"Ugh," sighed Ana as she sat up in her bed, her chin resting in her palms. "Just as I thought I was feeling better, too." She felt like slamming the fantasy novel she was reading on the floor, but thought better of it.

Sabrina Flores and Jillian Marlowe, Ana's roommates, had just broken the news that Wampus clinched the fourth Quiz Bowl of the term – thus evening the series at two wins apiece. Sabrina could only shake her head sadly at Ana's reaction. "If it means anything," she offered in a commiserating tone, "it's not like Wampus ran away with it. They wagered everything they had in the final round, and still beat us by only fifteen points."

"They tied the series, but we still have the edge as far as a running point total goes," added Jillian, sweeping a lock of her dark chocolate hair back. "Six hundred twenty to five-ninety-five. Theoretically, they could win the next game and you'd go to Scotland, so long as it's by fewer than twenty five…"

"And if they beat us by exactly twenty-five," mumbled Ana, "they win the tiebreaker by either winning, or at least finishing ahead in the fifth match."

"I know it sucks feeling so helpless, but you gotta accept that this was just out of your hands, Ana," Sabrina said. "We're still in good position to represent Ilvermorny in April."

Ana shook her head. "You're right… but why today of all days to get sick? It's just not fair."

"Look on the bright side, 'Stasia," squeaked Jillian. "Better this one than the fifth and final one of the term – or worse yet, getting sick just before you're due to head for Scotland!"

"I'd prefer that I not miss any," countered Ana. "And don't jinx it!"

A particularly sneaky expression crept on Jillian's face as produced her wand, but Ana grimaced. "Not literally, Jilly," she snarled.

Sabrina tilted her head. "I didn't know you to be the superstitious type, Ana."

"Normally, I'm not," admitted Ana, "but after today, I could use all the good luck I can get…"

"There's always the felix felicis potion," offered Sabrina. "If we clinch the Ilvermorny Quiz Bowl Cup, you might want to take a swig of that. Just a few drops, mind you. Taking too much can make you reckless and put you on edge."

"Liquid Luck?" asked Ana. "I've heard of it, but I've never taken it, nor have I even attempted to brew it. Merlin, it's an even more tedious potion to brew than Polyjuice – it takes a good six months! Unless someone already has some on hand, there's no way I'll be able to drink it… besides, it's a banned substance per the International Quiz Bowl rule book, and probably most other competitive events too, I'd wager."

Jillian folded her arms across her chest as she scrunched her face. "That probably won't stop Durmstrang," she huffed. "Dabblers of dark magic, the lot of them."

"While it's true that they don't shy away from the darker aspects of magic, they seem to be pretty honorable competitors," Ana said. "They've only won the International Quiz Bowl thrice in the past twenty years. That's as many as us, and Beauxbatons has only won two!"

Sabrina was deep in thought, and even began counting on her fingers. "That means that Hogwarts has won twelve of the past twenty International Quiz Bowl Cups," she concluded. "Academically they're no better than any of the other Big Four schools, so something's not adding up… pun possibly intended."

"It's because Slytherin's represented Hogwarts most of those years," Ana said matter-of-factly. "Like I said, Durmstrang – at least to my knowledge – competes with honor. However, from what my British friends have said, Slytherin – which has a reputation similar to Durmstrang - has no qualms with doing whatever it takes to win. They'll cut corners, bribe, blackmail, and yes, outright cheat to achieve their goals."

"So if what you're telling me is true, most of those Hogwarts victories are questionable," surmised Jillian.

"Slytherin can cheat all they want, but they still won't beat the Horned Serpents," promised Sabrina. She smiled at Ana. "You can beat those nitwits by yourself. Come April, they'll be in for a rude awakening… they won't know what hit them."

"I hope you're right, Sabrina," sighed Ana.

"Rest up, 'Stasia," cooed Jillian. "Hopefully come morning, you'll be well enough to join us downstairs for breakfast."

The following Thursday morning at Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy trudged his way from the Hufflepuff dorms to the Great Hall for breakfast. Unfortunately, the Hufflepuff dorms were in the basement – not at all far from the dungeons which housed the Slytherin students. Just as he thought he had made it to the Great Hall unscathed, he was stopped by a trio of unsavory Serpents – Pansy Parkinson, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle.

"Good morning, Malfoy," greeted Pansy in an unnaturally-saccharine tone. "You seem to be in a hurry to get to breakfast this morning. What's the rush?"

"We've got an opportunity for you," Crabbe added. "A chance to prove you're a real Malfoy, and not one of those useless skunk-weasels."

"I don't think so," Draco answered coolly. "Now, I'll just be on my way…"

"You ain't even heard us yet, mate," chimed in Goyle, clapping a hand on Draco's shoulder, effectively preventing him from fleeing. He gestured toward Pansy, who produced a small flask with a cork stopper which sealed it.

"Transfiguration is such a bore," Pansy said. "I was hoping someone would, erm, spice things up? Old McGonagall is so uptight… this little doozy should loosen her up a bit." She gently shook the concoction and offered it to Draco. "A bit of the flatulessence potion… slip just a few drops in her afternoon tea and she'll have bad gas for days!" She smiled mirthfully. "Courtesy of my elder brother, of course. He purchased some from Zonko's Joke Shop."

Draco shook his head. "I'm not gonna do it. I'm not your stooge."

Pansy's expression turned diabolical. "Oh, but I think you should reconsider, Malfoy. It doesn't require a gift of clairvoyance to know that you've got a massive crush on Granger." She mock-gasped, slapping a palm to her cheek. "What would your father think? A purebred heir of one of Magical Britain's most prominent families… finds a mudblood attractive?"

"For what it's worth, I don't like her – not like that. But at least she's a nice girl. She doesn't mock or torment me," Draco retorted. "Unlike someone I know."

"If you wanted a nice girl, you could've had the decency to fall head-over-heels for her roommate, Greengrass," Pansy continued in her falsely-sweet tone. "And truthfully, she's far prettier than Granger, not to mention Lucius would find her plenty satisfactory as she's also of quality lineage…" She tapped her fingers on her chin thoughtfully. "Imagine… what would happen if word gets out that Draco Malfoy fancies the homely little moppet, Hermione Granger." An ominous cackle escaped her lips, while Crabbe and Goyle smirked at each other with anticipation. "So… are you in?"

Draco contemplated the proposal. He knew it was wrong, but he also wasn't sure if he wanted to take the risk of being humiliated in front of the whole school, not to mention invoking the shame and wrath of his blood supremacist father. He looked at the three Slytherins in the eye– Goyle, then Crabbe, and then finally Pansy – before uttering a defiant "No!"

Crabbe and Goyle looked like they were about to roll up their sleeves and beat Draco to a pulp, while Pansy took a tiny step back, her mouth agape. "What did you say?" she asked, clearly stunned.

"I said no," Draco repeated, with more force and conviction than before. "I'm not going through with this."

Pansy, who regained her composure, sneered at Draco's defiance. "Perhaps we weren't clear enough the first time, Malfoy." Crabbe and Goyle brandished their wands, while Pansy roughly shoved the concoction in Draco's direction. "You will take this potion and spike McGonagall's tea after lunch… or else…"

It was at that moment, that Draco's recent Defense training with Professor Snape kicked in. It's now or never, he thought to himself. With his left hand, he knocked the flask out of Pansy's hand, causing the glass to shatter, the translucent brown liquid bubbling as it made contact with the stone floor. With a lightning-quick stroke, he whipped out his wand, and cast a flipendo on Crabbe and Goyle, which flung them against the opposite wall, with two loud and rather painful-sounding cracks, and cast diffendo on Pansy, which opened a six-inch gash on her face. "For the last time, leave me alone!" he demanded through angered breaths. Just as he was about to take his leave from his would-be assailants, the unmistakable emerald green of Professor McGonagall suddenly appeared, glowering over Draco. She immediately adopted her usual stance of disapproval – arms crossed, and lips almost as tight as an airlock.

Although her facial expression showed she was quite perturbed, her voice remained calm. "What is the meaning of this?" she asked. Before Draco could reply, Pansy turned toward Professor McGonagall, making the huge cut on her face as apparent as possible. She pointed to the golden-brown bubbles on the floor. "Professor McGonagall," she stammered, "Malfoy planned to spike your tea with the flatulessence potion today. Crabbe, Goyle and I tried to talk some sense into him, but he just became unruly and attacked us." Ever the thespian, she began sniffling and shedding big, fat crocodile tears. "Look what that little Hufflepuff hooligan did to my face! My perfect, pristine face!"

"Oh, cram it up your bum, Parkinson," Draco roared with contempt. "You tried to blackmail me into doing something I wanted no part of…"

"Silence," McGonagall hissed. "I don't care who said or did what. The ancient halls of Hogwarts are not fit to be battlegounds to resolve your conflicts. Have you children no shame? I believe I've made it quite clear the first night of September that I do not suffer such foolishness…" She shook her head scornfully. "I'm very disappointed in you, Draco Malfoy. I would have figured you'd have taken the high ground, but you stooped to their level today… ten points from Hufflepuff." Draco hung his head in shame, but otherwise accepted his penalty without a syllable of complaint.

While McGonagall's back was still turned, all three Slytherins covered their mouths in a vain attempt to stifle their snickering. When she whipped around to address them, their amused expressions instantly vanished. "As for you three miscreants, you're not fooling anybody. You're just as guilty as Mister Malfoy – and quite possibly more so. Something tells me that you weren't completely honest with me, Miss Parkinson. If I had proof, I'd certainly take more for lying… far more. Ten points from Slytherin – each."

She eyed all four students. "If we have to meet under these same circumstances again, I will not only make it twenty points lost apiece, but I will also issue detentions… and a referral to see the headmaster. Professor Dumbledore is a fair and patient wizard, but he also has a side you really wouldn't want to see should you dare test his limits." She nodded curtly at the children. "Do I make myself clear?"

After a mumbled chorus of "Yes, Professors," she waved a hand to dismiss the students. "Go on. Your breakfasts should still be warm."

Back at Ilvermorny, the students had just begun to emerge from their dormitories and funneled into the Mess Hall for breakfast after a series of sprints and a brisk twenty minute jog. Tallulah had her best set of reps to date – she never finished worse than eighth in her heat, and even finished fifth in one of them – her highest place to date.

"You were tearing it up out there this morning, 'Lu," chuckled Harry as Tallulah took her seat across from him at the Horned Serpent table. "Not bad for someone who once said that they couldn't exercise to save their life."

"What are you talking about? I still can't," replied Tallulah, unable to keep a straight face.

Both Harry and Othniel noticed that she was starting to change physically. She no longer had the short and stocky look – she had sprouted a full inch since the beginning of term, and had a much more toned physique in the approximately five months she had spent at Ilvermorny.

"You're not ready to take on Missy in a decathlon, but you've come a long way since September," assured Othniel. "I don't think anyone in our house has progressed physically as much as you have."

Tallulah shrugged. "It's just another class to me. I don't enjoy it as much as say, Charms or Transfiguration, but it doesn't mean that I can't take it seriously. I want to do well in all of my classes, not just the ones with quill and ink."

"You're still the top Horned Serpent of our year, last I checked," said Harry. "That's something to be proud of."

"Yeah, but still second overall among firsties," moaned Tallulah. "Dreama Butterworth of Wampus is first overall." She took a spiteful bite of her toast. "Stuck-up Old Money bitch."

A surprised shriek came from across the table. "Tallulah Jo Slater!" Ana had been writing a reply to Daphne most of the morning, but perked up at Tallulah's most unexpected rant.

Tallulah tilted her head at Ana. "What?"

"I've never heard you use such uncouth language," replied Ana. "That's very unlike you."

"Oh, you've never heard me back home," giggled Tallulah. "I've probably got the worst potty mouth in the family!" She wagged a finger to mock-admonish Ana. "And you've got no room to criticize, Ana. You're capable of some pretty vulgar language yourself!"

Harry grinned and nodded at Ana. "She's right, you know."

Ana let out a soft groan as she resumed writing her letter.