Sunday night, most students were busy finishing their assignments that were due the next morning. Harry read a few chapters for his upcoming classes and Hermione spent some time quizzing him on the material. She had to stop, though, in order to spend time fine-tuning her Ancient Runes essay. Ron was still out, working on some task for Hagrid. With nothing to do since he was no longer required to write essays, Harry found himself extremely bored. Looking around the Common Room, the only other students not busy with homework were a few yawning first and second years. Despite his younger body, Harry still hadn't stooped so low as to hang out with the younger years.

Sighing, Harry said to Hermione, "I guess I'll go to bed."

"Night, Harry," she casually replied without looking up from her work.

Slowly, Harry dragged himself off the chair and shuffled up to his empty dormitory. This is exactly what they wanted, Harry mused—referring to Snape, Dumbledore and McGonagall—they all want me to go to bed nice and early… to get plenty of rest. I'm not tired, Harry thought mid-yawn...If only I wasn't trapped in the body of a stupid little kid! I hope that blasted potion doesn't take too much longer.He decided to ask Neville how the Alesco Plant was growing next chance he got.

The boy was in his pajamas and half way into bed before a hooting noise interrupted him.

"Shhh, you'll be okay," Ron soothed as he entered the room.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked, walking over to his friend. The boy blushed, looking a bit embarrassed to be talking sweetly to an owl.

Harry ignored his friend and focused on the rather sickly looking bird sitting on Ron’s shoulder. He recognized it to be one of the school's Tawny Owls. Usually, an owl's eyes would be large and alert, but at the moment they were quite droopy. It's feathers stuck up, making it look rather puffed. The poor thing looked absolutely miserable as it clung tightly to the fabric of Ron's robes.

Ron was having trouble moving, carting a heavy iron stand and an awkward bag of supplies. After dumping the bag on his bed, Ron set down the stand, managing to squash his foot in the process.

"Bloody hell," Ron cursed, as he hopped around on one foot. The bird on his shoulder began flapping its wings in order to remain balanced. Giving up on the clumsy boy, it flew over to the stand and gave an irritated screech as a reprimand.

Sitting down on the edge of his bed, Ron nursed his throbbing toes. "Some owls are sick," Ron explained. "Hagrid has two with him and asked me to look after this one." Reaching over for the bag, he started pulling out several random objects. "Oh, and he sent you some rock cakes." He limped over to Harry's bed and put down a small, brown package on it.

"Is the bird going to be okay?" Harry asked, his voice full of concern. He reached out to scratch the poor bird's neck. In response, the little Tawny let out a quiet, pitiful hoot.

"Who? Hagrid?" Ron joked.

Harry glared, he really didn't think now was the time for joking; he was quite worried about the owl. "You know what I mean," he said annoyed.

"Yeah, yeah, the owl," Ron said, waving his hands in defeat. "I think it'll be fine." On the edge of the perch, Ron started securing a water bowl. He had to turn it around several times, trying to figure out the proper way to fasten it. Before Harry could butt in to help, the boy had managed on his own. All the while, Ron continued talking. "We're trying to separate this guy from the other owls, for obvious reasons." Harry went over to the still-fluffed Tawny, who was now shaking a bit as if it felt too cold. Ron returned to his bag and started opening all the pockets, looking for one last item. "And I need to give it a potion every two hours, so it's better to have him near by so I don't have to go hiking all over the castle tonight. Ah ha." In the last pocket, Ron found a small, brown glass bottle.

Harry took the vial from Ron and examined it closely. "Is this something you can buy in the store?" he asked. He wondered if he should have his own bottle on hand, just in case Hedwig ever needed it.

"No," Ron answered. "Snape made it. It's kind of like a mild version of the Pepperup Potion." Harry nodded to show that he understood and then turned back to the owl. He softly ran his fingers down the bird's back, silently glad that his Hedwig wasn't suffering. "Hey, guess what?" Ron continued. "I get to join your potions class on Friday. Hagrid's arranged it. You guys are going to learn how to brew the regular Pepperup, so I get to sit in and learn the modified potion. I'm kind of excited, like the good old days… Well, except for the greasy bast—er… Snape." Ron looked nervous, like he expected a negative reaction from Harry.

But the boy was too distracted to take note of Ron's slip up. Instead, he asked, "Is Hedwig going to get sick, too?"

"Oh, I doubt it," Ron replied, visibly relaxing. "I mean that's what Hagrid said when I asked. He told me that lots of the birds get sick in the Owlery. Well, usually not three at once, but he's figuring some of the food might have gone a bit off or something." Harry tensed and Ron quickly tried to calm him, "Don't start panicking or anything. Hagrid has changed out all of the feed and checked all the other birds, so there's nothing to worry about."

Staring at the sick bird, who now had his eyes closed, Harry couldn't stop the involuntary shudder. How could he not worry? He didn't know what he would do if something happened to Hedwig.

An arm wrapped around Harry's neck and pulled him away from the bird into a headlock. "Ah, come on mate, don't worry," Ron comforted as he messed up the smaller boy's hair. Harry was beginning to realize just how annoying this new habit of Ron's was. Frustrated, he tried shoving Ron away. Oblivious to Harry's feelings, Ron continued in his compassionate voice, "Hedwig is fine. Why don't you go to bed? You can see her in the morning." He released Harry and pushed him gently towards his bed.

"I don't need to go to bed!" Harry shouted.

"Fine, don't go to bed," Ron retorted. "Obviously, you have loads of plans," he added sarcastically, pinching the collar of Harry's pajama top.

Harry folded his arms, and probably looked like a complete idiot. Ron only laughed at him. After a minute or two, Harry joined in on the laugh.

"Oh, mummy," Harry joked. "Please don't make me go to bed."

Ron's face pinked. "I am not being motherly!"

"Fine then," Harry relented, only to add, "Hermione."

"Why you," Ron threatened. Harry jumped away and easily avoided the still limping Ron. "I'll get you later," he gave up, returning to the owl that still needed to be fed.

Harry climbed into bed, fighting a strong urge to rush straight to the Owlery to check on Hedwig. Turning on his side, he watched Ron struggling to feed the very stubborn bird.

The night was fairly restless for Harry; nightmares of an ailing Hedwig interrupted only occasionally by a dying Sirius. Somewhere near the morning, Harry was able to relax when it seemed as though the Tawny Owl was recovering.

"See, I told you it would be okay," Ron muttered as he nursed a nipped finger. Indeed, the bird must have been feeling much better. It was no longer puffed and shivering. Now the Tawny wanted to be left alone to sleep—hence Ron's bitten finger.

xxxxx

Monday morning, after checking on Hedwig, the only thing left for Harry to dread was his first class. He had thus far managed to avoid Quinn and the man hadn't attempted to retaliate…yet. Harry contemplated skipping class, but he didn't want Quinn to think that he was scared. No, Harry would face the man, and be a polite young student… offering Quinn all the respect he "deserved."

So, he entered the classroom, alongside his friends, and made his way to his assigned seat in the front of the room. He sat quietly, numbly aware of the chatter going on around him. The room's silence was the only indication that Quinn had entered the room. Harry was staring so intently at a knot in the wood of his desk that he could not see the man.

"Miss Abbott," Quinn called.

"Here, sir," she replied. And so class began exactly how it always had. Harry was still surprised that the man didn't simply glance around the classroom and note an empty desk. Instead, the man wasted nearly five minutes, meticulously calling out each student's name and waiting for the specific response.

"Mr. Potter," Quinn called in the same manner as every other student. This surprised Harry, as he half expected to hear some sort of rage, or maybe even disgust.

"Here, sir," Harry replied quickly.

And so the roll call continued. Harry relaxed considerably. Apparently, Quinn was going to act as if nothing odd had happened between the two of them, which suited Harry just fine.

"Take out your books and open to chapter four," Quinn commanded. "Begin reading the chapter on your own, as I will be unable to lecture today."

The class stared at the man, confused for a moment. Quinn's classes always followed a basic pattern. A week of lectures followed by a week of practical work. They had never been asked to read in class before. He expected that to be done on the students’ own time. But the students didn't stare for too long; quickly they pulled out their books to do as they were told.

"Mr. Potter," Harry cringed when he heard Quinn's voice. "Come forward. Bring your wand."

Slowly, Harry obeyed. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see the other students watching him.

"It has been insisted that you be given the opportunity to practice magic in class time," Quinn lectured. "Since my request for you to be moved to a more suitable class has been rejected, I am forced to disrupt my lecture and give you personal instructions. I would ask you to apologize to the other students, but it is obvious that you are not required to obey your Professors." Quinn paused to loom over Harry in a threatening manner, waiting for the boy to respond. Harry knew he had to watch his mouth carefully. Any slip up and he would find himself in detention again. "So, let's see if you are as good at defense as you think you are."

Quinn shot a stinging hex at Harry without any warning and so the boy had little time to react. It hit him squarely on the shoulder and the pain shot all the way to his toes. Another hex was sent at him before the shock from the first wore off. Harry was in full defense mode now—without thinking, he blocked the next hex. Quinn sent hex after hex in rapid succession, each a bit more powerful than the last. Harry was feeling a bit proud of himself; he was doing reasonably well defending a full-on attack from his professor. But he was getting tired—damn his eleven-year-old body.

Quinn sent a strong blasting curse at Harry. It was too much for the boy's shields and ended up pushing him backward into the stone wall. Angry, and with a sore back, Harry was ready to attack now. Forget defending himself! He had every right to fight back.

Before Harry could shout his curse, the bell rang… most likely saving him from a lot of trouble. Not waiting to be excused, Harry ran over to his desk, scooped up all of his belongings and dashed out of the classroom alongside the other students.

Outside in the hall, Ron spoke first, "You really got him mad, didn't you?"

"Yeah," Harry replied sheepishly, not giving the boy any more details.

"I would suggest you go and talk to a professor about Quinn's behavior," Hermione nearly shouted, "but I don't think it would do any good."

"Huh?" Harry shrugged.

"Nothing," Hermione replied, as she rushed forward through the crowd of students.

Try as he might, with his smaller body, Harry was unable to pass by the much larger students to catch up with his friend. So he turned to Ron instead and asked, "What was she so mad about?"

Ron shrugged, but Harry had the distinct impression that the redhead was withholding something.

xxxxx

Despite sharing a dorm with the boy, the first time Harry had a chance to talk to Neville was during Herbology. When Professor Sprout had asked for volunteers to help with a "special task", Neville was the first to raise his hand. Reluctantly, Harry volunteered as well, on the off-chance they'd have time to discuss the Alesco Plant.

They were assigned to turn the compost, a task that Harry assumed would be fairly easy. He soon found out that he was very wrong. Entering the compost house, pitchfork in hand, Harry was instantly dodging a burst of flames.

"Watch out for the fireweeds," Neville warned. A bit late, Harry thought as he rubbed the dirt off his robes.

The usually timid boy was in his element, Harry noticed. With strong, smooth strokes, Neville dug into the pile and stirred the decaying leaves, roots and stems. The not-so-dead plants launched their own attack, shooting an array of fire, thorns, or toxic-smelling pollen dust. All the while, Harry was making his own clumsy attempt to help. He was oblivious to the fact that a vine had wrapped around his ankles, until it tried to pull him into the pile. Thankfully, Neville was able to rescue him before he was pulled too far in.

Unearthing some of the deeper bits of plant, Harry discovered a new array of strange looking worms and bugs. At that moment, he vowed never to volunteer for anything in Herbology again.

"That should be enough," Neville announced. Harry didn’t need any more incentive—he was out of the compost house so fast he nearly tripped on his way out.

Walking over to the water house, they washed off their hands—Harry his face, as well.

"So, Neville," Harry spoke up. "Do you know how the Alesco Plants are doing?"

Neville was known to be down in the greenhouses during a lot of his free time. He even had his own little section to work on his personal cultivation projects. So it wasn't too odd for Neville to be involved with the care of the delicate Alesco Plant.

"Not too well," Neville replied. "We've been having a problem transplanting the seedlings, but we'll figure it out. You asking because of your potion?"

"Yeah," Harry sighed. He was beginning to wonder if he was going to be stuck this way.

Neville continued to explain, "It's progressing as we thought. The seedlings have grown to full size. The problem is, they don't want to leave their mum."

"Huh?" Harry asked.

"Why don't I just show you," Neville decided. He led the way past a few of the greenhouses to Professor Sprout’s private one. Casually entering, he walked past the small office space and to the rows of plants. Here, Harry saw the most eclectic collection of plants; he had no idea there were so many different species.

Set apart from the others, Neville showed him the Alesco Plant. It had large, broad leaves of a bright red color. Each leaf had four or five small seedlings growing right out of the plant. Some of the small plants sat looking brave—for a plant—in their own little pots.

"We've tried planting the seedlings in a number of different soils," Neville explained, "but every morning we come to check on them, they've all moved back onto the mother plant. It may just be that they're not ready to be on their own yet or maybe we haven't found the right soil mixture."

Harry poked at the nearest seedling. The mother plant pulled away a bit, bringing its leaves into a tighter configuration in a protective manner.

"And we can't use the seedlings until they've been planted on their own," Harry stated.

"Yeah," Neville confirmed. "The potion needs a developed taproot."

"Great," Harry sighed.

xxxxx

The next day, the defense class started out exactly as it had the day before. The students were all given a reading assignment and Harry was called to the front. Seconds later, Quinn started his brutal attack right where he left off. Harry fended off most of the curses admirably, but again he got tired and frustrated. Despite the fact he was aware Quinn was provoking him, Harry still got fed up and raised his wand to attack.

"Stop!" Hermione shouted, and Harry lowered his wand. Professor Quinn turned and glared at the girl. Hermione overlooked it and continued, "Please, stop Professor. You can't do this. It's not right."

"You were told to read your book, Miss Granger," Quinn snapped back. "Were those instructions too confusing to you? I understand you've been having trouble following the simplest of guidelines, but surely even you can comprehend how to read a book." Hermione's cheeks turned bright red with embarrassment as she quietly buried her head behind the book. "Twenty points from Gryffindor for your outburst," Quinn continued, "and a detention for your insolence."

The man turned to smirk at Harry—pleased with himself—waiting for the boy to protest. Harry was busy contemplating the best way to respond—there was no way he would allow Hermione to go to detention. Before he could open his mouth, the bell rang and the students all rushed out of the classroom. Not wanting to be alone with the man, he glared, gathered up his stuff quickly and ran out to find his friends.

Hermione was half glaring and half in tears. More than anything, she looked to be fuming. Ever so slightly, she leaned towards Ron.

"He's a horrible teacher," Ron bit out.

"Hermione, are you okay?" Harry asked when he caught up with them. Sure, Quinn had been a git to her, but she never really looked so angry and Harry didn't understand.

Ron shook his head and motioned with his hand to shoo Harry away. "I can handle it," Ron mouthed without letting out a sound.

Harry nodded his reply and backed off. He followed them from a few steps behind. Ron had his arm draped over Hermione's shoulder and appeared to say nothing. For the first time, Harry felt a bit nervous about his friends’ relationship… since when was Harry asked to stay out of it? He wondered if it had something to do with his new eleven-year-old status. Regardless of the fact he still had his sixteen-year-old mind, a lot of people still treated him like he was younger. So far, Hermione and Ron hadn't. Maybe something more was going on? Harry angrily shook his head, effectively cutting off that train of thought. Instead, he muttered to himself about how Ron obviously couldn't "handle it." The redhead never had been one of the suave, comforting types—the boy hadn't even so much as opened his mouth yet.

Feeling a bit put out; Harry entered his next class. He took the empty seat next to Neville, when Hermione sat next to Ron. He was unable to concentrate much on the lesson and kept glancing over at his friends. The Professor took notice and asked Harry to stay behind after class. When he was finally released, he made his way down to the Great Hall for lunch.

He sat down next to Hermione. Leaning over, he whispered into her ear, "You can't go to the detention, Hermione." When she finally turned to acknowledge his statement, he continued, "We need to tell someone what happened."

"Why?" Hermione responded, still angry for some reason. Harry looked around the Gryffindor Table; he didn't want to talk about it here.

"Later, some place private?" Harry whispered. She nodded and turned back to her lunch.

Harry tried to eat, shoving forkfuls of food into his mouth to pass the time. When Ron got up, Harry immediately followed suit and they both stood waiting patiently for a reluctant Hermione. Leaving the Great Hall, they made their way to the nearest abandoned classroom.

Harry was the first to speak, "What's going on? Why are you suddenly not interested in going to a Professor about Quinn's unfair treatment?"

Away from prying eyes, Hermione spoke as if the dam had been broken. The words spilled quickly from her tongue, "I went to talk to McGonagall, about Quinn's unfair treatment towards muggleborns. You see, I noticed that I—and other muggleborns as well—always have the worst marks. Plus during classes, Quinn never comes to help Justin and I. But Professor McGonagall was really busy, I don't even know if she was really listening to me,"—Ron scowled—"She sort of brushed me off, she said she would 'look into it'."

"So that's why you've been so angry lately," Harry stated.

Hermione blushed, "Yeah, I guess. I was really mad after I first talked to her… because I thought…"

"That she didn't believe you," Harry finished for her.

"Yeah, but I've been thinking about it," Hermione continued. "And well, I was wrong. It's not that McGonagall doesn't believe me. For some reason I think she might already know… or have suspicions at least."

"And she's doing nothing!" Ron shouted. "She's so stupid."

"No, Ron. I think something is up," Hermione replied urgently. She was staring off across the room, as if assessing the situation from all angles. "It must be something more important than a teacher being unfair."

"Like what!" Ron yelled back.

"Like a war, Ronald Weasley," Hermione chided. The boy looked away and blushed.

"You need to listen to me, Hermione," Harry interrupted in an eager tone. "You can't go to detention. And we need to go back to McGonagall, or Dumbledore or even Snape."

"Why?" Hermione and Ron asked at the same time.

"You have to promise to keep it to yourselves,"—both his friends scowled at this—"I mean no other students, Dumbledore and McGonagall are okay. And I will tell Snape, next chance I get. Tonight in fact, because I have my er… private lessons with him." Harry didn’t want to say Remedial Potions and he couldn't say Occlumency—no one had warded the door…

"Well, what happened?" Ron demanded.

"I don't want the whole school to know," Harry pleaded and then he rolled up his sleeve.

Hermione gasped.

"Bloody hell," Ron cursed. "Quinn did that to you?"

"Yes," Harry said in a hushed voice. Pulling his sleeve back into place, he added, "Now you understand why you can't go to detention."

Hermione nodded and then said, "It's scheduled for tonight at 8pm."

"Then I'll just have to tell Snape after Potions," Harry decided.

"Right," Hermione replied, "And I'll go to Professor McGonagall again. Ron you're coming with me." Ron nodded. "But you should go to Madame Pomfrey about the bruising Harry."

"No, I'll be okay," Harry responded. "I'm sure Snape will have a Bruise Paste. Besides, some other students might see what happened…"

"You had better have Snape take care of it," she warned.

"What if McGonagall is busy again?" Ron asked. "And no offense, but I don't quite trust Snape to help us either. What do we do then? Dumbledore is still out… Should we just start knocking on different Professors' doors?"

"We should probably keep this amongst Order Members," Hermione resolved.

"Why?" Ron asked.

"Quinn's targeting Muggleborns and Harry," she pointed out.

"Death eater," Ron muttered under his breath.

"Perhaps," Hermione replied. "I've done some research on him, though, and I didn't really think it fits. He used to teach at a small, all-boys school in Africa. It was only for rich European Purebloods who lived in the area, but as far as I could tell there weren't any connections to You-Know-Who." They were all silent for a while, until Hermione finally spoke again, "We should get to class. Afterwards, we'll go to McGonagall."

Filled with determination, Ron headed off to Care of Magical Creatures whilst Hermione and Harry went down to Potions.

Class time went normally enough. Harry was too worried over how to talk to Snape, that he hardly noticed the lack of insults from the man. Someone—likely Seamus—had muttered something about hell freezing over, but Harry barely registered the comment. He hadn't even realized it was near the end of class and somehow he had managed a passable potion.

Before the bell could ring, he heard a stifled gasp—sounding more like a cough then anything. His eyes shot up immediately to Snape, expecting the man to be clutching his left arm. Snape wasn't, but he had made eye contact with the Potion's Master—and Harry knew he was right, it was Voldemort's calling.

"Class dismissed," Snape ordered in his most strict tone. No one needed to hear the "Now get out." Despite being left unspoken, it was generally understood. Even Harry didn't dare linger, despite wanting to run up and cling to the man—in order to beg him not to go.

In the hallway, he heard someone ask, "Neville, what did you do?"

Ignoring the other's comments, he rushed over to Hermione. The girl looked mad at Harry, ready to give him a long lecture. However, Harry didn't give her a chance, he stepped right in front of the girl and she stopped. Swallowing his pride, he motioned for her to lean down so he could speak quietly into her ear.

"It's Voldemort," Harry whispered. "He's calling."

Hermione swiftly stood back up. Harry could tell she was itching to ask him how he knew, but she wisely watched her tongue.

"Well, then you're coming with us to talk to Professor McGonagall," Hermione decided.

"Okay," Harry answered. He really had rather talk to Snape, or no one at all. But at the moment, Hermione had a determined glint in her eye that he knew better than to go against.

They walked silently through the corridors, passing by other students as they made their way to talk to their head of house.

Hermione knocked on the door to McGonagall's office as the other two boys stood nervously behind her.

After a few moments, a flushed McGonagall opened the door.

"We need to talk," Hermione said plainly. The girl looked ready to push her way into the office, if that was necessary.

"Now is not a good time," McGonagall replied calmly.

Hermione looked ready to retort, but a voice spoke up from the inside. "Please, Madam, I don't have all day." The girl leaned at an odd angle to get a glance at the rooms contents. Harry and Ron followed suit.

"Er, right," Hermione said. "But first chance you get…"

Professor McGonagall gave a short nod and Hermione pushed the boys down the hall.

"What just happened Hermione?" Ron asked.

"There are ministry people in there," Hermione replied. "I don't know who, but they all looked political."

"Great!" Ron shouted sarcastically.

"So, I guess I'll be going to detention," Hermione commented.

"Well, I'll still go to my lessons," Harry decided, "and if Snape comes, I'll tell him what happened. And I bet he'll swoop in so fast…" Assuming Snape is okay, Harry worried.

Ron nodded and then said, "And I'll make sure you're not in there alone. Not one second."

Hermione smiled at her two protective friends. "I should get started on my homework," she decided. "I doubt I'll have time later."

xxxxx

At nine o'clock that night, Harry still sat leaning against Snape's office door. Thus far, he hadn't felt any pain from his scar and figured that was a good sign. Although, on second thought, he hadn't really been having the same number of visions as he had before the Department of Mysteries incident. And he was not naïve to the fact Voldemort loved using the Cruciatus Curse. He was about to give up, when the door opened from within and Harry fell backwards into the office.

"Snape," Harry breathed in relief.

"Yes," Snape snapped. "However, I must cancel tonight's lesson." As Harry stood up, the man started to close the door.

Quickly, Harry put out a foot to stop it. "Are you okay, sir?"

"Yes, now let me go," Snape said, but his physical condition suggested otherwise. His limbs twitched involuntarily, an obvious aftereffect of the cruciatus.

"Did he—"

Snape cut him off, "It's none of your concern."

"You should go to Madame Pomfrey," Harry replied.

"I have dealt with this before," Snape growled. The man was obviously losing his patience.

"Let me help you," Harry pleaded.

"No!" Snape shouted and pushed Harry back into the hall. The door then slammed shut, with an audible bang.

Harry cursed and then tried to open the door. It was locked shut, and Alohomora had no effect. Finally deciding to return to the tower, Harry was half way up before he remembered he was going to tell Snape about his arm. At the moment, though, his arm really didn't seem that bad in comparison to Snape's condition.

He was still worried about Hermione's detention, though, and decided to head towards the defense classroom even though it was nearly past curfew. Just down the hall from the room, Harry was met by a strange sight—Ron, Neville, Seamus, and Dean holding their defense textbooks open to various pages.

"Okay, I'll ask him that," Dean said. "Although I don't think he likes me much."

"Doesn't matter," Ron replied. "We just want to keep an eye on Hermione, that's all."

Harry held his breath; he really hoped Ron hadn't told everyone about what Quinn had done.

"But why?" Seamus asked, "What are you afraid Quinn will do? He's not some kind of pervert is he?"

"I don't know," Ron stated. "He just acts weird. I don't trust him."

The others nodded.

"Who's in there now?" Harry asked, as the group of boys jumped out of shock.

"Ginny and Colin," Ron answered.

"Colin!" Harry was surprised. "But he's muggleborn, too."

"Well, Ginny wasn't going in there alone either."

"What's her punishment been?"

"Just lines"

"Don't you think he'll get suspicious?" Neville asked. "With all of these Gryffindors asking a bunch of questions?"

"Probably," Harry laughed. Suddenly, he wanted his turn to go in as well. Then Quinn would know exactly why everyone was asking questions. He didn't get the chance, though, as Hermione stormed by with Ginny in her wake.

"Hey, Hermione," Ron shouted. “Wait up.”

The rest of the students all followed after her. It wasn't until they reached the Fat Lady that Hermione stopped, and then it was only so she could say the password. A combined glare from the pack of them sent the others off to bed. Only Dennis remained, so Colin was forced to take the boy to bed himself.

"What did he make you write?" Ron asked, once the Common Room was relatively empty. She didn’t respond, but handed the prompt over. Ron read it, "I will remember my place."

"Is that all?" Seamus asked.

Hermione glared at him. "Well I doubt he is daft enough to assign, 'I am a dirty mudblood'. But I got the meaning well enough. I'm sorry guys, but please excuse me, right now I just want to go to bed. Tomorrow we'll try McGonagall again." She walked off quickly, followed by Ginny.

Only the five sixth year boys remained in the Common Room.

"That's what he wanted me to say, too," Harry said, breaking the silence. "I think he has some sort of superiority complex or something."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "I've been hearing stories from some of the younger years."

"Like what?" Harry asked.

"Well, like how he's been making students stand in the corner, like he tried to do to you."

"I saw a couple Hufflepuffs crying when they left his classroom the other day," Seamus said. "I tried to ask them what happened, but they wouldn't tell me. They were muggleborns, I think… Do you guys think he's going after them on purpose?"

"Maybe he's a d-death eater," Neville said quietly.

"Wouldn't be the first time Dumbledore has had one on staff!" Ron shouted.

Harry glared at the boy, but realized that he probably wasn't talking about Snape—or rather, just Snape.

"And I can't believe what he's been doing to you in class, Harry," Seamus added.

"Attacking a student!" Dean exclaimed.

"We should all go to McGonagall tomorrow," Neville suggested.

"Yeah," said Ron. "I bet Hermione would like that."

"In the meantime, maybe we should do something on our own," Seamus said mischievously.

"Like what?" Harry asked.

"How many of you have stuff from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes?"

They all rushed up to their dorm, Neville a bit hesitantly. Searching through their trunks, they discovered that all together they had quite a bit of stuff. The most useful items were Ron's Portable Swamp, Dean's collection of Wildfire Wizbangs, and Seamus' stock of Dungbombs.

Supplies in hand, the group made their way quietly down to the defense classroom. They were as sneaky as possible, hiding in nooks and ducking behind suits of armor. Seamus and Harry would go first; checking to make sure everything was all clear. There was a rather tense moment when Professor McGonagall, along with a couple of ministry officials, passed by. Each boy held his breath and attempted to blend in with the shadows. Thankfully, the group was distracted and didn't even notice the hiding boys.

They were almost to the classroom, when the smallest creature in the castle made them stop dead in their tracks. An odd squeaking noise escaped from Dean just as Seamus muttered, "We're doomed." Mrs. Norris proceeded to slink over to them, no doubt calling her master, and everyone was at a loss at what to do.

Suddenly, Neville reacted. Pulling a random object from his pocket, he chucked it at the cat. The tiny white lump hit its target squarely and no one could do anything but stare. Expecting the cat to hiss and the caretaker to jump out and attack, they were all surprised when the cat leaned over and sniffed the object. A moment later, the cat attacked, greedily snatching up the white thing and disappearing around the corner. The boys all continued to stand still, not quite believing the cat was gone… surely they couldn't have escaped Filch's wrath.

"What was that?" Harry finally whispered.

"An Ice Mice," Neville mummered quietly.

"That was brilliant," Seamus remarked, clapping his hand down on Neville's shoulder. Startled, the boy jumped—all the color had drained from his face.

"We sh-should k-keep going," Neville stammered.

"Filch might still show," Ron reminded them.

They didn’t need any more incentive, and quickly found themselves in the relative safety of the defense classroom.

"So, what should we do first?" Seamus asked, fingering a Dungbomb in his pocket.

"I think we should rearrange the desks," Harry suggested. "Quinn likes everything to be in a particular order."

"We should stick it all to the ceiling," Dean suggested.

Ron laughed, "That's a great idea, but it would probably take to long."

"Oh, I know!" Harry shouted a bit louder than he intended. Still excited, he continued in quieter voice, "We should stack all the desks up into a pyramid pattern."

"Yeah," Dean agreed, "And we can stick the chairs to the ceiling."

"You just have to have something stuck to the ceiling," Seamus teased. Dean shrugged.

They all got a wicked grin on their faces and got to work. Ron and Seamus spent time stacking up the desks while Dean and Harry spelled the chairs to the ceiling. Meanwhile, Neville kept reminding them not to damage anything… No need to get expelled.

After the room was all set up, Harry took a Dungbomb and put it in a very special drawer of Quinn's desk. Ron and Dean were busy figuring out how to deploy the Portable Swamp, whilst Neville checked the hallway yet again to make sure it was empty. A loud snap interrupted their relative silence as the room filled with a bright green light.

"Seamus!" Ron shouted, "We decided to do the Wizbangs last. Someone might have heard that!"

"Well, if not," Seamus retorted, "I'm sure they could hear you bellowing."

"Shh," Harry hissed. "I think I hear something."

They all became silent; at first they heard nothing… But then there were distinct grumbling sounds coming from a door that lead to Quinn's office.

"Run!" Seamus yelled. Quickly all the boys did exactly that. In the hallway, they heard a voice shouting from the classroom.

"Stop this instant," Quinn commanded, but no one listened.

Rounding the corner, they could hear Quinn following from behind. Without stopping, Ron shouted to the others, "We should split up. We stand a better chance of getting away if we do."

Not bothering to respond, the group of boys all scattered.

Running as fast as he could, Harry had the distinct impression he was the one Quinn followed. Deciding to take the long way back to the towers, he descended the stairs two floors to a dungeon level. He was planning on going up the main stairs, passing right though the main entrance hall and back to Gryffindor Tower.

Taking one last glance over his shoulder, Harry rounded the corner. In that instant, all of his plans changed. He ran straight into a man and fell backwards onto his butt.

Harry looked up and gasped, "Snape!"