"Are any of you taking riding class?" Harry asked while they dressed for physical education, waving at the girls (Susan, Megan and Hannah), whom they had helped to get Susan and her wheelchair down to the dormitory.

"Almost everyone is, not counting the girls," Justin said as they made their way towards the green pitch, "Don't know how Hagrid manges to teach with just five horses, though."

"You can give Ernie some tips, Ali," Ernie said, dropping his bag near the stands (one of four that bordered the pitch), and walked towards the line of third year boys, "I've always been too nervous to ride."

"I thought you said everyone was joining the class."

"Almost everyone," Justin corrected, stretching his arms, "I already ride at home, Ernie is too scared and Susan might need help, so it's beneficial on all sides."

"I'm not scared," Ernie argued as their teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived. She had short, grey hair and sharp eyes like a hawk.

"Well what are you all waiting for?" she barked, "Five laps around the field. Come on, hurry up."

Once the five laps were completed and the boys (the ones that hadn't had an excuse, like the boy who used a cane to walk) were either sprawled on the grass or bent over with hands on their knees, Madam Hooch blew into her brass whistle, calling the boys to line up.

"Alright, we're playing cricket today. Teams of nine, given our number. I'll be dividing the teams."

Madam Hooch divided the seventeen students into teams as promised with, as luck would have it, Harry being in Malfoy's team without either Ernie or Justin.

"Played before?" Malfoy asked, nudging his way between him and a larger boy.

Looks simple enough, Harry crossed his arms, watching the other teams bowler throwing the red ball up and down in his hand, just need to hit the hindrance standing next to-

"No," Harry said as Madam Hooch put Ernie behind the wickets as wicket keeper, with Ravenclaw and Slytherin as their batters for this round, "You seem to have, though, Malfoy. Why don't you enlighten me?"

"Really, Patel, all you had to do was ask," Malfoy said matter-of-factly, pulling Harry down by the arm, almost toppling him. He raised an arm to the Slytherin batter, who was shuffling the bat from hand to hand as the other team's players dispensed into the field, "See Zabini over there? He's going to bat with Boot on the other side. When one hits the ball, and no one catches it without it bouncing, they're going to run the length between Finnigan and Goldstein."

"Let me guess, the ones on the field are going to try to get the batter-"

"Out? Maybe you have some Ravenclaw in you after all — if you hit my hair I will bat you instead, Patel — there are a few ways to get the batters out," he started to count on his fingers as Ron took the spot next to Harry, extending his long legs in front of him, "Caught out, run out, when the ball hits the leg before the wicket — "

Ron winced, rubbing his leg.

" — stumped out, when you accidentally hit the wicket... I think that's about it."

"Did you remember getting bowled out?" Ron asked, a hint of wickedness to his voice.

Malfoy's face went positively sour, and refused to answer. Madam Hooch's whistle jarred the air. The boy beside Finnigan told him something and angled his arm. Finnigan lifted his arm, and with incomprehensible speed, bowled the ball above his head. Madam Hooch blew her whistle, and the ball was returned to Finnigan, who had apparently bowled too high. He tried again, and this time, Zabini caught the ball, sending it running over the ground to the boundary. Boot and Zabini scored three runs, and since the ball had reached the boundary, that had scored them four runs in itself.

As they watched, there were a few things Harry learned about cricket. The most important? He was a horrible batter, proven strongly by the fact that with his first batting, he was caught out, the member of the opposing team waving the ball in his hand while Malfoy, his batting partner, promptly had a laughing fit, later claiming it was because of the look of utter loss plastered on his face.

"I think I know what to bat next," Harry muttered darkly, sitting down beside Ron and picking at the grass, "Big, yellow balls do just as well, I reckon."

Ron placed his hands behind his head. He had been the batter before Harry, caught out with a moderate amaount of six runs, "I would have joined you, had it been in first year."

"What made you friends with him in the first place?" Harry asked, also extending his legs and rocking them mindlessly, "You don't really look like you get along."

"You won't believe me even if I tell you."

"No, really," Harry turned around, looking him in the eye, "I'll believe you."

Ron eyed him carefully, before both he and Harry turned their heads to the field at the cry of excitement from Malfoy as he just barely made it to the wicket, "How are you so sure?"

The ball rolled past them after Goldtstein hit it, Neville running in his steas as he couldn't himself, "I have an unbelievable tale of my own, I guess."

"If you promise not to tell anyone," Ron said, extending a hand. Harry took it, giving it a firm shake.

"Well," Ron pulled his legs in, hunching forward and placing his elbow on his knee, "In first year, we had this English teacher, yeah? We have a new one every year - we think the position's cursed. Anyway, we hated each other that year: me, Draco and 'Mione. At least I did. Then for some stupid reason, me and Draco agreed to fight it out. He didn't arrive, of course, the ferret — " as though he'd heard them, Malfoy's head whipped in their direction before he turned around as he was called into the game, starting to sprint, " — He told Flich where I was, where we were, actually. Hermione tried to stop me from going out when she was studying in the common room, and somehow we ended up in the third corridor — where we were forbidden to enter — and got stuck in a room with some guard dogs."

"Guard dogs?" Harry said, pulling his knees forward.

"We didn't know what they were guarding, mind. Just a second," Ron cupped his hands around his mouth, shouting, "Bowled out, Malfoy! What was I- Oh right. We didn't want to either. But come October, someone let a deer into the school and —"

Harry's eyes went wide, "A what?"

"I think Hermione said it was a red deer, I don't know," he shrugged.

"But who let the deer in?"

"Are you really telling him about what happened, Weasley?" Malfoy said as soon as he arrived beside them, hair sticking to his forehead and usually pale face flushed red, "You're refereeing the wicket next, after Zabini, thought you ought to know."

"I promised not to tell anyone," Harry said, shrugging his shoulder away from Malfoy, rolling his eyes when he sat beside him, "No other place to sit, Malfoy?"

"Nowhere I'd rather be. But if you tell anyone, Patel, I won't hesitate to chase you down the field and into the lake in the middle of winter. I'm sure you'll have a lovely time with the fish."

"Oh for God's sake I get it, don't run your mouth," Harry said, rolling his eyes and pushing Malfoy by the arm, "Now let Ron continue."

"I can do a much better job-"

Both Harry and Malfoy were rubbing their shoulders when Ron was finally able to continue, sitting between them and nervously glancing between the two, "What is up with you two?"

"Just continue," they said at once, and Ron shrugged again while Malfoy continued bouncing his leg and playing with his hair.

"Uh, anyway. Deer got into school. Draco and Hermione were in the same study group. I couldn't find her, so I had no choice but to ask him. We found out she was in the bathroom with the deer, can you believe that? At the end we did end up saving her, but, uh, Draco here…"

Malfoy physically shivered, "Uncle Sev skinned me alive. With his words. The detentions can never be worse than the 'dressing down' I got. "

"Then what happened?"

Too late. Madam Hooch had called Ron, and he left without a word, staring awkwardly at Zabini when he clapped Ron on the shoulder. Malfoy shrugged, and Ron took position behind the wicket.

Harry opened his mouth, but - "Oh I'd rather Weaesley tell the story," Malfoy interrupted, standing up, stretching his arms above his head, rubbing his shoulder while making direct eye contact with Harry, "Afterall, he is the superior storyteller. I'll see you when we field, Potiful. Oi, Zabini! Good refereeing there, think you might…"

Harry glared after him, ripping strands of grass from the floor with both hands. Soon enough, the game ended with 54 runs for their team, and Madam Hooch made them exchange places, so now they were fielding and bowling.

And this time, surprisingly, with a few tips from Madam Hooch on how to capture the ball, Harry was quick to learn, quick to run, catch and throw. He'd caught out two runners thanks to his speed, and threw the ball with precision to the wicket keeper, getting out two more runners.

"I think it's best if we kept him on the field," Zabini said laughing, exchanging bowling positions with Harry.

And after gaining the opposite team three points in six bowls, Harry agreed he either become wicket keeper, or fielder in any future games, especially since he gained the other team the winning point of 55-54.

"Very good, very good," Madam Hooch said after blowing her whistle, "Those taking riding lessons, stay behind. The rest can go back. Have a good weekend, boys."

Out of the seventeen students, eleven stayed behind, with an additional ten joining them in the field soon enough. As soon as Harry spotted Ron, though, he didn't stick around long enough to talk to anyone else, only wanting to hear the rest of the story Ron had yet to tell.

"Sorry we had to lose that game," Harry said as a greeting, standing beside Ron and running his hands down his arms at the spike of wind that had picked up midgame.

"As long as it's not a real match. Just keep in the field next time, yeah?" Ron said, pulling on his coat.

Harry silently agreed, looking around the field to see if the teacher had arrived, "Is the teacher any good?"

Ron looked up, confused, "You're staying?"

"You're not?" Harry asked, just as confused.

"I mean, aren't you going to, you know… We're already late. I can't believe I forgot!"

Harry paused, waiting for Ron to continue. When he didn't, Harry cleared his throat, "...Know what?"

A violent shade of pink dusted Ron's cheeks, and he waved his hands madly, "Nothing! Nothing at all. Just, uh, I'll see you later, yea? Bye, Ali!"

Then he ran, out and away from the field, only a dot in the distance, leaving Harry to look after him in confusion.

"You're not going to leave?" Malfoy asked, joining him out of nowhere, "I thought you'd go with Weasley."

"Can one of you speak clearly and tell me where I'm meant to go?" Harry asked, voice raising, grabbing the attention of some of the older boys that had later joined them. Instead of answering, Malfoy took a few seconds to regard him, raising a brow before shrugging both shoulders, "Well, each to their own I suppose."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I can't help with what you don't know, you Hufflepuff," Malfoy said, leaving Harry with an even more confused state of mind. He had no time to ask questions, however, as a few loud noises started to approach them on the other side of the field.

Harry peered over the shoulders of the boys, or tried to, before huffing and peaking through the spaces between them, then finally moving to the end of the line to get a clear look.

If Harry thought Uncle Vernon was big, this teacher was the very definition of huge.

A giant of a man was leading a small herd of horses towards them, one of them looking very, very angry and hard to manage. His face was almost completely hidden by a long, shaggy mane of hair and a wild, tangled beard, but as he approached, you could make out his eyes, glinting like black beetles. Those very eyes swept through the line of boys, finding Harry at the end of it, earning a wide smile from the man.

And yet, he didn't acknowledge him.

"Gee up, there!" said the teacher, shaking the ends of their bridles, and urging the creatures toward where the class sood.

"Horses!" Hagrid roared happily, waving a hand at them. "Beau'iful, aren' they?"

Harry could sort of see what the teacher meant. Once you got over the initial shock of seeing the large animals, you started appreciating their gleaming coats, each of them a different color: stormy gray, bronze, roan, gleaming chestnut, and inky black.

"So," said Hagrid, rubbing his hands together and beaming around, "if yeh wan' ter come a bit nearer…"

The older students, as well as some third years (including Malfoy) came forward, albeit cautiously. The remaining students exchanged worried looks, some shyly rubbing their arms while some shuflfled forward. When all of them were at a reasonable distance, the teacher cleared his throat, placing a hand on one of the horse's mane.

"Noble animals, horses. 'Fore we start ridin', you'll need to learn abou' them equipment," the teacher said, continuing to instruct the class on how various equipment worked and were put on. Harry already knew the saddle and the reins, but admittedly never learnt how to harness or adjust them. So they went around from one horse to the other, with the teacher, Hagrid (Harry caught the name after a few questions from the students) asking some students to harness and adjust pads and girths and any other equipment.

That's when it happened.

"Uh, Hagrid," Malfoy said, staying behind, loud enough for the group to hear him. "I think there's something hurting this one," he said to the inky black one, the one Hagrid had trouble managing, pointing down. Sure enough, the animal was scraping his foot on the ground repeatedly, "Under the hoove. I think if we just — "

It happened in a flash of hooves; Malfoy let out a high pitched scream and the next moment, Hagrid was wrestling the horse back as he strained to get at Malfoy, who lay curled in the grass, blood blossoming over his clothes.

"I'm dying!" Malfoy yelled as the class panicked. "I'm dying, look at me! It's killed me!"

"Yer not dyin'!" said Hagrid, who had gone very white. "Someone help me — gotta get him outta here —"

The older boys hung onto the horses' reins, pulling them to the stands to tie them down as Hagrid picked up Malfoy easily. As they passed, Harry saw that there was a long, deep gash on Malfoy's arm; blood splattered the grass as Hagrid ran with him, up the slope toward the castle.

Very shaken, the class followed at a walk. The Slytherins were all shouting about Hagrid.

"Who doesn't check over beasts before bringing them into the class!" a fourth year shouted, throwing his arms into the air.

"It was Malfoy's fault!" snapped a non-Slytherin.

"He was just trying to help the animal!"

"Maybe he should focus on what's in front of him, then - not wonder about nonsense details!" added another.

They all climbed the stone steps into the deserted entrance hall.

The Slytherins separated from the group, muttering darkly. The students from the other houses left for the other direction, also muttering darkly, leaving Harry stranded in the middle of the hall with no idea where to go.

So he went back to the dormitories, aiming to finish his homework before the weekend.

"You think he'll be alright?" said Hermione nervously.

"'Course he will," Harry said, feigning confidence while fiddling with his fingers. For some reason, the bustle of the great hall was making him feel nervous; the many noises collecting together like an accumulating cloud ready to come down with a storm.

"That was a really bad thing to happen in Hagrid's first class, though, wasn't it?" said Ron, looking worried.

"Should we visit him?"

"Only after the Slytherins have, but I bet Parkinson already has," Ron said, patting the spot next to him for Harry to sit, "Why you still looking worried, Hermione?"

"They wouldn't fire him, would they?" said Hermione anxiously, not touching her food.

"They'd better not," said Ron, who wasn't eating either. Harry was watching the Slytherin table. A large group, including the two large boys, was huddled together, deep in conversation. Harry wondered if they were cooking up their own version of how Malfoy had been injured.

"Well, you can't say it wasn't an interesting first week back," said Ron gloomily.

To be clear, Harry only visited the infirmary because 1. Hermione and Ron were, along with a hoard of Slytherins he hadn't seen before, 2. He had work to do and 3. It was frankly hilarious to see Malfoy bedridden because of a small exaggeration, which Madam Prompfrey also dismissed and kicked her only patient out so he could eat breakfast.

He was faking it, obviously. But what irritated Harry the most was that he seemed to be the only one who knew it as such.

Even Professor Patel - Professor Patel. Honestly! - wished him a speedy recovery at breakfast the next day.

It was the second biggest thing on his mind that weekend, the anger and the unfairness of it all, occupying his mind and keeping him from socializing with his fellow Hufflepuffs, not that it was the sole reason he kept away from the common room, no. His current house was warm, social and everything you've wanted in a friend, which is exactly why Harry always found himself in a swirl of guilt whenever he couldn't give back what was offered to him: loyalty, understanding. Harry was so wound up in his own head, he was starting to find it harder and harder to open up to new people, or talk about himself without dampening his mood (and more often than not, the other person's). It was just too obvious.

Harry was terrible at making friends.

Which is why he wandered the halls that weekend, away from everyone, getting lost in classrooms and taking refuge in places that seemed to be collecting layers of dust.

It didn't help, only gave his thoughts time to catch up with his head, leading him in all the wrong parts, leaving him confused. It did have a silver lining though.

He could wait out the burns on his arms, venturing down to the hall, the skin raw to the touch hidden beneath his school shirt.

"Would you finish what happened?" Harry caught up with Ron just before he left the Great Hall, smiling innocently at Hermione as she walked by with Lavender Brown and Ginny Weasley.

"It's not that interesting," Ron said, though started to lead them in the direction of the library, away from most students who just wanted to get to their common rooms, "I wish you were Gryffindor, so we could stay in the common room."

"Give it a few weeks. I'll be there soon."

"Do you at least know if you'll be Hufflepuff?"

No, Harry didn't know, and it wasn't something he wished to discuss either, letting Ron know with a stiff shrug of his shoulder.

In the library, the two chose the furthest corner of the room to talk, where Ron resumed the tale. After the deer incident, both Ron and Malfoy were working with Hagrid, when they caught him in conversation with Snape, who was asking -or rather, interrogating- Hagrid on whether he was sure the 'thing' guarded on the third floor was safe. Hagrid, being Hagrid and prone to sharing too much information, had given away the name Nicholas Flamel, allowing Ron the opportunity to ask Hermione whether he knew anything about it.

"I don't know who found out he was an alchemist first, between Draco and Hermione," Ron said, whispering as they sat huddled in the corner, "I think Hermione, after reading some book, but we found out what alchemy and the Philosopher's Stone is and what it could do, we -me and Hermione. Immortality and gold."

"There's a stone that Stone gives you gold and immortality?"

"Turns things into gold, but that's a close second. Anyway, Draco didn't believe us, saying it didn't exist. I guess he was right, because, remember Professor Quirrell? He stole the stone at the end of the year, and then he died!"

"What?"

"Nicholas Flamel didn't find the Philosopher's Stone, he was just working on it and asked to keep the experiment at Hogwarts, I guess. I guess Professor Quirrel drank the incomplete thing, and, well, died?"

Harry stretched his legs, frowning, "Why did Snape ask Hagrid if it was secure, then?"

"I think he had the idea that Quirrel would try something. Dumbledore didn't explain anything, at the end, other than he had died. But even that can't compare to second year. My sister was almost convicted as a criminal."

"... She was what?"

"Did you ever hear of Deadly Nightshade? I don't know why she let a stranger threaten her like that, but last year, she almost killed so many students! It's only thanks to her bad maths that they didn't die…"

When Harry finally fell asleep that night, the night cold and late, it was to nightmares of Aunt Petunia screaming at him for dropping the Philosopher's Stone; getting locked in his cupboard with a little girl with ginger hair offering black berries, her limbs tied like puppet strings to a man with a thin, cheshire smile in the dark, and Harry falling through the rabbit hole, hitting furniture while Uncle Vernon's screams exploded around him.

It was no wonder Harry woke up exhausted, an hour before he was meant to.

The second week, Harry was considering going back to cleaning chimneys. No, it wasn't because he didn't like learning, but as the week slipped on and the days became identical, he was having a harder time managing his mood. It didn't help that he was avoiding Snape after the disaster which was chemistry class, during which he dropped two jars and tried to put out a 'chemical fire' with water (the audacity, Patel!).

It was only an introductory lesson to chemicals, something meant to be fun while they learned about Mendeelev's table, but Harry was sure Snape wouldn't be letting them interact with any actual chemicals anytime soon.

Harry only hoped this would be the last of his stressors until the end of the year.

After breakfast on the 9th, he and the rest of the Hufflepuffs climbed the stairs to the English classroom. Professor Lupin wasn't there when they arrived at his first lesson, which was surprising as they were late. They all sat down, took out their books, pencils, and paper, and were talking when he finally entered the room. Lupin smiled vaguely and placed his tatty old briefcase on the teacher's desk. He was as shabby as ever but looked healthier than he had on the train, as though he had had a few square meals.

"Good afternoon," he said. "Would you please put all your books back in your bags. Today's will be a practical lesson."

A few curious looks were exchanged as the class put away their books. Harry had never had a practical English class before, unless you counted the late night readings and, well, the chaos that was Malfoy Manor.

"Right then," said Professor Lupin, when everyone was ready. "As I know none of you, why not have an introduction first? Let's start from the left corner."

Professor Lupin listened to what every student had to say. Some introductions were long winded, and some took just a few words. But if there was an introduction both Professor Lupin and the class was looking forward to, it was Harry's. He stood up nervously when it was his turn, trying to keep his words from cracking, "Uh, hello. I'm Hali- Ali Patel. I come from, uh, London and, uh-" he shrunk under the careful eye of Professor Lupin, wishing he had some of that chocolate to help calm him down again, "- I… like art?"

When he made to sit down, Professor Lupin stopped him with a question.

"How many siblings do you have, Ali?"

Now what did he say to that? A handful of brothers and a sister that didn't really count anymore?

"Just me, sir," he said, sitting down before he could be interrupted with another question. Why was Professor Lupin asking him questions he knew the answer to anyway? Better question.

Why did Professor Lupin look very interested in Harry anyway?

When all introductions were over, Professor Lupin opened his suitcase, took out some paper and a pen, and walked around his desk to lean against it, "As to remember the lessons from last year, and to evaluate your performance, I have a very fun task for you," he lifted the paper into the air, "I want you to write out a fear. Doesn't have to be your worst. Something that has been bothering you, or causing you discomfort. Then, I want you to come up with a story where you, in a sense, 'defeat' that fear."

A boy from Ravenclaw raised his hand, "Like killing it with a sword?"

"If that's how you defeat your fear," Professor Lupin said, scratching his moustache, "For example, if your fear is darkness, you can write about trapping the sun in a jar, and putting it in your room, so it would never be dark again."

That got a few chuckles from the class, some students even picking up their pencils and starting to scribble onto the page.

"Any questions?"

Susan raised a hand, "Does the writing have to be legible and have punctution?"

"It's punctuation," Megan hissed into her ear, and Susan argued otherwise.

"Yes, Ms-" Professor Lupin paused, and Susan finished the sentence for him, "Yes, Ms Bones. Every rule you remember should be implemented."

That didn't help. When the whole class had begun to write, Harry lifted his hand, and Professor Lupin walked towards him, hands behind his back, "Yes, Ali?"

"Uh, sir, uh-" he glanced around the classroom. As if on cue, Professor stepped closer, kneeling to Harry's height, "Is there something wrong?"

"No, well, yes, but…" he sighed, rubbing his back and scooting closer, before saying in a whisper, "I don't know punct- uh, all the punctuation. Or how to write good."

Professor Lupin smiled, pulling Harry's paper forward, and offering the pencil to him, "Try your best, Ali. I won't hold you accountable for the things you don't know. Just remember to write your name on the top," he whispered back, standing up and ruffling his hair before walking to another student.

In the classroom, filled with the sound of pencil on paper, Harry spent fifteen minutes thinking about what to write. What did he fear? He didn't think he feared anything. Sure, there were a few moments - and people - he'd rather not encounter again. But did that count as fear?

Harry took a deep breath, and after writing his name on the top of the page, out in the heading to the best of his spelling abilities.

Demeter

It wasn't the worst fear. As he couldn't defeat Dumbledore, who had assigned him to Snape as his current biggest discomfort, Harry decided to go with the man from the train. Harry thought about the menacing manner in which the man had moved, the seeming decay in his hand and the rough way he spoke. He then thought of what Professor - should he call her a professor? - Trelawney said about a shadow.

Just how many shadows were there in his life?

As more and more students began to finish and read each other's' works, Harry was still staring at a blank page. Beside him, Hannah was reading Susan's work, trying to stifle her laughter while behind him, Susan exchanged pages with Megan.

Thirty minutes to the end of class, when Professor Lupin was going around looking at the student's works, did Harry finally manage to put something down. The forest lining the border of Hogwarts' ground had given him an idea, and he imagined commanding animals to scare Demeter off, his hands wrapped around his head to protect him from the cloud of bats. Though what other animal would live in a forest? Lions? Tigers? Deer?

Deer were good. He picked up the pencil, writing about riding a deer, its antlers sharp, carrying with it light strong enough to scare Demeter into jumping into the lake, where giant fish - fish? No - where a giant squid would wrap a tentacle around Demeter, shooting him into the sky and far, far away from Hogwarts. Maybe China. Was China far? He'd have to ask Snape.

When he lifted his head at the end of class, he just had a few sentences down, his best effort yet at writing neatly. Professor Lupin started collecting the papers soon after, skimming his eyes down Harry's paper and eyes lifting with a smile.

"We didn't get to read yours, Harry," said Susan when they left the class, heaving while pushing herself forward, "What did you write?"

"Nothing important," Harry said, then, at the same time as Megan, said, "Want me to push you?"

Megan and Harry shared a glance, before Harry gestured towards Susan and stepped back. Out of all the Hufflepuffs in his class, he considered himself furthest from Megan, who spoke little, frowned a lot and only sat with Susan in a group.

"Do you have a lesson again today, Ali?" Justin asked, catching up to him.

"No, but my aunt wants to talk to me," he said, heaving his bag when the strap dug painfully on his shoulder, "Why?"

"Last Friday, you said you enjoyed cricket, even though it was your first time playing."

Harry thought about the way Draco had fallen, "Oh, yes. I'd say I enjoyed that Friday."

"The tryouts are next month. I'm trying to make the team, so I need to practise. We're going to meet today, and start practising once a week. Want to join?"

Harry thought for a moment, "I'm leaving Hufflepuff next week, though"

"We don't have just Hufflepuffs practising," Justin said, walking around Harry to stand next to Ernie so he could take out paper and pencil from his bag as they walked, "Ravenclaws, Griffyndors. Even Slytherins would have joined, if it hadn't been for their pride."

"Do they not like the other houses?" Harry asked, taking the piece of paper with the time and place written on it. His class was after dinner, but the students were meeting beforehand. Lowering his voice, he pocketed the paper. His next class was with Slytherins, and he didn't have any intention of getting on their nerves, especially when they were severely outnumbered.

"I think it's got more to do with decorum than 'like'. Some just bought the idea that they have to be the incarnation of perfection, and would rather be friends with their kind, I suppose," he nudged Harry when they stepped into the line outside the classroom, whispering with a smirk, "So good luck when it's time for Slytherin."

Harry looked up, met the eye of a Slytherin girl, and looked back down, shuffling on his feet.

What good would Slytherin be if he wouldn't even be welcomed in there? So far, Hufflepuff hasn't been bad. Their common room was comfortable, a homey den with plants scattered around the room and suspended from the air, and soft light filtering through colored windows. And the students' loyalty as well as hard-work ethic was admirable. The relationships they shared with one another were truly close-knit.

But for some reason, he couldn't quite let go of the nagging thought that, no. He was just a sheep in, uh, badger's clothing.

He would rather experience all houses before making a permanent decision. A decision which only got more and more blurry each passing day.