DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter and all other characters and locations belong to J. K. Rowling.

Chapter Four - Letters From the Dead

Aside from the dull murmurs that rose from the Pride section of each House Table, the Great Hall was quiet. Forks scraped and glasses clunked, but no other noise was made by the nervous students. Even the Professors perched behind the Head Table remained silent, their wary gazes sweeping the massive chamber in search of insurgence. Today, at this particular meal, the students of Hogwarts may as well have been lambs dining amongst starving wolves. No one knew quite what to make of the sudden change in seating arrangements, nor was anyone brave enough to challenge the raven-haired Lion currently occupying a prime spot on the Slytherin bench.

Greatly resembling a satiated leopard sunning itself after a successful hunt, Harry Potter sat straddling the Snake's bench, his eyes closed and his chin resting on Draco Malfoy's shoulder. His arms were loosely draped around the blond's waist, his breathing slow and even. To those curiously watching the dark-haired wizard, it appeared as if he were fast asleep, perfectly comfortable in his awkward position. However, the witches and wizards seated nearest him heard the soft words he muttered, saw the telltale glide and flex of his fingers.

"Incoming," Terry Boot mumbled around a mouthful of scrambled eggs. The Ravenclaw didn't bother to lift his head, his complete attention remaining focused on the plate of food sitting before him. His eyes flicked upward as he reached for his glass of pumpkin juice, meeting the shining orbs of the wizard seated directly across the table.

Turning his head, Draco watched the approaching Professor, his lips thinning. The hand that had been wielding a butter knife lowered, slipping gracefully beneath the table to rest on Harry's left thigh. "It's McGonagall," he reported in a whisper, long fingers applying a gentle squeeze to the raven-haired Gryffindor's leg. Harry's arms tightened momentarily around him, the only sign that he had heard the hissed murmur. Giving a brief nod to Terry, the blond removed his hand and resumed eating, acutely aware of the slow tensing of the body pressed against his side.

A chorus of syrupy sweet greetings marked the Transfiguration Professor's arrival at the Slytherin Table. The overly loud hail drew the eyes of the Pride members seated at the other House Tables, bringing a sudden halt to their hushed conversations. Their gazes cautious, the Pride shifted uncomfortably, awaiting whatever was to come. As the tension became almost tangible, complete silence descended upon the Great Hall.

Seeming both disturbed and concerned at being addressed en masse by the Lion's Pride, Minerva McGonagall frowned and cleared her throat. "Harry," she said evenly, casting her gaze over the sixth years. Her brow furrowed as the dark-haired wizard snuggled closer to Draco, pressing his face into the side of the blond's neck and sighing softly. Closing her eyes, she drew a deep breath, and then exhaled. "Mister Potter."

Opening his eyes, Harry straightened and peered questioningly at the witch. Professor McGonagall, he responded politely, his breath lightly ruffling Draco's hair. Fingers unobtrusively kneading the blond's abdomen, he remained in his relatively relaxed position. Right eyebrow hitching as the grim-faced Transfigurations Professor glared ruefully down at him, he shifted, attempting to ease the tightening muscles in his calves. "What time is Dumbledore expecting me in his office?"

Surprise widening her eyes, the old witch stared down at her once prized pupil. "A quarter after one," she rasped. Blinking, she gave a shake of her head and spun around, stalking toward the quiet Head Table. She didn't glance back over her shoulder, although the urge to do so must have been unbearably strong.

Allowing the tension to flow from his limbs, Harry sighed and shut his eyes, his chin returning to its former position on Draco's shoulder. His massaging fingers stilled, the splayed digits pressing lightly against the blond wizard's side. Around him, the Pride released the collective breath they'd been holding and returned to their conversations with relieved mumbles. And slowly, almost warily, the rest of the student body followed their example.

With a soft snort, Draco gave his head an amused wag and laid his fork down. "Smart ass," he breathed, turning his face toward Harry's. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the dark-haired wizard's lips twitch upward into a smirk, the smug smile vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. Exchanging a look with Terry, he slid his hand under the table and patted the raven-haired wizard's knee softly.

Settling his hand over Draco's, Harry squeezed lightly before tangling his fingers with the blond's slender digits. "Did you really think this mornings rebellious little coup would go unnoticed?" He whispered, his lips barely moving as he spoke. His eyes slid open, a mere sliver of green visible beneath the dark lashes.

"Darling, that was no 'little rebellious coup'", Draco murmured, "That was a full-scale revolt." Harrys' derisive sniff made him smile. Pale eyes dancing with mirth, the blond cast his gaze over the Great Hall, dipping his chin politely at the nods of greeting he received from several watchful Pride members.

Harry rubbed his chin against the Slytherin's shoulder in a catlike gesture, his slitted eyes drifting completely closed. "Well, whatever it was, I'm sure I'm going to hear about it," he breathed. The corners of his mouth rose at the blond's light chuckle, his arms tightening in a playful squeeze.

"I'm sure you will," Draco agreed, shifting within the dark-haired wizard's arms as a flash of movement caught his eyes. The sight of Hermione Granger marching purposefully toward them had him sighing and attempting to straighten, his efforts thwarted by the wizard wrapped around him. Brows arching in question, he watched the Gryffindor witch elbow Terry over with an amused grin, pinching Harry's thigh gently to gain his attention. "How good of you to join us, Hermione," he purred softly.

Offering the blond a cheeky wink, the bushy-haired witch shoved aside the clutter of plates and silverware from before her and slapped a leather bound day planner atop the table. "I just couldn't keep myself away, Draco," Hermione said primly, "The conversation looked so delightfully entertaining." She shot a meaningful look at Harry's still form, arching an eyebrow as Terry grunted out a laugh.

"I heard that Hermione," Harry mumbled, sitting up with a soft moan. He rolled his shoulders and yawned before opening his eyes and glaring at the witch, one hand rising to scratch lazily at his chin. Thoughtlessly, his hand drifted downward, fingers smoothing absently over the scars ringing his throat.

With a brisk shake of her head, Hermione lifted her eyes and smiled, ignoring the warning glare Draco shot in her direction. "Lunch is over in ten minutes, Harry. I thought it best if we discuss this afternoons schedule before we run out of time." Not giving the dark-haired Gryffindor a chance to reply, the witch flipped the agenda open and pursed her lips. "The Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws have Defence Against the Dark Arts . . . and we have History of Magic with the Slytherins."

"And to think you wasted your lunch sleeping," Terry remarked, shooting Hermione a dirty look when the witch once again buried her elbow in his side. Rubbing his bruised ribs, the Ravenclaw rose and stepped over the bench, bending slowly at the waist to pick up his abandoned book bag. Tilting his head to say something, he froze, his eyes narrowing. "Down, Harry!" He roared, his voice ringing through the Hall.

Before Harry had a chance to react, he was knocked from the bench and buried beneath several protective Lions, his view hindered by the length of dark cloth covering his face. Alarmed cries and shouted orders filled the air, followed by the loud chorus of 'protego'. A powerful rush of magic washed over the group lying prone upon the floor, twisting their cloaks and dragging roughly at their hair. And then, there was silence.

"Damn it, Terry," Blaise snapped angrily, "Did you have to scare everybody?" His voice broke the lengthening silence and drew cowering students from their places beneath the long tables.

Frowning, Harry shoved at the individual lying directly atop him. "Get off," he finally ordered, the harsh command rivaling the cracking of a whip. In seconds, the bodies that had been piled upon him vanished, replaced by helpful hands. His eyes locked on Terry, the dark-haired wizard climbed to his feet, batting away the hands brushing at his rumpled clothing. "Explain, Boot."

With a flick of the wand held between his fingers, Terry indicated the Slytherin Table, his gaze never moving from his target. "There's only one type of wizard who'd dare to use that type of bird to deliver their mail," the Ravenclaw spat.

Brow furrowing, Harry followed the wizard's gaze and stiffened. His orbs narrowed at the sight of a sleek black raven perched on the lip of a juice jug, its beady eyes glistening as it swiveled its narrow head. Lips curling into a disgusted sneer, the black-haired wizard reached for his wand. "Get rid of it," he barked, directing the glowing tip of his wand at the watchful bird.

As if sensing his disdain, the bird uttered a raucous cry and flapped its wings, the sudden movement dragging gasps of fear from the mouths of the cowering students. Performing a neat little hop, the raven dropped to the scarred wood of the table and waddled toward Harry, tilting its head so one glistening orb remained locked on the wizard. It halted when it reached the edge of the table, its narrow beak parting around another rough croak. Then, under the wary eyes of the Lion's Pride, it extended a single leg to which a piece of red parchment had been tied.

Harry drew a sharp breath, his emerald orbs locked upon the letter. "Finch-Fletchley," he called loudly, the glowing tip of his wand never leaving the raven. His right eyebrow hitched at an amused snort from his left, the sound tipping his chin in that direction. "Would you prefer the pleasure, Theo?"

"I'd rather run naked through the Ministry of Magic at twelve o'clock in the afternoon," the Slytherin wizard muttered quietly.

A sardonic smile curving his lips, Harry nodded in agreement. "That's what I thought." His gaze returned to the black bird, the expression on his face turning grim. He shifted impatiently, the toe of one boot beginning a rapid tap as he glanced in the direction of the Hufflepuff Table. Opening his mouth to repeat the wizard's name, he halted, his mouth snapping closed. With a disgusted huff, he jammed his wand into his belt and strode forward, extended hands reaching for the Howler.

"Harry," Draco said in warning, prowling quickly after the dark-haired wizard. His eyes darted back and forth between the raven and the Gryffindor, the fingers wrapped around his wand tightening perceptibly. Jaw clenched angrily, he stilled slightly to the right of Harry, watching the black bird warily.

"When I get my hands on the Hufflepuff-" Harry hissed, fumbling with the piece of white silk holding the roll of parchment to the bird's leg. Swearing softly, he yanked on the delicate ribbon and smirked when it snapped, the Howler falling into his waiting hand.

Freed of its burden, the raven cawed harshly and opened its wings. With a brisk flap, it leapt into the air and flew from the Great Hall, leaving every pair of eyes in the large chamber firmly fastened on one silent Harry Potter.

"Don't open it here, Harry," Hermione ordered briskly, sweeping hurriedly around the Slytherin Table. Her words came to late, however, the Howler unfolding within Harry's grasp and rising slowly into the air before him.

Hello Harry dearest, the Howler purred in a frighteningly familiar voice. A crazed giggle followed the greeting, the parchment fluttering wildly in front the open-mouthed wizard. Do you miss me? I miss you . . . I especially miss hearing you scream. You've no idea how that sweet sound still haunts me. I've tried to forget you. Oh, how I've tried. The Howler confessed mournfully, its corners drooping slightly. With a drawn out sigh, the high-pitched voice resumed its discourse. Indeed, I've even tried to replace you. But no one else gets that gleam in their eyes. That wild, defiant glow that makes me cry out in delight. I'm sure you remember every moment as well as I do . . . After countless others, I've come to the sad realization that I have to have you begging before me again, no one else will do. I'm coming for you, Harry, no one and nothing shall stand in my way. We'll be together soon, I promise. Drifting marginally closer to Harry, the Howler blew a kiss and gave its parting words. Sinfully yours, Bella.

"Is there something you forgot to tell us, Harry?" Dean hollered across the Great Hall. His bellow concealed the Howler's final words, leaving the entire student body guessing as to whom the letter had been from.

Watching dispassionately as the Howler tore itself to shreds, Harry exhaled sharply before whirling around and storming from the Hall, the Pride scrambling in his wake. His shouted name earned nothing more then a brief hesitation; the slight hitch in his stride so small it was almost unnoticeable. Without pause, and with little thought, he stalked through the abandoned halls of Hogwarts, allowing his feet to carry him where they would. He raked shaking fingers through his hair, tugging ruthlessly on the dark locks as his heart pounded and his mind raced.

Bellatrix Lestrange was alive. Bellatrix Lestrange was alive and coming for him. Anger warred with vengeful glee; the urge to laugh joyously forcing him to bite his tongue and take a calming breath. If there was anything he regretted about the way the war had ended, it had been that he hadn't been able to kill the dark witch himself. He'd always assumed that she'd been destroyed in the Ballroom Battle, perhaps killed by a Sentinel seeking its revenge. His eyes drifted closed as he tipped his head back and laughed, the sound possessing an eerie quality that raised the hair on the back of his neck.

"Ah, Bella," he mused, emerald orbs popping open, "You were never the brightest star in the sky." A devilish smile curving his lips, he looked out over the empty quidditch pitch, marveling at the green lawns and brightly coloured banners flapping in the warm breeze. The ominous creak of wood turned his head. Hand drifting to the hilt of his wand, he spun slowly, paling at the sight that met his glowing eyes.

Gritting his teeth in an effort to contain the numerous curses building up upon his tongue, Draco inhaled slowly and then exhaled, his hands balling into fists. "You'll promise me right now, Harry, that you won't do anything stupid," he said stiffly. His eyes narrowed when the dark-haired wizard began to wag his head, fingers clenching until his knuckles whitened.

"I can't promise you that," Harry began, snapping his mouth shut with a clack of teeth when the other wizard lifted a single finger.

"After everything we've been through, you'd risk your life for the chance to kill someone who you already thought was dead?" Draco demanded in exasperation. He lifted his hands and curled his fingers into claws, for one moment appearing as if he was about to grab the Gryffindor by the neck and commence strangling him. Huffing out a breath, he straightened his fingers and took a small step forward. "Why?" It was the only question that came to mind that didn't directly insult the dark-haired wizard's intelligence.

"She killed Sirius," Harry bit out, "And who knows how many other people she's killed since then. Bellatrix Lestrange is a murderess, Draco. There's no reason she shouldn't be dead right now." He stopped his tirade there, a grimace twisting his features as he realized he sounded just as crazed as Bellatrix's letter had. Giving a guttural groan, he whirled and flopped down on the bench behind him, dropping his face into the palms. "And now I sound as mad she does."

With a soft sigh, Draco sank down next to Harry and slid his arm around the raven-haired wizard's waist. "In your mind she was dead and buried, Harry," the blond murmured soothingly, pulling the other wizard against his side. "Finding out she's still alive is a nasty surprise. Why, think of how poor Neville will feel when he learns that the witch who tortured his parents is actually alive."

Scrubbing his face with the heels of his hands, Harry loosed an explosive breath and braced his elbows on his knees. "She needs to be dealt with," he said, glancing at the blond. The understanding he found within Draco's shining orbs was enough to straighten his spine. His gaze returned to the Quidditch pitch, the laughing emeralds hardening until they glowed a dangerous shade of jade. "The sooner- the better."

Draco stared at Harry for a long minute, his mind working quickly. Eyelashes drifting downward to shield smirking silver orbs, he nodded slowly, noting the flash of triumph that passed over the dark-haired wizard's face. "I understand and agree completely," he breathed, "But you do nothing without first consulting me. Also, the entire Pride needs to be involved. I won't have you running off and doing anything stupid alone."

Harry chuckled wryly, tilting his chin so he could peer at the blond. "Agreed," he said, draping his arm over Draco's shoulders.

"Do we need to define stupid or are we quite clear as to what that covers?" Draco asked, turning his face into Harry's side and inhaling lightly. His eyes slit at the other wizard's soft snigger, the fingers of his left hand applying a sharp pinch to the skin just above the Gryffindor's hipbone.

Flinching away from the blond's pinching fingers, Harry gasped and replied, "We're clear." He was awarded a gentle caress for his quick response, delicate fingers soothing the spot that had been pinched.

Sliding out from beneath Harry's arm, Draco rose and shook out his robes. "Classes will be resuming within the next five minutes," he announced after a quick glance at the watch adorning his right wrist. His hands smoothed down the dark material of his robes, brushing away non-existent wrinkles as he shot a preoccupied glance at the other wizard.

"And?" Harry said, arching a brow as he stood.

Shaking his head, Draco whirled and glided away from the other wizard, heading in the direction of the stairs. "Should we choose continue this discussion, we'll both be late." Lips curving at Harry's disgusted curse, the blond floated down the wooden steps.

Only seconds behind him, the dark-haired male pounded inelegantly down the stairs, raising dust and dirt from the ancient wood. "Dumbledore's office is on the opposite side of the castle," Harry grit out. The blond's soft laugh drifted back to him, causing his brow to furrow unhappily. "I'm going to have to run, aren't I?" He asked rhetorically, breaking into a jog as soon as his feet hit the grass.

"Have fun," Draco called at Harry's retreating back, lifting a hand to give a farewell wave. He sighed as his eyes slid over the Gryffindor's back, a soft pout curving his lips as he realized exactly how concealing their Hogwarts uniforms really were. With a mournful toss of his head, he strode lazily in the direction of the school, not the least bit worried about being late for History of Magic.

XxXxX

Sliding gracefully, albeit winded, into one of the chairs resting in front of Dumbledore's desk, Harry rearranged the drape of his robes before baldly meeting the older wizard's impatient gaze. "Professor McGonagall said you wanted to see me, sir," he said, folding his hands neatly in his lap. He widened his eyes innocently as Dumbledore sighed heavily and closed the book he'd idly been scanning. Restraining a sigh of his own, Harry settled himself deeper into the chair he had commandeered and prepared to defend the Pride's actions.

"Ah, Harry," Dumbledore said, the expression on his face surprisingly somber. Leaning back in his chair, he steepled his fingers and eyed the younger wizard warily. For several seconds, the pair waged a silent staring contest, neither prepared to point the first finger. Finally, after finding himself unable to continue gazing into twin pools of unblinking emerald, Albus heaved another deep sigh and leaned forward, placing his steepled fingers atop the book he'd been perusing. "I understand your return has been, perhaps, slightly more vigorous than what you were expecting, but there really is no need for the dramatics that occurred earlier. And while I can't condone you for the actions of your classmates, I must stress that you refrain from encouraging any further disruptive behaviour."

"I was unaware that having a crazed witch threatening to kidnap me could be considered my fault," Harry said sweetly, finally allowing himself to blink. He lowered his gaze to his lap and absently noted his whitened knuckles, drawing a deep breath as he unclenched his fingers and tried to gain control of both his temper and his tongue.

"I was actually referring to the disruption of the sixth year classes, my boy," Dumbledore returned evenly.

Left eyebrow lifting, Harry gazed at the Headmaster in apparent disbelief. "If your Professors are going to treat us like juvenile delinquents who know nothing, sir, then we're only to happy to entertain them. I will not, however, allow any member of the Lion's Pride to be punished, in any way, for acting as they did." Realizing his tone was becoming extremely sharp and his words biting, he quieted, his lips pressed tightly together.

Dumbledore gave a knowing nod, his expression turning strangely sympathetic. "And I realize that, Harry, but the rules still apply. You and your friends made an agreement with the Ministry to return to school and attend classes. That entails listening to the Professors and performing any actions or activities they might request of you."

"When those actions and activities become reasonable, I'm certain the entire Pride will consent to perform them," Harry snapped. He drew a deep breath and pulled his fingers apart, placing them carefully on the arms of the chair. His eyes narrowed as he exhaled through his nose, his nostrils flaring. "Until that time, we'll continue to act as we have been." Again he inhaled deeply, holding the air in his lungs for a moment before exhaling in a slow, calming breath.

With a dissatisfied huff, the Headmaster bowed his head in unhappy acceptance. "I'll speak with Minerva and Severus on the matter. Surely there's a satisfactory solution that will appease all parties involved. At the disbelieving arch of Harry's eyebrows, he made a note to himself with a quill he unearthed on his desk, placing the parchment in a prominent position among the jumble of books and assorted knick-knacks covering the cluttered wooden surface. Clearing his throat, he laid the gold-feathered quill down and peered at the younger wizard, his expression hiding his thoughts.

"That's all?" Harry questioned hopefully, sliding forward in the chair in preparation to stand.

"There's actually one more thing I wanted to speak with you about, my boy," Albus said quickly, lifting a hand to halt Harrys departure.

Harry was unable to contain his disgusted snort. "And that would be?" He growled imperiously, folding his arms across his chest.

"Why, the return of Bellatrix Lestrange, of course," Dumbledore replied.

In a rustle of robes, Harry rose smoothly. "That matter is really no concern of yours," he said politely, dipping his head in farewell. Giving the older wizard a final tight-lipped smile, he spun around and strode toward the winding staircase, ignoring the protesting mumbles that rose in his wake. "Good day, professor." His dismissal was firm and unapologetic, quieting Dumbledore as he prowled down the stairs. When he reached the bottom, he tipped his head back and massaged his aching temples, wondering how he was going to survive History of Magic and Snape's excuse for detention.

XxXxX

"Each of you is to place your wand within this jar," Snape purred, directing their attention to the empty glass container sitting forlornly before him. His lips curved slowly into a feral smile as the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors stared at him in stupefied silence. Dark orbs glittering with poorly veiled malice, he lifted the lid from the container and glared at Harry, silently daring him to refuse the order.

Brows rising, Harry shifted his gaze from Snape to the jar. It was a fairly reasonable demand. Fairly. The Potions Master obviously believed that taking their wands would prevent them from using magic; thus, making whatever task he had in mind all the more grueling. Licking his lips, Harry returned his gaze to Snape and allowed a devilish smirk to creep across his face. He rose with the squeal of wood on stone and walked down the center aisle, halting directly in front of the hook-nosed Professor. "Is that all, sir?" In the wake of his words, his wand clattered into the jar, the panther dangling from the handle clanking loudly against the thick glass.

"Yes, Potter, thats all." Sneered Snape, his eyes narrowing angrily.

Smiling innocently, Harry gave a delicate shrug of his shoulders before swinging around and strolling back to his seat. He slid gracefully into the chair between Ron and Hermione and folded his arms atop the desk, his eyes sparkling with amusement. His gaze remained on the Potions Professor as the rest of the sixth years pushed out of their seats and marched determinedly to the front of the room, depositing their wands carefully within the jar.

"I hope you know what you're doing," Hermione hissed as she brushed by him, her wand held loosely in her hand.

Harry merely grinned, fluttering a hand lazily in the direction of Snape and his jar of wands. As far as he was concerned, being wandless while deep within the bowels of Hogwarts was the least dangerous thing he'd done all day. Besides, pissing Snape off, which was fast become his favorite hobby, was really quite entertaining.

Placing the lid on the container, Snape scooped it up and tucked it under his arm, casting a disdainful glance at the group as he dragged his wand from the pocket of his robes. "Because of your thoughtless actions this morning I'm forced to attend a staff meeting with the Headmaster." Baleful gaze sweeping the room, the Potions Professor waved his wand at the storage cupboard that held every potion ingredient known to the wizarding world. "While it was suggested I postpone your . . . punishment, I felt that all of you could benefit from the responsibility of being left unattended for a short period of time. Of course, should you fail to complete the simple tasks listed upon the board in the allotted time, you'll be returning tomorrow night. I'll be back in two hours." With one final bitter glare, he stalked from the classroom, their wands lolling in the jar beneath his arm.

Harry winced as the door slammed closed on Snape's heels, the lock falling ominously into place. Biting his bottom lip, he turned his gaze to the blackboard at the front of the chamber, his brow wrinkling as bold words slashed themselves across the dark slat. His eyebrows vanished under his shaggy bangs when the frantic scribbling finally stopped. "Wash all dirty cauldrons and thoroughly clean and organize the potion ingredients cupboard," he read out loud. Surely this was some type of trap, he thought, eyes drifting from the board to the massive walk-in closet Snape called a cupboard.

"That's it? No possibly life-endangering trip into the Forbidden Forest to collect fresh potion ingredients?" Terry asked, peering hopefully at the blackboard as if expecting more tasks to appear. When anything further failed to appear, he slumped in his seat. Frowning, he reached up and carded his fingers through his hair, exchanging a disgusted look with Ron. "I find myself strangely disappointed."

"As am I," Harry grumbled, rising and rolling up his sleeves. Planting his hands on his hips, he approached the stack of filthy cauldrons with purpose. Not bothering to glance at the wide-eyed mass behind him, he waved vaguely in the direction of the storage cupboard. "I'll handle this mess. Terry, delegate." He'd rather do dishes then spend two hours rearranging something that would only be reorganized as soon as they left.

With the sound of Terry's voice ricocheting around the chamber, he flipped on the tap above the large metal washtub. Mindlessly, he added soap to the rising water, watching as fluffy bubbles swarmed across the surface. He turned with a soft sigh, leaning back against the counter and crossing his arms over chest. Under his thoughtful gaze, the group performed the tasks theyd been assigned, pausing only to converse with the individuals closest to them.

History of Magic had been spent slumped in a chair next to Draco; his arms crossed and his legs sprawled out before him. Many of the Gryffindors had chosen to follow his shining example but the Slytherins had been strangely busy. That wasn't unusual, of course. The Slytherins were excellent at multitasking, which was exactly what they'd been doing. In an effort to further unnerve McGonagall, the Slytherins and Hufflepuffs had completed the assignment found at the end of the chapter she'd told them to read. Harry was certain the Transfigurations Professor would be more than a little unnerved by the students seemingly one-eighty change in attitude.

Brow furrowing, he swung back around and turned the water off, his hands sliding slowly into the steaming liquid. He'd informed the Pride that there was to be a meeting in the Room of Requirement tomorrow morning. A meeting in which the Howler he'd received would be discussed thoroughly. Just the thought of how that little get together would go had his head pounding. He turned at a burst of wild laughter, a grin curving his lips as he watched Dean slap Terry roughly on the shoulder. But that was tomorrow . . . and tomorrow was another day.

XxXxX

Thank-you to everyone who took the time to read and review. The end to this chapter was a little abrupt and for that I apologize, unfortunately I was starting to grow bored with it and decided to wrap it up before I completely lost my mind and nerve.