So I had like ten chapters of this story done when I was reading through it again and really felt like it was missing some of that depth of character that I really want in it. I really think that this new version of chapter four will help to give everyone a clear sense of who Blaise really is. Thanks for bearing with me here.

Chapter Four: Moonlight

The moon glows softly into the Astronomy Tower; pushing through the arched windows, each ending in a soft curve. The grounds below shimmer and ripple as the wind pushes against the silvery grass. The world seems to pause for a moment, a peace settling that makes me rather jealous. I probably shouldn't even be bothering with it, but still I find myself leaning on my elbows on the window ledge.

"Hey Dreamy." Draco waves a hand in my face, lightly smacking it against my forehead. "Get out of Blaise Topia and study for this exam! Merlin knows you bloody well need to pass this one."

I snap my head away from the beauty below me and refocus on the blonde before me, his hair catching the moonlight and making it look even whiter than usual. I stretch my lips in a yawn and plop onto the stone floor, snatching my wand from the floor using it to keep my place as I glaze over my textbook before I pull my gaze to Draco's face once more.

"Oh come on, you know I don't need to study!"

Draco rolls his eyes, "Oh not this again," he scoffs, placing a pale palm on my shoulder as though I were a child, "Blaise . . . if you want to be a real wizard, you have to graduate Hogwarts, and that means that you need to study." I hate it when he draws out his words like I'm a toddler, but if that's how he wants it . . .

Instead of answering, I throw myself backwards, stretching my limbs and pretending that it my head doesn't sting from its introduction to the floor. Then I curl into a fetal position and stick my thumb in my mouth, thrashing a bit for effect.

"Mummy," I whimper, making puppy eyes at him and propping myself onto my elbow, "Mummy make the bad man go away!" I thrust a finger in his face, puffing out my bottom lip in the process.

"You are such a child." Still, he can't hide the tiny smile pulling at his lips, not this late at night.

"I'm sleepy! It's nuh-night time! Carry me, mummy!" I thrust my arms in his direction.

"No." Draco rolls his eyes, shaking his head.

"Carry me mummy, carry me!"

"Not on your life."

"MUMMY!" My lungs are quite powerful, a fact that Draco knows quite well. "MUMMY CARRY ME!"

Draco flinches and glances about us wildly, his hair practically on end, "Fine," he hisses, "Just shut up already!" He sighs audibly and leans over, shoving his books into his bag.

I push my book into my bag from my spot and set the bag on my stomach. Then I grin widely and reach my arms up at him again. "Up, mummy!"

Muttering something about being high maintenance, Draco scoops me up into his arms bridal style and begins down the stairs. Normally he wouldn't do this, but we were supposed to be asleep hours ago, and there's no way that he'd risk getting caught, which is what makes this so much fun.

Draco trips exactly twice on the way to the Common Room: on the bottom step from the Astronomy Tower and on a random stone that apparently needs repairing, jutting several centimeters from its original place. Each time I barely hold back a snicker, but I don't want him to drop me, so I manage. As soon as we enter Slytherin territory, Draco pulls back his arms and drops me from his full height onto the thankfully carpeted floor. I stare at him stubbornly and curl up right where I land, closing my eyes and letting sleep steal me away. I struggle sleeping sometimes, but it's four in the morning, so I manage.

I should've slept in my bed. My bed is comfortable, and I wouldn't be stuck with this stiff twinge of pain when I try to stand up straight. I grit my teeth and force myself from the ground anyway, only to be met with the sweeping gaze of Draco. He's lounging on one of the emerald sofas, the back of which is as stiff as my own, but it holds its own in the House of children who are used to uncomfortable furniture anyway.

Draco leans slowly towards me and watches more, his face blank and giving away nothing that an outsider would pick up. I'm his best friend and I can still only sense his stress in a very limited way, picking it up from the fight necessary to make him smile even just a bit. He clears his throat and pauses, darting his eyes from me to the spot next to him.

I make my move to join him, grimacing at the half-dozen cracks my spine makes throughout the movement. Then in a fluid motion, I sweep my hand from the edge of my jawbone to my opposite shoulder, sweeping my dark curls to one side as I simultaneously turn my head to face him. I blink at him slowly, feigning indifference to whatever he's about to say. It's a game—Slytherin House—one that requires subtlety, at least in an open area such as the Common Room.

"I'm assuming this is the point at which you expect an apology?" Draco finally breaks the silence in a breath, but slowly, delicately, in a way that sounds to the casual passerby like a discussion over our latest Potions assignment

"Excuse me?" I raise an eyebrow, and he winces, probably expecting me to pull another drama segment.

"I'm sorry okay, I shouldn't have dropped you here." He leans in a touch before continuing, his lips very near my ear as he breathes, "You know you're my only mate."

I chuckle slightly, which makes him draw back. I stand again as though to reject the apology, but at the very last second of my dramatic exit, I thrust my arm forward, offering him a hand. I raise both eyebrows and tip my head to the side, staring at a point just behind him.

Without hesitation, he clasps my forearm and allows me to swing him forward, meeting our other hands at the wrist, an exercise that we both know well. He puts his foot forwards and bows ever so slightly, pulling both hands from my reach in the process. He points his gaze into my face, his grey eyes glinting from under his long and whitish hair.

I nod firmly, bringing my hands swiftly against his shoulders in a chopping fashion, leaving them for a microsecond before pulling away and joining him in his bow. My action leaves us both bowing towards each other, which concludes our little ritual, the ritual of apology and equality, the ritual of balance. It's very old, but Draco and I are from very old families with many equally old ceremonies and rituals.

Offering him the tiniest of smiles, I trapes out of the room, my feet resounding in slight slaps as I exit the Common Room and into the Great Hall. I picture his face as I wander through the halls and down the staircases, and at this moment even the most treacherous parts of my mind refuse to run from all of this. For this reason, I find myself shuddering as I freeze in the doorway, the four tables looming threateningly over me, warning me that very soon nothing will ever be the same.

Just as quickly as the dread fills me, it vanishes from my mind. I've far too many things to solve before I can worry about that, first of which is the figure I notice sitting off to the end of Slytherin Table. He gives me a sidelong glance through half-closed eyes, the lightest of blues glinting against the bright sky above. Like only a true Slytherin would, he cautiously makes his desire known at exactly the right time. As I hear Draco's light footsteps directly behind me, the pair of eyes motion to the spot next to him, the spot belonging to the dangerous loose end of my scheme: Theodore Nott.

I slip next to him and load my plate, pretending not to notice him at all. Eggs, bacon, and muffins quickly pile in front of me before I take my fork and begin shoveling it in, feeling more like a Weasley than I'd care to. They eat like they're starving, the whole lot of them, and it isn't exactly a sight for sore eyes. Still, I'm not exactly going to be eating much this year, and I'd prefer to enjoy while I still can.

"My point stands," Theodore mutters out of the corner of his mouth. I instantly think of yesterday's conversation and how he thought I was planning something that I couldn't live through. He's right, of course, but I'm not going to let down my guard so easily.

"Well Potter's really after that Weasley girl, isn't he then?" I stuff more food into my mouth mid-sentence and make him wait while I chew thoroughly and swallow, gulping down some pumpkin juice before finally finishing. "The way I see it, that makes Weasley my competition, and that means I got to get rid of her. Weasleys eat like their life depends on it, see? I'm simply . . . raising Harry's awareness."

Theodore makes quite the show of ignoring me, picking through a very large stack of mail and flipping several pages into his copy of The Quibbler, a magazine that he likely has no interest in. He pushes the stack into his bag and pulls out a new one, tying it carefully to the owl that I had been ignoring, a large barn owl with an unusual blueish circle covering one eye. Finally, he stands up and slings his bag over his shoulder before looking me square in the eye.

"That's not good enough." He allows his vision to roll off me and onto Daphne Greengrass, who sits across from us. "There's no Herbology after lunch, eh Daphne?"

"Yeah . . ." I don't bother to hear the rest. I'll be meeting Nott in the Room of Requirement after lunch; I've no need to hear his pointless conversation with Daphne necessary to cover it up. I quickly stuff my belongings into my bag and—with a sidelong glance at Draco—leave to get a good spot in Defense Against the Dark Arts, silently pleading Merlin that I might get a spot in the back.

I take in a deep breath and step a foot gingerly over the threshold, shuddering a bit thinking about all the trouble this room has caused me. I remember the day when that horrible Professor Moody (who turned out to not actually be Professor Moody) decided to teach everyone the Unforgivable Curses. For the first time in my life, someone called me out for something that everyone knew. I'll never, ever forget that day.

"Mr. Zabini, can you list another of the Unforgivable Curses for the class?"

He had already singled out Draco about one of them, and after Draco listed the Cruciatus, Moody had lashed out at him, as though Draco was personally responsible for every Cruciatus Curse that had ever been cast. Without missing a beat, Moody declared that Draco would know a lot about those, seeing as his Aunt Bellatrix Lestrange had been known to cast them. Then he took it even further, saying that Neville probably knew about them too. Everyone knew what had happened, and the whole class just sat silent as he demonstrated on a spider.

"Mr. Zabini?" I hadn't been listening, but I knew at once that I was about to be under similar scrutiny, for everyone knew of my mother, and Moody would likely accuse her of using whichever curse I listed, so I chose the easier of the two.

"The Imperious Curse, sir." The words he said next still eat at my mind every now and then.

"I would think you would be well familiar with that one, boy. Would you like to tell us how it feels? I'm sure your mother would understand, academic purposes and all."

I just sat there, stunned. I knew that he would probably say something about her many husbands, something that I too have long held suspicions about, but that what he suggested . . . it made me wonder if it were true. Did I know what it felt like?

"Mr. Zabini, though it's nice of you to try, you and I both know that the Unforgivable Curses don't work from such a long distance. Well, not unless you're he-who-cannot-be-named."

I nearly stood up and walked away right there, but something made me stay. It was like I had to stay, like something or someone was holding me into the chair. My blood felt thick and taut through my veins and I suddenly stood up, and I knew in that moment that Professor Moody really was as mad as his eye. My mouth opened to say something, but it was then that my brain remembered that it had been practicing Occlumency for a reason and cleared the hazy fog that edged at my vision.

"Sir," I said, my voice coming out strong despite the Imperious Curse that the Professor was casting on me, "I don't know how you think you know something like that, but I know of no such thing. I don't know exactly who you think I am, but I assure you that I carry no mark and that my mother serves no life sentence, so I beg your pardon, but I'd greatly appreciate it if you would refrain from threatening me and mine."

I think I must have surprised him, because I felt the alien control fade away. I took my chance and left, though I heard later that he'd interrogated Theodore Nott and accused his father of using the Killing Curse on his mother.

"Mr. Zabini . . . "

I snap back to the present, suddenly noticing the slow and drawn out speech of Professor Snape, who beckons me towards the front of the class. I numbly twitch a bit before blinking away the past and nodding slowly, making my way to the spot he now gestures towards. I rather mindlessly plop into the chair and pull out my notes, feeling the burning gaze of Draco on the back of my neck. I'll have to explain later, when we're alone in our rooms. Maybe I'll even allow Nott to take part in the conversation.

"As I was saying, Dementors are highly dangerous creatures . . ."

Suddenly I am completely in the moment and shove myself further into the chair, my back straight like an iron rod and my gaze fixed intensely on the Professor, eating any information he can give me on Dementors.

"Now," he continued, "While the origin of Dementors is unknown, the creatures are regarded as one of the most fearsome of creatures. They act as a syphon for hope and happiness. When you are in the presence of a Dementor, you will find that you can't manage to think of anything cheery. Even if you were to succeed at coming up with a happy thought, the presence of a Dementor would alter the memory permanently, causing severe pain to the victim even after the creature is gone.

"Dementors also possess the ability to steal one's soul, a practice that you've likely all heard of, known as the Dementor's Kiss. However, our beloved Daily Prophet often fails to express how truly horrible such a thing is. A Dementor's Kiss does not harm you physically, but should you receive one, you would find that your brain would be trapped."

The entire class is as silent as I am at this point, glued to every word that the usually hated professor utters.

"Experimentation," he continues in his slow and accentuated drawl, "shows that under incredibly medicated circumstances, the victim's brain can resurface for a brief period. During that period, however, the victim usually doesn't say a word, preferring instead to scream in agony. The removal of the soul turns the body into a carnal state, causing a great number of symptoms including acting like an animal of some kind as well as physically harming oneself. However, once you have received the Dementor's Kiss, there is nothing that can be done. Once removed, the victim's soul is gone forever."

It's a good thing that everyone is eating Snape's words like buttered popcorn, because I can barely breathe. I feel incredibly cold and the sticky type of damp that tells you you're unwell. I can feel the wood of my desk's arms digging into my palms, but I can't move. There's nothing controlling me now except maybe terror. I know all those things from my own research, but hearing it out loud makes it ten times worse, especially now that I know there is no cure. If Dumbledore can't save me from the Kiss, no one can.

"There is but one known defense against a Dementor . . ." I try to focus on his words instead of my mounting fear, "And that is the Patronus Charm. Now, it is a highly advanced spell and you'll find that the vast majority of wizards aren't capable of producing it in its corporeal form, but if used correctly, the spell can be a very effective means of warding them off.

"To cast a successful Patronus, one must make a conscious effort to focus on a happy memory, using the force of that happiness against the Dementor's own force of despair. Most of you will likely avoid having to use this spell. However, because of its significance in fighting off Dementors, I require each of you to write eight thousand words on the Patronus Charm and its origins. I believe you should be able to find the information you require in the library, unless you're Mr. Potter or Mr. Weasley, in which case you'll have Ms. Granger to do your homework for you."

Normally I would laugh and give Hermione a knowing look, but I feel like the human embodiment of ice except for the heat that I feel coursing through my hands against the desk I still grip. Hermione catches my eye, as though to try and defend herself and her friends, but when she catches it, she freezes and a look of worry washes over her face.

"Are you okay," she mouths.

"Blaise, mate, are you alright," Draco hisses into my ear, but I can't even manage a response.

"Blaise," he tries again, "What is it?"

I can feel a single bead of sweat tearing its way down my face and I can't even blink. What's wrong with you? I ask myself seriously. If I can't even hear about Dementors without freezing up, what on earth am I going to do in Azkaban?

"Blaise?" I can hear the worry to Draco's voice now, though it's very subtle. I can also see Hermione's eyes glimmering with worry from across the room. Snape has apparently been droning on, but I find that I can't really hear anything. Even Draco's voice sounds like I'm underwater, faint and blurry.

I see the other students packing up their things and heading out the door, but I'm seriously doubting my ability to make it to Potions. I hear a bit off scuffling, like the sand on the bottom of the ocean I'm hearing everything through is being kicked up. I feel a pair of hands vaguely against my shoulders and notice that the world seems to be moving a bit more than it was, but I'm not even sure that it's real anymore.

Am I passing out? I wonder as the edges of my vision begin to twinkle slightly. I hear nothing except for my own breathing and the thumping rhythm of my heart, though it seems to be slowing. My vision turns weirder and darker, like my sight is somehow becoming smaller and smaller and I'm seeing through a tunnel, the light at the end growing further with every passing moment. I allow my eyes to blink very slowly and nearly decide to leave them closed.

Slap! My face stings for the third time in less than a year and suddenly the world comes back in full swing, the light from the sun causing me to flinch away. I press myself into the ground to shield my eyes. I notice Draco leaning over me, the mask of his completely down and showing his true concern.

"Blaise, are you alright?" His tone reminds me of the tone I heard him use when he begged his father to stop hitting his mother and I know what he's feeling: fear. It's his tone of desperation, a tone that he tries really hard to control; but whenever there's something to be said in this state, it always comes out flustered and grave.

"Blaise?" he repeats, concern filling even more of his face.

"Hmm," is all I manage to get out, closing my eyes again.

"Blaise, come on, talk to me."

I mumble incoherently and feel a rush of fatigue slamming into my body.

"Blaise, come on, don't scare me like this! You have to be okay!" I can hear the panic rising, but I'm so tired that my fingers are lead and my mouth is thick like peanut butter. "Blaise don't do this to me!"

He never used to care so much, but when I happened upon his father beating his own wife and shared my own life troubles with Draco, we suddenly became best friends, and best friends with such heavy secrets must remain close.

"Draco?" I manage to mumble out, fighting a stunning headache as I attempt to lean against my elbow.

"Blaise!" A look of relief fills his face and it contorts to what is nearly a laugh before turning stormy again. "Don't do that to me, I was about to take you to see Madam Pomfrey."

"Sorry . . ."

"Sorry? What was all of that about anyway? It was just Dementors! Don't tell me you're becoming like Scar Head and fearing them!"

My mind chooses now to wake up and it's a good thing, too. Draco can't know how afraid I am: it could ruin everything. Though a small part of me wants to tell him everything and convince him not to become a Death Eater, I know it wouldn't work anyway.

"No, no, it's not that . . ."

"Then what? You didn't even enter the room until Professor Snape extended you an invitation!"

And there is my out. "It's just . . . do you remember the last Defense Professor, just before Umbridge?"

"That Moody bloke who turned out to not even be Moody?"

"Yeah."

Draco waits for a few seconds before raising an eyebrow, "Well?"

"Well, do you remember the day he taught us about the Unforgivable Curses? When he singled us all out and may as well have declared our families to be followers of the Dark Lord?"

Draco eyes me suspiciously, ". . . yeah."

"Well, it's what I said."

"What, about not bearing a Dark Mark and your mother not using the Imperious Curse?"

"Well," I duck my face away from his line of sight, "What if I was wrong?"

Draco jumps back from me in surprise before leaning against the tree next to me. "What, you mean you have a Dark Mark. I think I would know if you had a Dark Mark, Blaise."

You have no idea I think to myself before replying. "No, I meant my mother. What if she does use the Imperious Curse?"

Draco snorts derisively, "I doubt it. I mean, come on mate, she's your mother. She's like, the least powerful witch out there besides maybe that crazy old bat of a Divination professor, what was her name . . . Barkgrassy? And besides, your mother is known for being one of the most beautiful people alive, there's no way she would even need an Imperious Curse."

"Well that's what I thought, too, but then it made me wonder if maybe Moody chose the wrong person to call out when he asked about Avada Kedavra."

"What, you mean your mother's been killing people? You're joking, right?"

I lift my face to meet his gaze, "Well, it makes sense, I mean, how unlucky can you possibly be? She's been married thirteen times, Draco! Thirteen! They can't all have tragically died, could they have?" These questions really have been bothering me for some time, but they need to be more passionate than they might have been before to make up for going into shock of some sort over Dementors.

Draco glances around the yard, letting out a slight sigh of relief as he notices no one around us. I've kept my voice to a fierce whisper, but both of us know the danger of others hearing about my mother or either of our families for that matter. I mentally kick myself for forgetting, but there's no time for that now.

"Look," he finally lets out, "I guess that there is a chance that she's been ridding herself of her problems somehow but worrying about it isn't going to help anything. You know that you've always got me to talk to if you need to, but let's not have any more mental breakdowns about it okay." He leans in so that his mouth is pressed directly against my ear before adding, "I need you too much to lose you."

That's almost the end of my plan in a single sentence, because that's exactly what's going to happen. He's going to lose me, either because he's mad that I left his side of the war or simply because I'll be rotting in Azkaban serving a life sentence unless Dumbledore rescues me. For a heartbeat, I want nothing more than to tell him everything, but I can't.

Draco stands up abruptly and reaches down to help me up. "Come on," he smiles a tiny bit, "Let's get to Potions."

I nod and take his arm as we head to the class that has long been my favourite. This year is a bit different, though, because of a certain new professor: Professor Slughorn. We're only a few weeks in and Professor Slughorn is already proving that his classroom environment will be quite unusual in that the best example he can give us is always somehow related to Harry Potter. Funny, when Snape was the Professor, Potter never could receive so much as a head nod. All of Snape's praise seemed reserved Draco, his godson and admittedly quite the student. This unexpected change of pace really has Draco irked, and the rest of the class isn't trailing too far behind.

"Good morning everyone." Professor Slughorn takes his place at the front of the classroom, yawning openly though it's nine in the morning. "Good morning Harry!" He straightens a bit and smiles brightly at the boy.

Harry has the decency to blush a bit and stand further behind Hermione before muttering, "Morning Professor."

"Where was I," Slughorn hums a bit, "Ah yes! Today's lesson!"

"Wow, it seems Harry Potter knocks the thoughts right out of him," Draco whispers in my ear, "Would you do us all the kind honor of teaching this class so that I might stare at you, oh Boy-Who-Lived?" He smirks in triumph and nods his head, likely planning on telling Harry all about it later.

I glance over at Slughorn and witness him rifling through a large stack of paper on his desk, muttering the word no loud enough that the entire class can hear him. Did he even prepare the lesson today? I look over at Hermione and barely suppress a chuckle. She's glaring at him fiercely, daring him to waste another precious second of her learning time as she absentmindedly flips through her textbook, probably dying to brew just one of the high-level potions that it contains. It's now I come up with a little plan.

"Draco," I whisper, not daring to look over at him.

"What?"

"I'm going to brew a sleeping draught."

"Right now?"

"Yes."

I feel Draco's burning stare on my face and turn to meet his eyes, thoroughly expecting disdain for my very un-Slytherin action—bravery is a Gryffindor thing after all—but instead they gleam with suppressed laughter. His eyes fill with liquid and his breathing is ragged for a few moments before he seems to gain composure.

"So, you who has faked bad grades for about an eternity, are about to show off in front of the entire class and make that fat old slug look like a fool, all the while showing up his beloved Harry potter?"

I nod, forcing a serious look to etch itself onto my features.

"Just tell me what you need."

I can't help the smirk that sweeps my face. "I need Lavender, four sprigs of it. I also need six measures of standard ingredient, two blobs of flobberworm mucus, and four Valerian sprigs."

Draco nods and slips from behind the desk, barely making a sound as he heads over to the cabinets. Slughorn doesn't seem to notice, as he's still rifling through papers, occasionally asking Harry a question about a particular potion that he ends up answering himself before chuckling and saying something along the lines of Harry not wanting to show off.

Draco's movements don't escape Hermione, though, and she swiftly turns to look at me. I smile and shrug innocently, taking the ingredients and cauldron from Draco as soon as he has them.

"Watch and learn," I mutter to Draco, still looking in Hermione's direction so that she can read my lips.

Flicking my wand out, I mutter a silencing shield and light a flame under my cauldron. I've made this potion several times and probably won't explode anything, but it's best not to risk it. I fill the cauldron with a water charm and dump in the Standard ingredient, chopping my lavender into a fine powder as I wait for it to smell of earth. Next I drop in the lavender a pinch at a time into the now brownish liquid, stirring counterclockwise twice after each new addition. I let it sit for about five minutes, glancing up from time to time at the still oblivious professor.

Now that the potion is a blood red color, I place the first blob of flobberworm mucus directly into the center of the potion, muttering a heating spell as I swish my wand back and forth across the surface of it. The cauldron hisses and turns the liquid into a steaming mass of light purple, indicating its near completion. I add the second blob of flobberworm in exactly the same way, this time turning the potion a few shades darker.

The Valerian sprigs at this point have been crushed and I pour the juice into the potion, stirring it twenty-five times in a clockwise direction and then four in a counterclockwise direction. Finally, I throw in the sprigs themselves, heating the potion more this time by increasing the size of the flame and thus engulfing the entire thing in a mass of bright orange. The potion hisses once more but this time doesn't steam, instead glowing a vibrant and deep purple color.

I smile as I ladle my potion into a bottle and pop on a cork. Then I put on an air of self-importance that I learned from my mother and make my way to the front of the room, turning my nose up at anyone who dares to look at me. With a thud I settle the potion onto Slughorn's desk, making sure that it is directly in front of the stack of papers he's been wasting his time with.

"Mr. . . . Zabini, is it? What's this?" Slughorn asks me quietly, as though I were some shy child with a question that I couldn't ask in front of the whole class. It's like he doesn't even know what House I'm in. I didn't make this potion to present to him quietly, though.

"This, professor, is a completed Sleeping Draught, one of the proper potions for this class level, I believe." I turn and walk to my seat, forcing down the laughter that threatens to spill.

"I . . . I . . . I don't know what to say, Mr. Zabini, except that this is a highly dangerous potion to brew and you should not have—"

I don't hear the last part of what Slughorn says though, because the entire classroom erupts in laughter and several of the higher-level students nod at me, impressed. Draco is absolutely howling, and even Hermione shoots me a small smile. The only people in the room not laughing are Slughorn, Harry, and Ronald Weasley, though Weasley would probably be laughing as well if it weren't a Slytherin who just showed up the Professor.

Normally I would be worried about the consequences of such an action, but I know for a fact that Slughorn will proceed as if this had never happened. To admit what I've done would be to admit failure, and Snape would never let him hear the end of it were he to find out that a student had shown up someone who likely had claimed to be better in potions.

I smile as I stuff my belongings into my bag and waltz towards the exit. Professor Slughorn wasted the entire class time going through papers. As I reach the doorway, I nod curtly at Potter and Weasley before turning and running down the hall, letting out deep and throaty laughs as I go. Though Ron Weasley is an irritating bloke, I'm beginning to develop a bit of respect for Fred and George Weasley, the former kings of the position that I'm currently holding: class clown.