was a fun task. I must tell you now that I will be posting a chapter once a week, most likely on Sunday afternoons/evenings. I have studies that require my attention and some exams coming up but worry not; I am not abandoning this story. That point will come once all seven books have been re-written and I feel satisfied with their state. That however, will happen in the far future. Thus, I suggest you be patient and enjoy my writings. Follow, or favorite and do let me know what you'd like to see in the future.