A/N: I own nothing. M for language, violence, and slightly vulgar humour. I swear on my mother's best spring rolls that happier times are ahead.


Chapter 36: Cedo Vi Superiori

This was bad.

Actually, if Daphne was being completely honest with herself, this was pretty much catastrophic.

"Damn!" she whispered. She shook her head. Around her, she could hear students gathering at the entrance to the Great Hall, pointing, whispering and gasping at the sight before them.

It definitely wasn't that Daphne disagreed with it; in fact she knew it was true, regardless if anyone could prove it. But seeing it written out in big bold letters, her eyes and mind absorbing the full impact of the words, Daphne knew what it meant.

Perhaps the most severe punishment a student could get, something that no one had, as yet, experienced thus far.

"I'll kill them myself," Daphne said, apprehension mixing with guilt and nausea in her guts as she realized what her next duties were going to be.

At the other end of the Great Hall, opposite its large doors, a large white bed sheet hovered above the teacher's table. On it was writing: black letters, bold and flashing, the meaning clear to anyone who saw it—

"WE FIGHT FOR HARRY POTTER!!

WE FIGHT FOR DUMBLEDORE!! NOT HIS MURDERER!!

DOWN WITH SNAPE!! DOWN WITH SNAPE!!"

"Miss Greengrass."

Daphne snapped her head towards the voice. McGonagall stepped up to her and bent down to speak in a hushed voice. "A word, if you please."

They moved aside, allowing more and more students access to observe the audacious display.

"Miss Greengrass, I'm afraid this incident will not be easy to overlook. As were the suits of armour that were charmed yesterday."

She nodded. "I agree, Professor."

"I want you to be honest with me." The Scotswoman peered at Daphne over her spectacles. "Do you know who did this?"

"I can assure you I don't."

McGonagall took another step closer to Daphne and continued speaking in a very low voice, directly into Daphne's ear. "As extraordinary as I find the courage of those who choose to speak up, I must tell you that it falls upon us teachers to turn in the culprit or culprits to the Carrows for—" McGonagall's face twisted in palpable disgust, "for punishments."

Daphne deflated. "Yes, Professor. I'm aware of that."

She put a hand on Daphne's shoulder and eyed her carefully. "I want your assurances that you'll make every effort to find out who did this."

"Y-yes. Absolutely."

"And when you find out their identity, make sure you tell no one but me, or Professors Sprout or Flitwick." She drew herself back up. "We will do whatever we can to make sure the culprit or culprits do not meet with any excessive disciplinary measures. Do you understand?"

Daphne wanted to smile, but she didn't. She forced herself to nod slowly. "I understand perfectly."

"Very well." McGonagall gave her a nod. "Now, please attend to your Head Girl duties and make sure this throng is cleared out before the Headmaster and others arrive."

"Yes, Ma'am." Daphne bowed and pivoted sharply on her heels. She sucked in a breath and started shouting.

"All right, you lot! Head Girl here. Move out. Make way for the teachers. And stop your silly gawking!" The students gaped and glared at her, but the younger ones complied with her commands. Daphne began shepherding them into the Great Hall in fairly orderly fashion, beckoning to the other prefects as she saw them to help her out.

As the students filed into the Great Hall, several stopping to gawk at the sign, Daphne's mind ran through all the possibilities of who could've put that sign up. The most obvious was Terry. Possibly with a little help from Luna. The school had been witness to their antics with the suits of armour in the defence corridor just last night, and it seemed likely that they might have planned the sign along with the singing.

Of course, never put it past any of the Gryffindors to act stupidly bold . . . or was it boldly stupid? This might have been something cooked up by Neville and Ginny as a way of reestablishing their House as pre-eminent haven for the subtlety-impaired.

She froze. The colour drained from her face.

(Merlin's Itchy Taint!)

(Fuck!)

(Fuck fuck FUCK!)

The dungeons.

Daphne was fairly sure that the dungeons were now open, but no one had said a word since Blaise's last report to her at the beginning of December. The D.A. hadn't been doing too much because of what had happened to Terry. And to her knowledge, the Carrows hadn't started taking students into the dungeons. Yet.

(This is going to change that.)

It was the only thing she could be sure of.

Daphne spun around from the stream of students walking into the Great Hall. She bit her fingernails as she slowly approached the small hallway on the right side of the great staircase—

"Psst! Daphne!"

She looked around. The voice sounded familiar, but she couldn't see where it was coming from.

"Behind you!"

She pivoted around. "Michael?'

His eyes scanned around the room. He beckoned her towards the broom closet that he was currently inside.

Daphne made sure no one suspicious was watching them; everyone was still fairly preoccupied with the sign. She entered the broom closet and shut and locked the door behind her.

"Lumos!" She lit up the inside of the closet and found her chest pressed against Michael's, which, of course caused him to look down at her.

And not at her eyes.

"Whoa! Tight spot."

She flashed him a saucy grin. "Corner, I hope you didn't just drag me in here for a snog?"

He tore his gaze away from her chest. "No. No, we've got some serious matters to talk about."

"Well, I hope so. Absconding Slytherins in broad daylight while the school's overrun with Death Eaters is not really exercising that brilliant Ravenclaw mind of yours. So, come on." She crossed her arms and smirked at him. "Make it worth my while."

"Are you saying snogging with me isn't worth your while?"

"Focus Corner!"

"All right, all right." He smiled and gave a small sigh of disappointment, but he complied with her command. "You saw that sign, right?"

"What? The big one hovering over the teacher's table accusing Snape of murder? Yeah, I might've caught it," she said sarcastically. "Why?"

Michael took a breath. "Do you know who did it?"

"No I don't."

"Have you spoken to McGonagall or any of the other teachers? Do they know?"

"No. Right now, everyone's guesses are as good as — wait. Do you?"

He said nothing, only continuing to stare at her.

"Michael, do you know something?"

Finally, he responded. "I might."

She groaned. "Please don't say it was you."

"Look, Daphne." He put his hand up to block any more slaps from her. "I'm not at liberty to say—"

"Not at liberty?! What the hell do you mean 'not at liberty'? You'd better 'get' some 'liberty', Michael, or so help me—"

"I can't. I can't tell you who did it, because I don't know for sure. But Tony and I have our suspicions."

"Oh, bloody hell!" Daphne stared at him, flabbergasted. "It was Terry, wasn't it? Just Terry? Or Terry and Luna?"

He shook his head. "Like I said, I don't know."

"Look, I have to find out who did it. McGonagall wants to know. McGonagall, Flitwick and Sprout're going to try to go between Snape and the Carrows, and not have whoever put that sign up tortured by them." She grabbed his jumper, and pulled him towards her. "Think about this. The dungeons must be ready for students by now. If the Carrows get to Terry—"

"We don't know whether Terry did it."

"Well whomever!" She clung to his arms. "Michael, if the Carrows get their hands on the students who did it, they'll take them into the dungeons. They'll do things to them that'll make the Cruciatus look like nice snog on summer afternoon."

His eyes floated to the ground. Daphne could barely see his chin quivering. Michael kept biting his lips and blinking.

He was clearly nervous about something.

"Michael?"

He brought his hands to her waist and met her eyes, his face resolute. "Terry's already been through a lot. He shouldn't be tortured on top of everything else, Daphne. It sh-should be someone else, then. Someone, y'know . . . who did him wrong. Someone who might be able to do a bit of good now."

"What – are – you – thinking?" Her hands tightened on his jumper.

He didn't say a word, and instead drew her to him and kissed her, softly this time.

They broke apart, and before Daphne could ask him another question, Michael opened the door to the broom closet and left, walking in the direction of the Great Hall.

She hit her palm against the doorframe. "Dammit!"

(Of all the bloody Ravenclaws, I pick the one that's most like a bloody Gryffindor.)


Snape paced in front of the hall. Every pair of eyes, teachers and students all, watched him, following every move, waiting for him to draw his wand.

The only teachers not present were the two Carrows, and Merlin knew where they were.

Ginny scanned the hall, trying to make sure each and every member of the D.A. was accounted for. They were, except at the Ravenclaw table. Two wizards were shifting around nervously, desperately looking for the third member of their trio.

"Where's Terry?" Parvati leaned over and whispered to Ginny.

She shrugged. "I've got no idea—"

"SILENCE!" Snape roared. He shot a furious glare at the Gryffindor table.

And then he smirked.

"It should come as no surprise that the old dungeons, once used ages past for punishments against troublemakers within the student body, have now – been – reopened!"

Not a soul dared to make a sound.

"The Carrows have taken great pains to remove the enchantments that had sealed them up for far too long." His smirk grew into a malicious grin. "Today, I am pleased to inform all of you that the transgressor or transgressors who dared to disrespect me and the school with these foul accusations and this horrible sign," he drawled, gesturing to the sheet still hanging above the teacher's table, "shall be the first to enjoy all the comforts that the dungeons afford."

He took two long strides—

"Shackles."

He walked further down, keeping a steady gait.

"Whips."

He continued his pace.

"Hot irons. Stretching racks. Good enough "to pull apart, to stretch . . . all these smaller ones." He sneered at several first year Hufflepuffs.

"And three disciplinarians who have no qualms — NO QUALMS WHATSOEVER! — with making you experience first hand what pain feels like." He stopped walking and smiled coldly at the students.

"I assure you, this will hurt you far worse than it hurts me."

"Stop this, Severus!"

McGonagall flew from the teachers' table towards the Headmaster, her face alight with fury and desperation. "You're scaring these children, Sev- . . . Headmaster! They are only children. They are innocent!"

"INNOCENT? Do you think I am an idiot?" Snape thrust his face at her; Ginny thought for a few moments he would bite her nose off, so close was he to the Transfiguration professor. "They are disrespectful heathens! They break rules and they do not expect to be punished. As their Headmaster, it falls upon me to ensure that they are taught their lessons so they can grow and be responsible members of our society. Don't you agree, Minerva?"

"Don't call me—"

"I'll – call – you – anything – I – damn – well – like!" Snape interjected rapidly. "I am Headmaster here! And if you keep talking, I shall strike you down in front of all the students. Do you want them to watch you fall?"

"Then do it. Torture me if you must, but spare them."

The entire Gryffindor table roared in protest. Neville nearly jumped out of his seat and ran over to get between the professor and the Headmaster. There was a commotion at the teachers' table as Hagrid bellowed loudly.

"Don' you hurt one hair on her head, Snape!"

Other teachers begged with McGonagall to come back and admonished Snape.

McGonagall held her hand up.

"Don't even think about it! Any of you." She shot the entire Gryffindor House a look that said they would live to regret it if they didn't obey her at that very moment. She turned and nodded at the teachers. Finally, she returned to Snape. "What are you waiting for, Severus? Do it."

His horrible, soulless grin reappeared. "You tempt me far too much, Minerva."

"Do it now, and leave the children alone."

He aimed his wand at her, his grin widening even more. "I've been waiting for this for a very long time."

McGonagall shut her eyes. Gryffindor House held their breaths.

Snape opened his mouth—

"HEADMASTER!"

Snape pivoted around as Amycus Carrow entered, magically dragging someone behind him. "We got him! We got the bastard who made that sign and who charmed the suits of armour last night." Carrow flicked his wand in front of him, and the entire Great Hall gasped as a beaten figure slid across the stone floor.

"Terry? Terry!" Michael and Anthony shouted as the same time. They tried running over to their mate, but Carrow pointed his wand at the pair of them.

"Come any closer, and I'll curse him until he loses his mind."

The two wizards froze right where they were, but the looks they aimed at Carrow could've struck the Death Eater dead.

Terry struggled with sitting up. His face was bloody; his nose looked like it was broken and had been bleeding down his face. Two shiners were growing on his face, and his clothes were torn in several places. He finally managed to raise his head.

"Y-yeah . . . I did it. The sign. The song last night." He panted. "Those were all me." Shakily, Terry managed to smile in defiance.

"Well? G-go on!" Terry shouted. "Give me your best shot!"

"Mister Boot," Snape lowered his wand; McGonagall stared at the Ravenclaw with shock. "You are willing to accept sole responsibility?" The Headmaster waited for an answer.

Terry nodded, still breathing heavily. He wiped the blood away from his face. "Yeah. All of it." He looked around, meeting the eyes of the other members of the D.A. "I snapped." He watched Snape with hungry, bloodthirsty eyes, ones that revealed nothing other than pure hatred and a loss of any self-control.

Ginny was petrified as she watched the entire scene unfold before her. The Gryffindors clung to the table and grasped at each other, as if trying to hold back from running out and stopping the madness themselves. Neville was livid; if Parvati, Seamus and Lavender weren't holding him back, he would've gone for it.

Snape walked towards Terry. The Ravenclaw kept his eyes on him.

And as fast as a Snitch, Snape slapped his already bruised face.

"Headmaster!" McGonagall exclaimed.

He ignored her and turned to Carrow. "Whip him! Twenty lashes for last night's display with the suits of armour." He turned around and looked at the large, flashing sign above his chair at the teachers' table. "And five for that abomination up there."

He nodded at Carrow, who gave him a small bow, and walked out of the Hall.

Pointing his wand at Terry, Amycus Carrow Conjured a pair of shackles that clamped onto the Ravenclaw's ankles and wrists and hauled him out of the Hall, straight towards the dungeons.


They thought the worst part of the day was watching helplessly as Terry Boot confessed. But they were wrong.

The worst part came after classes and dinner.

Dumbledore's Army had convened for the first time since the middle of November in the Room of Requirement. They sat together as a group as Terry became the unfortunate soul to christen the dungeons.

"I tried to find the cell they were keeping him in, but they've put up charms to disguise them. They all looked empty." Daphne mumbled despondently.

"I'd think, after all the trouble the Carrows went through to remove the spells that had sealed them up, they'd make sure to hide the cells once they were put back to use," Blaise Zabini said with a shrug.

Michael and Anthony were horribly shaken at the turn of events.

"It should've been us," Michael said weakly, his eyes staring at nothing.

"Why? Why do something so bloody blatant?" Anthony asked. He sat next to Michael, his eyes shut; he refused to look at anything or anyone. He beat his head against the stone wall in a steady, rhythmic fashion.

To Ginny's right, there was a sniffle. "I should've stood up in the hall, too. Terry shouldn't be taking all of the blame. I did help him with the song last night."

"No Luna. You've already taken your turn. You've done so much for him." Anthony stared at her with his most grave expression. "If anyone should've taken the blame, it should've been us, but we were too bloody cowardly—"

"Oh, stuff it!"

Blaise shook his head in disgust at the others. "This was Boot's decision. End of story. He made his bed, and he chose to lie in it, and all of you are trying to better each other with, 'Oh, but I'm so noble! It should've been me instead of him'!"

His mocking tone enraged the others. Michael and Anthony, in particular, looked like they were about to rip his head off.

Daphne tried to cut him off. "Blaise! Of all the times to go off in a rant, this isn't one of them."

"Why not?" Blaise watched the entire room, which was staring at him with daggers in their eyes. "I stand by what I said. Look, I'm sure Boot had his own selfless and noble reasons for doing what he did, but at the end of the day, it was his show. His work. And his choice to take the punishment." He straightened himself back up, his tone milder than before. "I don't like whinging for the sake of whinging. I don't like this whole one-upmanship to prove some loyalty to the idiot, acting like he's some delicate flower that needs protection. Newsflash — he doesn't!"

"You should really consider shutting your fat, ignorant mouth, Zabini." Michael was standing up and eyeing Blaise like he was about to sock him in his handsome face.

But Blaise didn't back down. "There are times when you have to let things play out, Corner. Let everything happen as it's meant to. There's a reason for it. And bloody grow a pair and start learning to play with the adults!"

"SONOROUS!"

Amycus Carrow's voice resonated against the cold, hard walls of the room. Everyone stilled, their eyes shooting up at the ceiling where the voice apparently originated.

"STATE YOUR NAME!"

There was a pause, and then the audible sound of dried lips smacking together. "Terrance . . . Callum . . . Boot."

"WHY ARE YOU HERE?"

"B-because I . . . I told the truth about Snape and Dumbled—"

There was a loud SMACK! The entire room jumped at the sound of the impact.

"WHAT WAS THAT, BOY?!"

Terry gasped. "I'm here b-because I . . . did not follow rules."

"AND YOU PROMOTE AN ENVIRONMENT IN WHICH CHAOS WOULD THRIVE!"

"What the hell's Carrow playing at?" Anthony asked, gaping at the ceiling.

Michael grasped his head. "He's not—? Fucking hell, he's going to broadcast Terry's punishment over the entire castle."

There were several sobs in the room. Parvati stuffed her fist into her mouth, trying to silence her crying. Even Blaise Zabini watched with his eyes turned upwards, staring at the ceiling in horror.

"AND WHAT, BOY, IS YOUR PUNISHMENT?"

"Twenty-five lashes."

"WHAT DO YOU CALL ME?"

Terry paused, and the others could hear him swallow. "Sir!"

"GOOD! NOW — COUNT!!"

There was a sound like a sharp intake of breath, and then—

A loud CRACK!

The unmistakable sound of whip hitting flesh.

And a howl of pain.

Terry sucked in a breath. "One . . . S-Sir."

Another crack. Another scream. "T-two, s-sir." Terry's voice cracked.

And there was a cackle.

"Fucking sadist!" Michael shouted. He hit the wall with his fists in a futile gesture. "YOU SADISTIC BASTARD! LET HIM GO!"

The next cracks of the whip were the same. Carrow striking him, and Terry counting, finishing each number with a hissing, broken "sir". The D.A. flinched every time the whip snapped on Terry's body.

"Terry's always been impulsive; he acts before he thinks. But h-he can't have known this w-was . . . was going to be his punishment." Anthony inhaled deeply, recoiling as the whip came down again. He crumpled, his head falling against the wall, as Terry's cry cut through the air. The group watched Anthony quietly as his shoulders shook.

Michael stared up at the ceiling, his whole body shaking from anger and grief. "People don't realize just how smart he really is. Terry m-might act like a clown." Michael shook as Terry screamed again. "H-he's always joking about c-copying off of Tony. Truth is, he never needs to."

"He always pretends to look off of our work," Anthony said softly. "But whenever I look at his parchment, he's somehow managed to write down the right answers. With-without any h-help."

"And h-he's good about knowing people. He just cares, y'know? Knows just what someone needs."

"And he needed to do this?" Parvati asked with a desperate, wet voice. "Why, though?"

"YEEEARGH!" Terry yelled."FUCK!"

The room fell silent.

Another crack.

Another scream, except this time—

"AAARGH! THAT . . . TICK- . . . LES!"

Every pair of eyes flew upwards. Michael started shaking. "What the hell. . . ?"

Anthony braced himself against the wall, smiling warily at first. A couple of disbelieving chuckles escaped from him and Anthony slapped his hand over his mouth. "Terry . . . wha-what's he doing?"

The whip cracked again.

Terry hissed loudly. "GAAARGH! Y' . . . SHOULD BUY A BLOKE . . . DINNER . . . F-FIRST! S-SIR!"

Michael and Anthony both chortled this time. "I can't believe it." Michael said, aiming his voice to the ceiling, grinning as wide as he could. "You tell 'em, Terry!" They pumped their fists in the air.

Padma gasped. "What does he think he's doing?" she asked in a horrified voice.

"He's being Terry, Paddy!" Michael ran over to her and shook her. "Come on, Boot! Tell 'em!"

Another sound of the whip cracking on Terry's back.

"D' . . . YA . . . WHIP . . . YER . . . MOTHER – AAARGH-GEARGH! W-WITH THAT ARM? SIR!"

"QUIET BOY!" and there was a smack that cracked through the air. "YOU KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT!"

Terry responded, but in Latin this time.

"NIH- . . . NIHIL UMQUAM F-FACTUM ERIT QUOD . . . BA-BABOON DOMINUS EST! SIR!"

Michael and Anthony chortled. As did Padma. Luna grinned even wider. "Slashkilters would've been better, but I definitely agree!"

"What was that?" Parvati asked, wiping at her face. "All I caught 'baboon'."

"'Nothing will ever get done with a baboon in charge! Sir!'" Michael responded, shaking his head and smiling.

"Terry loves languages!" Anthony smacked Michael on the shoulders. "Actually, he loves swearing in other languages."

"He really loves Latin. Thinks it makes him sound all intelligent when he uses Latin or French on witches! And he likes being vulgar with it, because few know what he's saying." Michael was jumping up and down, and he cupped his mouth with his hands. "We're here with ya, mate! Keep going—"

There was a series of loud and fast snaps. And screaming.

The entire room went quiet, their faces draining of colour . . .

Waiting.

"SPEAK IN FUCKING ENGLISH, YOU MIXED-BLOOD SHIT!"

"Come on Terry! Don't let him get to you!" Michael and Anthony were yelling out to him, their arms around their shoulders.

"COLEOS . . . BESTIAE . . . MINISCULAE . . . HABES!"

"Hah!" The Ravenclaws all hollered in exultation. They turned to the others to translate.

"'You have the balls of a much smaller creature!'" Anthony explained. The room erupted in laughter.

"I FUCKING SAID TO SPEAK ENGLISH, YOU DISGUSTING, FUCKING SHIT!" Carrow's voice bellowed in the air. He whipped Terry four more times, and they could hear intakes of breath and moaning as Terry absorbed each one.

"DID I WHIP IT OUT OF YOU, YOU LITTLE FUCK? YOU DEVIANT SLIME?" Carrow's voice was cruel, inhuman. "YOU WILL BE BROKEN. YOU WILL LEARN TO OBEY AND TO FOLLOW US!"

Michael was trembling, but his eyes stayed focused on the ceiling, waiting to hear his friend's voice. Anthony stood as still as a statute, Padma on his right, Luna on his left. The entire room gravitated towards them.

"Please be all right . . . please be all right . . . please, just say something, Terry." Parvati shut her eyes and folded her hands together.

There was a breath—

"C-CEDO . . . VI SUPERIORI!"

The Ravenclaws let out an awed gasp.

"I yield—"

"—To a greater person." Michael finished Anthony's statement.

The room had been holding their breaths; they exhaled in unison, all of them looking up in quiet admiration.


Terry's punishment lasted one hour. As soon as they had heard Carrow cut him down and his body fall to the floor, the Ravenclaws bolted towards the West Tower to be there when Terry arrived.

The rest of the D.A. went back to their respective houses. They said nothing to the students that lingered downstairs, even though they wanted to talk about what their ears had just witnessed—

"Neville! Parvati! Did you guys hear that?"

"What's going on? With Boot?"

"He's . . . he's still alive, right?"

"Neville, did you guys know he was going to turn himself in?"

He could only shake her head. "Look, Cosima, Demelza, All of you. We haven't heard how Terry's doing. The prefects," he nodded at a red-eyed Parvati Patil, who returned the gesture, "will get some answers as soon as possible."

"Neville!"

He turned around as Jack Sloper stepped forward. "If you see him or his friends," he looked at the other Gryffindors behind him, "tell him that he was great, today."

The next morning, the Gryffindors made their way down to the Great Hall for breakfast in the same pattern as they always did these days; Neville at the front, Parvati in the rear, and the other prefects and older students, seventh year to fifth, capping the rows, making sure to keep the younger students inside the formation.

This particular arrangement was unique to the Gryffindors. The Hufflepuffs had decided that the older ones, Zacharias Smith included, would surround the younger, and the third through fifth years would pair up with the first and second years within the circle.

Ravenclaw had opted for lines, each set of prefects at the head and end of each row, but with Luna, Michael and Terry usually leading as well. Some of the Ravenclaws, fifth year and below, strayed from the crowd, but it was easy to divine why; they fell right in lockstep with several groups of Slytherins, as did a smaller number of younger Hufflepuffs, ones that Ernie, Hannah and Susan had all identified as students who were seeking some degree of protection or power behind the one House that could roam the halls without fear of attack.

Ginny nudged both Parvati and Neville. "Look."

The Ravenclaws were coming in first in front of the Gryffindors. Ginny could see Anthony helping a limping, bruised and battered Terry Boot, making sure he could walk.

"Parvati," Ginny shook her friend, "Terry's okay." She smiled at the seventh year prefect, who let out a relieved breath—

"What, in the name of Salazar Slytherin, do you think you're doing?!"

Everyone stopped walking as they watched Amycus Carrow shove Anthony away from Terry. "He's suffering because of his punishment! He does notneed – help!" the Death Eater roared.

Anthony, now joined by Michael, stood and eyed Carrow with unprecedented venom.

Shaking his head, Terry pushed off of his friend. He limped, grunted, and groaned with exertion. The groups of students backed away from the doors leading to the Great Hall.

Terry dragged his whipped body up to the large wood and metal doors and thrust his shoulder against the crack, but it was obvious it hurt him far too much to put any pressure on his wounds. Neville Longbottom girded himself and walked towards the doors, as did Ernie, Seamus, Michael and Anthony. All the wizards pushed on the doors, opening them up. They got them open just enough to allow Terry passage.

He turned and looked at each one of them. He smiled and locked eyes with Neville, who gave him a grin and a nod.

"Thanks."

With that, Terry hauled his body slowly into the Great Hall, entering the room before anyone else. He took a seat at the Ravenclaw table, allowing himself to only sweat, but just a little bit, from the pain.


A/N: The literal translation of "Nihil umquam factum erit quod baboon dominus est!" is "Nothing will ever get done because a baboon is master!" Thank you so much to stella8h8chang for the awesome help with Latin.