Hey there– a few thinks to take care of:

Thanks to my anonymous reviewer, I will take all into consideration; you have just helped me a lot with this story!

I will have to change/add/minus a few events from the actual books to fit this story, so don't get confused and think you skipped 20 pages somewhere in the books.

If you want the story to include a particular character/pairing, leave a review with the request and I will try and work it in-just for you!

All belongs to JK Rowling

Alright! On with the story!

Jettt

Chapter 3: The Grim

'Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me, for what he tells me is the four-hundred-and-sixty-second-time, to remind you all that magic is not permitted in corridors between classes…' Feeling full and slightly sick, I put my elbows on the table and try and focus on the rest of Dumbledore's Speech.

'Hem, hem'. The new Defense against the Dark Arts teacher Professor Umbridge has stood up, intending to make a speech. Everyone is paying attention as she begins to tell us all this rubbish about 'progress for the sake of progress' and 'perfecting what needs to be perfected'. It's so bizarre that even Fred and George Weasley have stopped trying to sling pudding at the first years. I can see Harry glaring murderously at Umbridge; actually, a lot of people are looking rather murderous at the moment, particularly the first years, who have pudding all over their new robes.

'Aaaahhhh, I've missed you!' I sigh, flopping down on my bed in the girl's dormitories.

'So you missed the bed more than us?' Says Rebecca Chambers, a girl in my year. As more of the girls from the dormitory file in, there's screaming and hugging and squealing. By the end of the night I'm so tired that not even Lavender's snoring could keep me awake.

I oversleep. First class of the day is Divination, luckily, when I run into the room five minutes late Trelawney is too busy predicting the impending doom of various fifth years that she doesn't notice me slide into my seat.

'You!' For a second I think that Trelawney has caught onto me, given that I'm puffing and don't have my book open, but she grabs my shoulder, almost like she's just had a minor heart attack.

'What's that in your crystal ball?' Let me tell you, I have no inner eye, I will never have any inner eye, all I see was Dean's reflection grinning at me through the ball. Apparently that is all Seamus can see too, because he is trying to look up 'Dean Thomas' in the text book to see what it might mean.

'My dear, you have…the Grim'. I'm not that worried, eight students have had the grim so far. Trelawney looks at me concernedly, the totters off to the blackboard to write down some homework.

'I think that was a little harsh on you, Dean', I say.

'What?'

'I don't think you look like a dog', says Seamus.

'Very funny guys', Dean says, but the sarcasm is lost in the wide, lopsided grin that reaches across his face.

Sometimes you've got to do what you've got to do, and that includes scabbing*homework ideas for the essay Snape gave us for homework.

'Please Hermione? I'm begging!' The thing is, in this case it's not a figure of speech, I'm actually begging. I'm on my knees in front of Hermione Granger in the Gryffindor common room.

'I've already got Harry and Ron to help'. I grab her legs, and she's dragging me along the floor toward the stairs while I'm repeating 'please' over and over. Yes, I have plenty of dignity left. It only takes another hour of me clinging to Hermione's leg to get the info I need. At eleven, I'm walking to the girls' dorms when Dean catches up with me.

'Quidditch trials are soon, do you think that we could train together?' He says breathlessly, 'I really want to make the Gryffindor team'.

'Um, yeah sure, Dean, I'll meet you by the lake tomorrow?'

He smiles that smile at me and lops off to the boys dorms.

I don't know why I can't stop smiling.

*Verb: to obtain a good or money from someone for free by asking them (OR homework from Hermione Granger).

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