Chapter Two: Number Four, Privet Drive

Blaise paced the smallest bedroom of number four, Privet Drive furtively. Both Harry and Blaise had reluctantly agreed to stay there for part of the summer. Dumbledore had wanted them to stay here for some odd reason of his. After the fortnight for which they had agreed to stay, the Molly and Arthur characters that the headmaster had told them about would come to retrieve them from prison—as Blaise had already taken to calling it—and they would spend the rest of their summer in the company of some unknown wizarding family. The prospects of the summer were not shaping up well. . . .

The reason for Blaise's continuous pacing was because of how they had been treated so far. As Harry had completely expected, the Dursleys were not at all happy to be the summer host of a witch and a wizard, Blaise and Harry respectively, in their immaculate home at number four, Privet Drive.

As of yet, they had been roughly shoved into Vernon Dursley's company car (the brand new model of the Jaguar, which Vernon and Dudley could barely fit into at the same time) and were rudely ignored throughout the entire car ride all the way to Surrey; they were then forcefully pushed out of said Jaguar and into one of the houses on the extremely normal and boring-looking block. Finally, they had been shoved none-too-gently into the second and smallest bedroom, which had been dully equipped with a wardrobe, two rickety beds, and a desk, along with all the toys that Dudley Dursley had ever broken in his eleven-about-to-be-twelve-year-old life. Then, of course, they had been locked in and ignored (again).

The only good thing that came of this arrangement was that all of the Dursleys seemed to be frightened out of their wits of Harry and Blaise, and they had not taken their trunks away. When Harry had pointed this out to Blaise, however, her only reaction was, "What are we going to do? Homework?" and had busted out laughing at this ludicrous idea.

Blaise was appalled that the Dursleys could treat anyone so hatefully. She had heard vague memoirs and recollections of Harry's, but hadn't really been able to believe that someone could truly mistreat their own flesh and blood—that is, until she had seen it for herself.

However, there was one Dursley that didn't mistreat them—Dudley. He had been very nice to Harry as of late, and had hit on Blaise constantly. Apparently, he wanted to get on Harry's good side so he could have Blaise. Blaise was disgusted. Harry was amazed that Dudley was even attracted to girls.

Now, as Harry sat on the small bed that was his, watching Blaise insult the Dursleys with more colorful swear words that he had ever heard from her—or anyone, now that he thought about it—before, he couldn't help but be miserable. He had vowed never to come back here again, yet here he was, at number four, Privet Drive, forlorn, depressed, and looking like a lost puppy. But then again, he had Blaise and Sneak to cheer him up.

"Don't worry, Harry," Blaise consoled, noticing his discomfort, "it's only a fortnight. Fourteen days and we'll be out of here. Molly and Arthur will come to pick us up bright and fresh on Saturday morning; we'll be out of this hellhole. Then, we get to spend the rest of the summer in their company, okay?"

"It'll be fine, Harry! Look on the bright sside… there are plenty of juicy ratsss—wait, no there aren't. I'm thinking of ssomewhere elsse…" Sneak muttered from Harry's bedside table.

Take back the above statement. They tried to cheer him up.

"Yeah. . . ." Harry breathed mournfully.

"We'll be out of here soon, I promise."

Harry replied with another, "Yeah. . . ." It seemed to be the only thing he was able to say.

"Oi, Harry!" Blaise squealed. "I've just had a wonderful idea!"

Now that sparked his interest. "What?"

"Well, you see . . . it's still vague . . . but maybe . . ." stalled Blaise.

"Spit it out already!" Harry growled. He happened to be very impatient young boy.

His—apparently insane—companion grinned menacingly. "Let's prank 'em."

oOoOo

Everything was finally in place. It had taken all of their time and effort for the past twelve days, but now they were ready. The trick was to execute it perfectly . . . and to get the timing right.

"Psst! Come on, Harry!" Blaise whispered in what she thought was a stealthy tone.

"I'm coming, I'm coming . . ."

Quietly, they made their way down the stairs, Blaise in the lead. As her foot touched the last stair, an ominous creak made its way to their ears.

"Be quiet!"

"It was the stair, you idiot!"

"Don't you go calling me an idiot! You're the one who stepped on the creaky stair we've known about since we had to sneak into the kitchen our first night here!"

"It's a bit different when you're carrying out a prank! In the dark, no less!"

"It was dark the first time we did it! You have no reasonable argument, Blaise."

"Well . . . I tried. You know what's odd? I can put up a reasonable argument to Malfoy, but with you I'm hopeless."

"That's because my intelligence far surpasses yours, not to mention I've known you for a little more than six years. I know how you work."

"Shame I don't know how you work."

"That's because I'm sly and cunning; a true Slytherin. You, however, deserve to be in Gryffindor. You're too clumsy to be sly."

"I do not deserve to be a Gryffindor! And I'm not clumsy!"

"Yes, you do, and you are."

"No, I don't, and I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes."

"NO."

"YES."

"NO!"

The continuous snoring usually heard throughout the house at night suddenly hushed. Harry put his finger to his lips in a motion for her to be silent as he listened in upstairs. As the snores started back up, Harry nodded the affirmative for them to continue tip-toeing their way to the kitchen. Blaise sniffed in disdain. Harry just shook his head at her childish antics.

"Yuck. . . ." Blaise looked around in disgust as they entered immaculately clean kitchen. In fact, Petunia had just finished her bedtime scrub-down.

"Well," Harry sighed, "let's get to work."

oOoOo

The next morning, at precisely six o'clock, Harry and Blaise were woken with a scream. Apparently, Part A of their plan had just been discovered by Petunia Dursley. Blaise giggled evilly.

"Bingo."

"BOY!!!"

"Oops. . . ."

Thundering steps were heard and suddenly there was a jingle as someone fumbled with the multiple locks and barricades on the door, trying desperately to get in. When the person outside finally got them all open—which took a long time—Vernon Dursley came into the room in a ragged rage.

"Boy . . . girl . . ." he spit, loosening his work tie, "what have you done to Petunia's kitchen?"

"Nothing."

"Don't lie to me, boy! I know you did it and I want to know how!"

"We didn't do anything. Even if we wanted to, we couldn't have. We're locked in!" Harry argued.

Of course, that didn't change anything. In truth, Harry had managed to pick every lock and move every barricade. He was a prankster, after all. Oh, yes, being in Slytherin also had its advantages. You learned to do these sorts of things to a tee. Especially when it came to lying. Harry cackled inwardly.

At his words, Vernon's face turned am alarming shade of puce; but not before channeling through all colors of red, green, and some sort of sickly yellow. A dangerous vein throbbed and popped near his right temple. Finally, he said in an effort to be calm, "Petunia doesn't want you freaks set loose in her kitchen. She will clean it herself. Your punishment is to stay in this room—without food—for a week."

Here Blaise snorted, amused. That was all they had been doing for their entire stay! Except, maybe, for the no food part. . . . She was going to have serious trouble with this punishment. . . . Oh, well, they could just raid the kitchen again. No, wait! They were scheduled to leave today! Fat-boy couldn't punish them! Crap . . . they'd forgotten to tell the Dursleys when they were leaving. . . . But that was no loss to Harry and Blaise.

"And no one had better hear a peep!"

"Yes, sir," Harry said monotonously, unaware of the thoughts traveling through Blaise's head at an alarming rate. If he had been aware, he probably would have worried for sanity. . . .

"Aye, aye, cap'n!" Blaise saluted, trying and succeeding in making Vernon hate her and her freaky ways even more than he already did.

Vernon nodded, pleased at their responses, but a little bit suspicious. "Good, now, I have to head to work. Bad day to you."

"Bad day to you, too," Blaise muttered as the door closed and the locks and barricades were clicked and pushed back into place. They distinctly heard the sounds of Vernon tromping down the stairs and both of them mentally deemed to coast to be clear.

Harry looked over at her to see her looking back with a maniacal gleam in her eyes. As soon as Vernon had left near proximity, they made their way down the ivy plant that trailed its way up to the bedroom window. With eager looks on their faces, they hid behind a rose bush to witness the action.

Vernon came out of the house, still fixing his horrid business tie. Smiling like a good wife, Petunia kissed her husband on the cheek in farewell. Then they caught sight of the Jaguar. Their brand-new business car had been graffitied. It was spray painted a revolting yellow color, with vomit-green dots decorating it. (Harry and Blaise had gotten the color inspiration from the way Vernon's face seemed to cycle through the revolting colors when he got angry.) Silver pom-poms where stuck to the hubcaps of the wheels, and the windshield was painted black. A crude drawing of—an apparently mad—Vernon Dursley was where the driving seat would be, with puce patches adding humor to his pudgy cheeks. All in all, it was just enough to get him riled up again. Smirking at their success in Part B, Harry and Blaise started down the street to where they knew Dudley was headed to execute Part C.

When they arrived at the small, dilapidated park located near Wisteria Walk, they immediately spotted Dudley and his gang. Dudley, Piers, Gordon, and Malcolm seemed to be in the process of stealing an eight-year-old girl's sweet money. Blaise nodded to Harry, which was his signal to start antagonizing Dudley. It had all been rehearsed.

Harry stepped out from behind the shadows, advancing on Dudley. He tutted disappointedly. "Dudley, Dudley, Dudley. . . ."

Dudley's face whitened at the sight of Harry; he hadn't been watching to see if they had an audience. Now he was cautious. Even his gang had noticed the drastic change in his attitude—that was saying something. They were all very dumb, or maybe they just put on a good show of being dumb . . . one never knew.

"Dudley, Dudley, Dudley. . . ." he repeated.

"What?" Dudley questioned.

Harry sighed in fake displeasure. Well, it wasn't all that fake; stealing was serious business, but it was fake for the reason he had intended for it. Adding to the effect, he sniffed and wiped invisible tears from his eyes. Dudley was much more stupid than Malfoy so if it worked for Malfoy, then it would work for Dudley. Hiccupping slightly, he explained, "What would your mummy think, Dudley?"

Dudley's pudgy face whitened even more—if that was possible. Grinning inwardly, Harry continued, "What would your mummy do if she could see you now?"

Now it was time for Blaise to take over, she played her part beautifully. "But what about me, Dudley?" she simpered, "What did you think I would say to this barbaric act of cruelty?

"I loved you, Dudley, from the very moment I set my unworthy eyes on you." Blaise looked like she was about to throw up, but Dudley and his gang of baboons didn't seem to notice. "But now . . . I've seen the real you. Stealing from such a sweet young girl. What have you gained, Dudley? A few pounds at the most?

"Now that has all changed. I have discovered my love for someone else,"—Harry was positive that that hadn't been rehearsed—"Specifically, your cousin, Harry."

Dudley turned puce at her words. He turned an even deeper shade when Blaise leaned in toward Harry, ready to give proof of her words. She was five inches away . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . one . . .

"Am I interrupting something?"

Blaise turned around so hard her neck cricked, angry because someone had interrupted her demonstrating her wonderful acting skills. "Who the bloody hell are you?" she asked the man, not wasting time with delicacies or proper etiquette. Harry was speechless, that girl really had some mood swings. Shaking himself mentally and physically, he took a good look at the man before him.

He was tall and lanky, going slightly bald with old age. However, what little hair he did have left was a bright, dark, red color. And . . . what was he wearing?

"I'm Arthur," he said, fingering the buttons of his Hawaiian style shirt while squirming in his maroon-colored corduroy slacks. And was that a hot pink and lime green striped tie? Did this man have any color sense? Harry briefly wondered whether he almost bought a sundress with colorful floral print. It really wouldn't surprise him, although it might shock him.

"Oh, so you're Arthur. Where's Molly?" Harry asked, looking around, thinking someone might jump out from behind the swings, or maybe the seesaw. Or even the monkey bars. Who knows?

"She's at the Burrow getting things ready for you two. Speaking of which, we should get going, everyone will be worried sick if we don't turn up soon."

"Everyone?" Blaise asked unintelligently.

"Oh, didn't you know? I have seven children; only five of them will be there this summer, but we have one other guest besides you. We'll have a full house!" Arthur looked excited at this thought.

Blaise's eyes had gone wide at the mention of seven children. "Think they'll be popping any more out soon?" she whispered to Harry.

"No idea," he whispered back.

Meanwhile, behind the scenes, Dudley and his gang watched apprehensively. Dudley knew what Arthur really was, but Piers, Gordon, Dennis, and Malcolm did not, seeing as how they were eyeing the wizard strangely. Apparently, they weren't as troll-like as Harry had previously thought they were if they knew Arthur's clothes didn't match and weren't native to the area. Harry realized that he might need to do some serious rethinking on his judgement of Dudley's gang. Maybe even Crabbe and Goyle while he was at it.

Now Arthur looked even more uncomfortable than he had before. He was was looking strangely at Dudley and his gang as though he wondered why such buffoons were looking at him like that. Stumbling slightly over his words, Arthur continued, "So . . . are you ready to leave? Do you have everything packed and ready to go? If you do, then we need to be heading back so Molly can fuss over you."

Blaise came out of whatever la-la-land she was in to answer him. "Everything's in the back yard. We weren't sure when you were going to arrive, so we stored them under a rose bush. Me'n Harry'll go get them. You can wait here until we get back."

Without waiting for ran answer, Blaise grabbed Harry's wrist and started power-walking back to the Dursley residence. Harry got the feeling that she wanted to talk to him about something that she did not want Arthur to hear. Just as he suspected, when they were out of range of anybody who happened to be in the park, Blaise whispered, "I get the feeling that I know him from somewhere! I just don't know where! We don't know any adult wizards or witches—minus the teachers, of course—so it must be somebody at school. Who does he remind you of?"

"I dunno," Harry replied. "He does like familiar, but I can't place him."

Blaise growled under her breath as they neared the Dursleys' perfectly mowed lawn towards the rose bush that was sheltering their school trunks. Making sure none of the Dursleys could spot them, they each bent down and started heaving their trunks back down to the park. The trip back passed in a tense silence. If someone had read their emotions correctly, they would have said that they looked extremely nervous and distrustful. They would, of course, be right.

Arthur was in the same position they had left him in: Being watched by Dudley and his gang. It didn't look comfortable for the visitor in the least. In fact, he looked nearly ready to faint from the attention. When he spotted Harry and Blaise, his expression changed to one of gratitude that they had made it back, and, of course, hopeful that they would make Dudley and has dope-boys go somewhere far, far away. But then he took a closer look at their faces. Seeing their guarded looks, Arthur immediately became uncomfortable yet again.

Taking sympathy on him, Harry said, "We're ready to go now, Arthur." He continued, this time addressing Dudley, "Dudley, take my advice for once and leave us the bloody hell alone. Take your friends with you."

When Dudley only looked at Harry in shock for speaking in such a way to him. Blaise, being none too friendly, ordered, "Leave now, and you will save all of your internal and external organs, including one very important one. And if you hesitate, I will make sure that you never have kids at any point in the future. Now, take Harry's advice, and shoo!"

Dudley waddled out of the park and back down the street toward Privet Drive, looking remarkably like a penguin as he did so. Piers, Malcolm, Dennis, and Gordon went back to their respective homes, also, privately hoping never to see Blaise again. She was scary. Arthur just eyed Blaise reproachfully and said, "That wasn't very nice of you."

"And who cares?" Blaise argued. Her personality didn't really call for her to be polite, although she could put on a good show of acting polite. Harry wondered whether it was even in her genetic makeup to be even a bit humane to her enemies. 'Nah,' he thought.

When Arthur continued to look disdainfully at his friend, Harry cleared his throat and said, "We're ready to go now. How are we going to get to this Burrow?"

Arthur looked startled for a moment; he had forgotten Harry was there, being so caught up in trying to make Blaise feel guilty. Giving it up as a lost cause, he replied, "We'll be taking a Portkey directly into the kitchen. We've had it expanded so we'll all fit."

"What's a Portkey?" Blaise asked curiously, wondering what other types of travel wizards used.

The man seemed to think for a bit before answering. "It is . . . a normal object charmed to take you from one place to another."

"How does it work?" questioned Harry.

This time, Arthur didn't hesitate before answering. "You simply touch the charmed object and it takes you to the destined location," he said, looking rather pleased with himself.

"It's timed, so we need to be ready to leave"—Arthur checked his wristwatch—"in about two minutes." He quickly pulled a piece of old parchment from a hidden pocket in his Hawaiian shirt and held it out to Harry and Blaise. "You need simply to touch it—a finger will do . . . there you go. . . .Yes, it's a minute off. . . . We'd better get ready. . . ."

Harry and Blaise looked incredulously over their heads at each other, wondering how odd it would look to a passing Muggle if they happened to see them clutching this piece of parchment. They might think Harry, Blaise, and Arthur were barmy. If Harry had seen this when he still thought magic didn't exist, he would have. Apparently Blaise agreed with him.

"Three . . ." muttered Arthur, still looking at his wristwatch, "two . . . one. . . ."

It happened immediately: Harry felt as though a hook just behind his navel had been suddenly jerked irresistibly forward. Except maybe for the fact that it didn't hurt like a hook would. His feet had left the ground and he could feel Blaise's shoulder banging into his. The three were speeding forward in a howl of wind and swirling color, and if it hadn't been for the parchment—which was pulling them toward it magnetically—they would have spun in all directions. Then—

Harry's feet hit the ground. He staggered back and fell over as Blaise's small body was pushed into his. Arthur looked very windswept, but had managed to keep from keeling over. The Portkey was lazily swaying to the ground.

Blaise looked up groggily as Arthur lent her and Harry a hand up. Looking around, they noticed . . . a house. It wasn't elegant, and it wasn't very well-built. In fact, it looked as though it were held up by magic—which it probably was. But it still looked very warm and inviting.

They were facing a house that looked somewhat like it had once been a large stone pigpen, but extra rooms had been added here and there until it was several stories high and very crooked. Four or five chimneys were perched on top of the red roof and a lopsided sign stuck in the ground near the entrance read: The Burrow. Around the front door lay a jumble of rubber boots and a very rusty cauldron. Several fat brown chickens were happily pecking their way around the yard.

"It's not much, but its home," said Arthur, looking fondly at the house. "So," he continued, "I'd better get you inside so Molly can get you fed. You look like you've been starved."

Well, he wasn't far off the mark. Harry and Blaise had been forced to sneak into the kitchen at night so as to avoid starvation, and they had to keep the portions low unless the Dursleys started noticing food disappearing. The Dursleys certainly weren't about to feed them!

Arthur hurried them toward the house. As soon as they entered, they noticed some strange things. For one, they had seemed to have entered a kitchen of some sort. It was small and rather cramped, even with the Expansion Charm that Arthur had mentioned earlier. There was a scrubbed wooden table and several chairs in the middle, and Harry and Blaise stood next to the table, looking around nervously. They had never been in a wizard house before.

The clock on the wall opposite where they were standing had only one hand and no numbers at all. Written around the edges were things like Time to make tea, Time to feed the chickens, and You're late. Books were stacked haphazardly atop the mantelpiece with titles like Charm Your Own Cheese, Enchantment in Baking, and One Minute Feasts—It's Magic! And unless Harry's ears were deceiving him, the old radio next to the sink had just announced that coming up was the "Witching Hour, with the popular singing sorceress, Celestina Warbeck." They had so much to learn about the wizarding world. . . .

"Oh, dears! You look half-dead! Here, I'll cook something up. You two sit down. Would you like a spot of tea?" a plump, kind-faced woman asked Harry and Blaise as she noticed them standing awkwardly next to the table. Blaise jumped at her sudden appearance, then, trying not to look shocked, replied, "Sure! Though I'm sure Harry wants coffee."

Harry mock-glared at her. "Tea will be just fine, thank you."

Molly looked pleased as she started making breakfast. She bustled around, frying eggs, cooking sausages, and heating toast as she hummed happily. She was through in no time—it was like she had used magic, which she probably had. She started setting the table for ten as Harry and Blaise had a silent conversation. They agreed that they liked this woman, but didn't want to get on her bad side.

Harry and Blaise dug into their plates—which were piled high with food—vigorously. The poor plates were cleared within minutes and Molly dumped on a second helping without needing to be asked.

Correction: They really liked this woman.

They were just finishing their second helping and Molly was trying to get them to eat a third when a girl padded down the lopsided stairs, yawning and still in her pajamas. This girl had very bushy brown hair and brown eyes. This girl was Hermione Granger. Spotting Blaise, she squealed, "Blaise!" before running towards her and catching her up in a hug. Blaise, who didn't especially like hugs most of the time, just sat stiffly until Hermione was finished trying to break her ribcage. Then, Hermione spotted Harry and gave him the came treatment. Harry, who liked hugs just as much as Blaise if not even less, sat rigidly in his chair with a look on his face that told people in the surrounding area that he was ready to vomit.

"It is so good to you two! I was told that you were coming, but they didn't tell us when. Those people—if you can even call them that—were horrible to you both. They had the nerve to take Harry to an orphanage! It makes me wonder what they did to you this summer! I mean—"

"Okay, Hermione, you can calm down now," Blaise interrupted.

The other girl blushed and looked away before mumbling, "Sorry."

"It's alright. Just don't do it again, please," Harry stated.

Hermione gulped and bit her lip before replying, "I'll try."

"Great!"

Hermione sat down and dug into her breakfast with much less vigor than Blaise and Harry had. Of course, she hadn't been close to starving for two weeks, so she had a valid reason to take her precious time.

Suddenly, shouts were heard from upstairs. One girl whose voice was unfamiliar and two boys, whose voices sounded very familiar. They could hear random words every now and then. "What the hell . . . come on, Gin-Gin . . . How'm I supposed to cheer up? . . . do anything too bad . . . painted my room pink!"

Stomps were heard coming ever closer to the landing. A fuming young girl with fiery red hair entered the kitchen; her face looked ready to match her hair, and it had come very close to its goal. Two others—boys, by the sound of their lanky, thudding steps—trailed close behind her.

"We're sorry, Gin-Gin—"

"We won't do it again—"

"Honest!"

"You can help us prank people at school if you want!"

Molly interrupted, "I think not! My daughter is not getting into your sort of mischief!"

The girl—Gin-Gin—looked at her feet, and said quietly, "Yes, Mum."

When her mother had turned her back on them to continue cleaning up the kitchen, she turned to the two boys and nodded an affirmative.

It was then that Harry looked up and realized who the two boys were. It was Fred and George Weasley—more commonly known as Gred and Forge. When Harry noticed this, he spewed the tea he had been about to take a gulp out of across the table and onto Blaise. Needless to say, she was fuming.

"Harry James Potter! You don't go spewing your saliva-covered tea all over me! This may not be the prettiest shirt in the world, but it's my favorite of the ones I do have! If you ever do that again—" Blaise stopped here in her rant when she noticed who Harry was staring at. Turning around, she blanched, and whispered, "Oh, no!"

"Gred? Forge? What the hell are you doing here?" Harry questioned frantically.

"We live here—"

"The question should properly be put to you!"

"What the bloody hell are you doing here?"

Blaise answered this time. "We're staying here for the rest of the summer."

Fred—or George—said, "Oh, well we need to get you acquainted with everyone. Blaise, Harry, this is Ginny, or Gin-Gin. Gin-Gin, this is Blaise Zabini and Harry Potter." He pointed to each one of them in turn.

Ginny's mouth opened in shock at their names. "You're Harry Potter and Blaise Zabini? I have heard so much about you! The Troublesome Two, right? Gred and Forge told me all about the prank you did on Professor Snape, and all about Prank War I."

Harry sighed in relief. He had a feeling she only knew about his fame. Instead, it seemed she knew about their pranks with and against Fred and George.

"Prank War I, eh?" Blaise said. "I like that name. Hope to God that there isn't a Prank War II." Then she added, "That did horrible stuff to my complexion."

Harry snorted again. "You don't care about your complexion. You rolled around in mud for that dare at the orphanage. Made Cromwell right angry, too." His eyes grew dazed as he remembered the time he had dared Blaise to go roll around in the mud if he ever got a prank in on her. Ah . . . the good ol' days. . . .

Blaise blushed as she remembered that particular dare. She had hated having to wash all of that filth off. Unable to get back at Harry with a good quality comeback, she simply looked at her hands with a pinched look on her face.

Fred, George, and Ginny watched the Troublesome Two's interaction with admiration. They had never met Slytherins that were so . . . unSlytherinish. The two were perfect examples of good Slytherins in Ginny's eyes, as well as Fred and George's.

A pompous-looking boy came down the stairs with a whiny look on his face just as Fred, George, and Ginny had started fixing plates of the delicious breakfast that Molly had prepared. "Mother, could you make them be quieter when they go down the stairs? I'm busy, and they are disrupting the silence." This boy was Percy, and he wasn't particularly nice to Harry and Blaise. When he noticed the duo, he asked his mother, "What are they doing here?"

"They're staying here for the rest of the summer, Percy. Professor Dumbledore felt it was for the best. And no, I can't make them be quieter while going down the stairs. I've tried time and time again, and they still stampede like a herd of wild elephants."

When Percy looked back at them, Blaise gave him a wolfish smile. He looked at Blaise uneasily for a moment before turning and heading back up the stairs.

"Probably going back to polish his prefect badge," Fred said.

"That's not all he's doing up there," Ginny said, cutting up her sausage into smaller bits.

"What's he doing, Gin-Gin?" asked George. While Ginny was still eating, Fred and George had put down their forks and were looking at her in anticipation.

"I can't tell you, it'll embarrass him. If it's something really serious, he'll come out and tell everybody soon," replied Ginny, taking a bite of her fritters.

George sighed unhappily and went back to consuming the food on his plate in ways you had never thought possible. Fred gave Ginny "The Look," and when he decided she wasn't going to crack under his gaze, he went back to his food as well. Hermione, who had been quiet throughout this whole conversation, was talking to Ginny under her breath and nodding every once in a while.

The six of them all looked up yet again when another male entered the room. He was dressed in maroon pajamas and a frayed dressing gown. He was still yawning and his hair looked scruffy. It seemed as if he had just gotten out of bed and was answering the call of his stomach. Either way, his appearance did not make the day any better for Harry and Blaise. This boy was Ronald Weasley.

Blaise's fork clattered loudly to her plate as she dropped it. Harry had a bite of bacon stuck in his throat from when he had tried to swallow but couldn't. Ron's eyes were still half-closed, so he couldn't see them clearly. When he finally did open his eyes, his reaction was immediate and loud.

"Hey, Weaselbee."

"YOU!!"