Disclaimer: The BeethovenBird has agreed to sing this one.

"I don't care how much you're howling

Or how much you think I do

I am still not JK Rowling

No matter how much I might seem to

If you think I'm making money

Then you'd better think again

I'm still buying my own honey

Without help from this ol' pen

Freude schoene gotterfunken -"

(Alright, enough, BeethovenBird)

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Draco

After Draco left his meeting with the headmaster, nearly shaking with rage and embarassment, he headed for his dorms in the dungeon. Never before had he been treated like that! Did that barmy old coot not know who he was? He was a Malfoy! That coot should be bowing down to him, and he had been dressed down like some... like some... mudblood!

After he entered his dorms, he closed the curtains on his bed and hit them with a silencing and imperturbable charm, then pulled out the mirror he used to contact his father. When shaking hands, he nearly shouted "Lucius Malfoy!".

After a couple of minutes – far too many minutes, he thought that his father was deliberately making him wait, the face of his father finally appeared in the mirror.

"Yes, Draco?", his father said, in his characteristically soft and silky voice, full of menace. His pointed face had a scowl on it, presumably from being called so late.

"Father, the headmaster threatened me with expulsion tonight!"

His father was immediately alert, and the scowl disappeared. "What happened, Draco."

"Well, I just said that Harry might want to bugger the dragon he faced today -"

"You just said... Draco, where did you 'just say' this?"

"In the Great Hall", Draco mumbled.

"So you decided, in your great wisdom, to taunt the 'boy-who-lived'" -Malfoy spat those three words - "in a public place, the evening after he faced down a dragon and accomplished something not seen in the history of the wizarding world since the time of Myrrdin Emrys, and you are surprised that the headmaster decided to discipline you for your behavior?"

Draco was mute. This was not going how he intended.

"I am surprised as well, Draco. Not that the Headmaster finally disciplined you, but that it took him this long. Dumbledore has always been soft – that is the very trait that has allowed the Malfoy family to prosper.

"Listen, Draco, and listen to me well, because I will only say this once. You are an impulsive child who speaks before he thinks and runs to his father when circumstances conspire to cause him to face the possibility of facing consequences for his actions. I have been told of your behavior by the parents of other children that you have bullied, and yet still have protected you, in the hopes that perhaps you might see some sense and act as the Slytherin I had always hoped for you to be. So far, Draco, you have been nothing but a disappointment in that regard. You jump headlong into situations that are beyond your ability to master. Perhaps, Draco, you would have done well to be sorted into Gryffindor?"

Tears were welling in Draco's eyes.

"The Malfoys did not get to where they are, Draco, by being Gryffindors. We are cunning. We present respectability to the world, we always strive to make allies when possible, and all the better if they never see the knife being plunged into their back. From now on, Draco, you will be a Malfoy. You will watch your mouth, you will be a credit to the Malfoy name, and if you are expelled from Hogwarts due to your own stupidity you will find yourself disowned. Do I make myself clear?"

Draco nodded, mute.

The mirror went blank.

Draco curled up in his bed and cried.

Hermione

Hermione sat at the breakfast table, chewing slowly on her breakfast, trying to avoid flying food from Ron's feeding frenzy next to her, and thinking about the events of the night before. She didn't know what had come over her! She was not the type of girl to behave as she did that evening – she had even kissed him! What if he had rejected her?

She was going to try her very hardest to convince Harry that she was the one for him. She thought she loved him. He had been her best friend for years, and... and what other boy would want her? With her frizzy hair and too large teeth and small breasts and bookish proclivities. If he rejected her than she was doomed to be a spinster for the rest of her life, with frumpy dresses and too many cats! She just knew it! He hadn't even said yes!

She listened to Dumbledore's pronouncements. The one about bullying was long overdue, she thought – bullying was a huge problem in Hogwarts. But she knew that there was no way that some leopards were going to change their spots. She hoped Dumbledore knew what he was doing.

Wait, was that Luna Lovegood? Walking towards her Harry? What did she say to him? Did she kiss him on the cheek? That bint! How could she!

And there goes Harry with Dumbledore, leaving her alone at the table with Ron, who was still doing his best impression of a vacuum cleaner, and glaring daggers at Luna, who was sitting at the Ravenclaw table, serenely eating her breakfast. Like she didn't even care that she just took Harry from her!

Hermione finally lost her appetite, and ran out of the Great hall, tears running down her cheeks. She would not cry until she got to her common room! She just wouldn't!

Finally she got to her bed, and thankful she had the day off, spent the whole rest of the morning crying, as all her dreams shattered.

Luna

The night before, Luna watched Draco get soundly dressed down for behaving in such a way that was previously completely accepted. But what astonished her was when she looked up at Dumbledore. They were gone! All the wrackspurts were gone! They used to swim around his head and hide in his hair and beard so densely she wondered how he managed to get food into his mouth, but now there wasn't even one! Luna felt tears welling up in her eyes. Maybe things would finally start to change. She walked up to Harry and thanked him, kissing him on the cheek. Blushing prettily, she walked back to her table and resumed her meal. Why was Hermione Granger glaring at her like that? Oh well, must be the wrackspurts. Poor girl had a horrible infestation.

Later that evening, Cho, Marietta, and a couple of girls all came into the room with piles of Luna's things and dropped them down next to her bed. They then turned around and left, eyes downcast. Luna was even more astonished, but quickly picked up her stuff and put it back where it belonged.

The nargles told her that Harry Potter was responsible for removing the wrackspurts from Dumbledore.

She got ready for bed, and slept peacefully for the first time in several months.

The next morning, she woke up and went down to the great hall for breakfast, and there was so much more news! The wrackspurts were still gone, and Dumbledore appeared to want to double down on his lofty goals to make Hogwarts a safe place to study. After Harry and Dumbledore left together, Luna decided to take advantage of the day off and go plimpie hunting.

After she went to her dorms and changed into a pretty off-white sundress, and made sure her butterbeer cork necklace was nice and secure, she went outside and skipped towards the black lake. On her way, though, she saw Harry Potter making himself comfortable under a tree, and thought it would be nice to spend some time with Harry. She quietly walked over and sat down next to him, pulling her knees to her chest.

She saw him close his eyes, the cool breeze (but warm for this time of the fall) ruffling both of their hair.

"They took my things", she said suddenly. She didn't know what else to say.

"Who?", Harry said, without opening his eyes.

"My roommates. Cho Chang, Marietta Edgecombe. They would take my things and hide them all over the castle."

"Why did they do that?"

"I don't know. Maybe just because they could. Because Looney Lovegood would never tell. And who'd believe her, anyway?"

No one ever believed her. She was just Looney Lovegood. Could she helped it if she saw things differently than everyone else?

"I would."

And at that moment she knew, just knew, that he was telling the entire truth. He would believe her.

"I know, Harry Potter. They are infested with wrackspurts. You don't have wrackspurts. Wrackspurts hate you. You are far too pure."

She looked up at the clouds, some shaped like interesting animals that she'd only heard about from her father. There was a crumple-horned skorkack, over there was a blibbering humdinger, and there was a giant quarter-mile wide wrackspurt. She didn't know what it was about Harry's presence, but it calmed her. She felt safe there, next to him.

"The nargles told me that it was you. You were the reason all of my things came back last night. You were the reason my roommates are leaving me alone. I'm not Looney anymore. I'm Luna again."

She reached over and took his hand. Her father had always told her that you can tell a lot about someone from their palm, so she flipped his hand over so it was palm-up, and started to trace the lines, gently, with a finger. She concentrated on his energy, so pure and clean, and every time she stroked his palm with her fingers it caused little waves of pleasure to run up her arm.

Finally, satisfied with what she learned from his palm, she turned to him, and smiled. "You gave me my name back, Harry Potter." Her name was the most important thing she had, and the greatest gift anyone had ever given her.

Feeling the safest she had ever felt since coming to Hogwarts, she leaned into his shoulder. Listening to him breathe shallowly, she squeezed his hand softly, and closed her eyes. It felt so good, here, leaning against the boy who finally took the wrackspurts from Dumbledore. Finally she dozed off, safe and secure.

Ron

Ron wondered why Harry ignored him, but those thoughts were quickly washed away with thoughts of food. He ate heartily, wondering what all the fuss was about when Draco suddenly left the hall and Dumbledore said something about something. With a full stomach, he went to bed, barely noticing Hermione swishing into the room like she was on a runway, Harry not far behind with a silly grin on his face.

The next morning, he dug into his food. Dumbledore was saying more stuff and people were cheering, but he didn't pay much attention – though he did cheer with a mouth full of food when Dumbledore announced classes were cancelled. The bangers and mash were excellent today, the house-elves really outdid themselves.

After breakfast he got out his broom and went to the quidditch pitch. Life was good.

Amelia Bones

Amelia had had a busy evening. First of all, the stunned body of Rita Skeeter arrived in a holding cell, with a note from Dumbledore. The note said: "Rita Skeeter is an unregistered beetle animagus. I dare say this was how she got so many 'scoops'. - Albus Dumbledore" - it was signed in his characteristic loopy handwriting.

She read the note, twice, three times, and then crumpled it with frustration. This answered so many questions. Hell, the Prophet had even done a hatchet job on her once or twice.

She affixed an animagus and magic suppressing collar on Skeeter, and then ennervated her.

"What? Where am I?", she said, confused. And then her eyes fixed on Amelia, whose normally stern face was lit with the biggest, most predatory smile she could muster. It was a positively scary sight. Rita shrunk back against the back wall of her cell.

"Rita, do you know what the punishment for being an unregistered animagus is?"

Rita nodded, her eyes full of fear. "It's a ten thousand galleon fine or six months in Azkaban, or both."

Amelia nodded. "Just so. You will be held here until your trial. If you're lucky, it'll be before the new year. Enjoy your new accomodations, Rita. I dare say they're quite a bit better than Azkaban, wouldn't you agree?"

Rita's legs gave out, and she fell on her rump. With a satisfied smile, Amelia closed the cell door.

A little later, Amelia was busy doing the paperwork for Rita's incarceration and trial. She needed to talk to Dumbledore to find out exactly how he discovered that she was an unregistered animagus – and since he was the one who reported the crime he could not participate as Chief Warlock – oh what a mess. She was writing her report when the floo roared to life.

"Headmaster Dumbledore?"

"Amelia, please come quickly. We have a... situation here."

"I'll be right there, Albus", she said. She called Kingsley to her office, and with a cry of "Hogwarts", they went through.

"Albus, what's – Barty Crouch Jr.?"

Dumbledore nodded. "And what's worse, he's been impersonating Moody ever since the start of turn. He's no threat now, he seems to have lost his magic."

A young, sandy haired man was lying on the floor in a heap.

"How..? Nevermind. Kingsley, take him back to the DMLE and put him in a cell. Allow no one – and I mean no one, and that includes the minister himself – to have any contact with him until I get back to question him. Force is authorized. If anything happens to him before he has a chance to be questioned, it will be your job. Send a team to search his quarters here. We need to find out how an escaped death eater made his way to Hogwarts and managed to be undetected for nearly three months."

Dumbledore sat down and rubbed his head some more. It was going to be a long evening. As Aurors flooded out of his floo, he just sat in his chair and bemoaned yet another mistake. It was time to stop the mistakes.

Randy the RachmaninoffBird

Unbeknownst to most of the magical population, November the 25th was mating day for the RachmaninoffBird. The males had been spending most of their energy over the past month building a gigantic concert hall out of twigs and straw, and now quite a number of the males strode purposefully onto the stage. The concertmasterbird chirped a concert A, and all of the other birds tuned up.

And then out came the soloistbird and the conductorbird, and all of the females in the audience applauded politely. The soloist sat down at a carefully constructed piano, also built out of twigs, straw, bits of plastic, and some copper wire, and with the raising of its large and brightly colored wings of the conductorbird, the first notes of concerto #3 came out of the stringbird section.

In a secluded area near the forbidden forest, a large Durmstrang student and a petite french student stopped their mutual, very pleasurable explorations of each other, and listened intently. "Do you hear that?", the girl said.

"I do", the boy said. "Sounds like... Rachmaninoff."

As the first strains of the ossia cadenza started, they resumed their prior activities. The chords were very well-timed.

A/N: Thank you for all the reviews, favorites, and follows. No, seriously. I can't tell you how much I appreciate how involved many of you have gotten with this story. Most of the feedback seems related to the question of: Will it be Luna or Hermione, and why does Hermione suck so much? Well, hopefully, one of the answers is to be found here. The other is for the future.

This is a bit of a filler chapter, and maybe not my best work, but I wanted to expand on some of the events that I couldn't or didn't in previous chapters, or from another character's point of view. I hope they fill in some blanks and start to set the stage for what will happen in the future. I will say simply this much: My Amelia is competent, and I wonder what that will be like combined with a reforming Dumbledore.

Listen to Rachmaninoff's third concerto when you get a chance – particularly the Ossia cadenza. It is truly a work of art. I particularly like Argerich or Soerjadi.

And to the guest reviewers? I read your reviews, but I cannot reply. Thank you anyway.

Read? Like? Review!

Update 7/23/16: Fixed some minor spelling errors, added some non story affecting detail.