:D Sorry for the wait, everyone! Here's a shiny new chapter just for you!

"So, wait, when you say that salamander blood produces a warm feeling when ingested, why is the Wiggenweld Potion cold when you drink it?"

"We just went over this, Boot. It's because of the mint and the asphodel."

"Yeah, but those aren't exactly magical, are they?"

"It doesn't matter, they cancel it out."

"I still don't think it makes sense."

"Look, do you want to fail the essay?" Ma'rik leveled Terry with an annoyed stare. Terry sighed.

"No..."

"Then trust me and I'll explain it to you later."

"Fine..." Terry added the final few lines to his essay, blew on the ink to dry it, and rolled the parchment up. "This better get at least an Acceptable, I'm warning you now." Ma'rik rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah. But now that we're done with all that, why don't we start on our extracurricular research?" Terry visibly brightened at that.

"Don't mind if I do!" he replied. The two boys eagerly hopped to their feet and began perusing the shelves; Ma'rik found himself in the Defense area, while it seemed Terry had found the Healing area. "Do you think they have any classes for Healers?"

"I dunno," Ma'rik replied. "You'd think if they did they'd have a couple mandatory for first years. We seem to hurt ourselves a lot." Terry hummed his agreement and pulled several books off the shelf before going back to his seat and cracking one open to the index. "Let's see... The Duelist's Guide to Jinxes and Curses... Common Counterspells... The Patronus: A Step-by-Step for Beginners..." Ma'rik frowned. Nothing that screamed 'curse scar' at him. He pulled the Duelist's Guide to Jinxes and Curses as well as Common Counterspells and sat down, beginning to flick through them idly. Both he and Terry repeated this process of scouring the shelves, finding nothing useful, and pulling random books down before they found it.

"Ahh- Ma'rik!" Terry said excitedly, sitting up a little straighter. Ma'rik blinked.

"What?"

"I found something!" Ma'rik leaned across the table to stare at the book upside-down.

"Well? What does it say?" he prompted. Terry quickly scanned the section.

"Er... okay, so curse scars are scars left by powerful spells, dark magic, because light magic jinxes, it doesn't curse. Uhhmmm..." He scanned it again. "For the first few months you have it, it says they generally hurt a bit, but after a while it stops and they'll only react to strong dark magic, which is why the Ministry hires lots of Aurors with curse scars. It says it's also possible to get a curse scar from a hex, but those are few and far in between because curses are stronger and more often used for fighting."

"Is there any way to get rid of it?"

"No, but there are ways to keep the pain from getting too intolerable. Though I dunno why you'd need that at Hogwarts..." He flipped the page. "Oh, and it says you'd need a glamour stronger than the curse itself to hide it." Ma'rik groaned and face-tabled. Terry snickered.

"Well, well. If it isn't Potter and Boot." Ma'rik pulled Terry's book and turned it so he could read it as Terry looked up to meet the new voice.

"Oh. Hey, Draco," Terry greeted dully. Draco Malfoy, in all his platinum-blond Slytherin glory, crossed his arms almost lazily and gave some sort of attempt at an arrogant smirk.

"I saw you two talking with Weasley yesterday at breakfast. I didn't think you would be closet Gryffindors," he said. Terry shrugged.

"We're not," he replied. "He just happened to overhear us talking about visiting Hagrid and decided to join us in the afternoon." Malfoy snorted.

"Weasley and Hagrid?" His lip curled in a sneer of disgust. "They're all nothing but blood traitors. You shouldn't soil your name by associating with them."

"I'm half-blood," Terry deadpanned.

"Exactly!" Malfoy agreed. "You need to overcome your Muggle heritage and prove yourself a true Wizard!" Terry scowled at him.

"I'd watch your tongue if I were you, Malfoy," Ma'rik said lightly as he continued perusing Terry's book. "One day you might find yourself without it." Malfoy turned his gaze to Ma'rik and scoffed.

"Are you threatening me, Potter?"

"Lachance," Terry and Ma'rik corrected at the same time. They exchanged an amused look for the briefest of moments before turning back to Malfoy.

"And, yes," Ma'rik continued. "Yes, I am. We were just reading about curse scars, you see. And how to inflict them." He held up one of his books for emphasis. Malfoy sneered.

"Well if you think you're all that, then I challenge you to a duel!" he announced. "Thursday night at midnight, in the trophy room. No one ever goes there."

"Alright," Terry agreed. "I'm his second. Who's yours?" Malfoy paused.

"Crabbe," he eventually said. "Thursday at midnight- don't get scared and call it quits!" He turned and dramatically stormed from the library. Terry watched him go before taking his book back from Ma'rik.

"So we actually gonna go?" Ma'rik asked, leaning his head on his palm. "It's probably a trap."

"Now, now, Ma'rik," Terry said lightly. "Where's your sense of Gryffindor adventure?"

When the two had finished at the library, they returned to the dorms and spent the rest of the day going back over their notes from the past week, trying to determine what materials could possibly on tests. They were eventually joined by Anthony and Michael, and Ma'rik decided to break off from the group there and work on his Conjuration theory. He spent Sundas training with Antoinetta in the Forbidden Forest and returned just in time for dinner, where he got the oddest looks from his peers as he proceeded to ignore them all, pile food onto his plate, and eat without any form of table communication at all. Afterward he went to hang around in the Ravenclaw common room, putting his skills to the test- he successfully bound not only a helm, but gauntlets and greaves as well, courtesy of his wonderful new wand. Honestly, the boy didn't know where he would be if he didn't have the thing. Morndas and Tirdas were rather boring, besides Alchemy 101 and DADA, the former in which Terry blew up another cauldron and the latter in which Ma'rik experienced a very real pain in his scar every time Quirrel turned his back to the class. Middas turned up boring classes, as well, as Ma'rik couldn't quite bring himself to care about turning a needle into a match or making a feather float. And when Turdas came, well, he was very much excited- his first attempt to put his sneaking to the test where his Sister would not be able to come help him if he got in trouble. He waited anxiously through his classes, too excited to even sleep in History of Magic, and fidgeted all through dinner. He knew, of course, that it was most definitely a trap- all this talk about Slytherin cunning, they'd try and exploit anything they could before actually fighting themselves. But, as Terry continued to say, you didn't need to be a Gryffindor to have a sense of adventure- and you absolutely had to have one if you lived in Cyrodiil.

"This is such a horrible idea," Terry said, grinning, as they rendezvoused in the common room late Turdas night. "I'm so ready for this!"

"So, question," Ma'rik replied, "why are we doing this even though we know we're going to get caught?"

"Don't tell me you wanna back out!" Terry laughed. "C'mon, didn't you ever want to be the 'bad boy' back home? Let's break the rules for once!" Ma'rik smiled almost patronizingly at that and followed Terry out into the corridor. The brass knocker stared at them disapprovingly as they passed by, but the pair paid it no mind and continued on in the direction of the stairs. They had barely gone five feet when Terry tripped over something and his face became rather acquainted with the stone floor. "Ack!"

"Hnn?" the thing grunted. "Terry? Wha're you doin' out so late...?" The thing rubbed his eyes and yawned before slowly pushing himself to his feet; Terry rose as well. Ma'rik was able to see that the thing was not a thing at all, but Michael, who had an impression of the floor on his cheek from where he had been sleeping.

"Hey, Michael," Ma'rik greeted. Michael gave him a sleepy wave in reply.

"We're gonna go walk into a Slytherin-trap," Terry replied. "Come with us! We'll need all the brain-power available to get out of it!" Ma'rik laughed a little on the inside; Michael looked way too tired to be thinking properly. But he was somewhat surprised when Michael rubbed the sleep from his eyes and nodded, stretching.

"Alright," he said. "Let's do this bad boy. What's the trap?"

"Classic, duel in the trophy room," Terry replied. "And if Malfoy actually shows up, he'll probably have both of his little gorillas with him, so either way you need to come."

"Wicked." Michael grinned. "Shall we, Ma'rik, Terry?" Ma'rik couldn't help but smirk.

"We shall." And the three were off; Michael and Terry sneaked awkwardly, trying to simply tip-toe around the castle; Ma'rik was crouching as Antoinetta showed him to, clinging to the wall and peering around corners before beckoning his friends on. They managed to avoid the ghosts and Filch on the way down to the Entrance Hall, and quickly went into the Trophy Room and began to wait. It was not quite midnight when they heard footsteps. Quickly, Terry and Michael ducked under a table, and Ma'rik pressed himself up against one of the darker corners.

"...out of bed...!" a voice floated to meet their ears. Ma'rik could barely make out Michael and Terry exchange grins. Of course it was a trap. It was Malfoy they were dealing with after all. Ma'rik glanced around the trophy room and cast Void Gazer on himself. Immediately he could see every detail of the room as if he were a Khajiit himself, and though the only colors he could see were now varying shades of blue, the fact that he could see at all was comforting. While Michael and Terry were discussing the best way to distract Filch (because it was obviously the caretaker, just by the mere sound of his voice), Ma'rik was doing the more sensible thing- trying to find an exit- and as luck would have it, he did.

"Terry, Michael!" Ma'rik hissed. "This way!" The two stared at him blankly- he had to remind himself that they hadn't cast any sort of Nighteye, yet. "I found a door!" They immediately brightened.

"Oh, spiffing!" Terry pulled himself out from under the table and over to Ma'rik, and Michael followed him. They had almost made it to the door when Terry decided to accidentally knock over a trophy- which knocked over another trophy, which knocked over another trophy, which knocked over ANOTHER trophy, which knocked over a plaque, and the process just continued from there.

"AHA!" Filch's voice came from right outside the door. "STUDENTS IN THE CORRIDORS! STUDENTS OUT OF BED! I'LL STRING YOU ALL UP BY YOUR THUMBS, YOU LITTLE BRATS!"

"RUN!" Michael cried. Forgoing any sort of sneaking whatsoever, the trio made a mad dash out of the trophy room and down the corridor. Ma'rik cast a glance over his shoulder and could make Filch out far behind them, barely able to keep them in sight. Terry quickly took the lead, taking them past classrooms and trick doors until they came to a dead end with a single locked door.

"Oh Merlin it's locked!" The three were beginning to panic. Terry turned to Michael. "What was the unlocking spell? Do you remember the wand movement?" Michael was too busy hyperventilating to hear him.

"Oh Merlin... oh, Merlin, I can't get caught, I just can't!" he said. "My parents would kill me, I'd get detention, I'd... I'd...!"

"Oh, for the love of Sithis, move over!" Ma'rik growled. He stared at the lock for a moment before pressing his palm to it and focusing, whispering softly the words of power in Akavir. The lock suddenly sprung open, and he opened the door, pulling Terry and Michael in with him. He peered out the keyhole as he watched first Mrs. Norris, Flich's cat, strut up and stare unblinkingly at the door before meowling and turning away. Filch arrived soon after, panting.

"I coulder sworn they went this way...," he wheezed. "No one here... gotta catch the students... C'mon, my sweet..." Mrs. Norris meowled again and ran ahead of Filtch as he left. Terry breathed a sigh of relief.

"Good thinking, Ma'rik," Terry said, grinning at his friend. "Man, good thing he thought the door was still locked! I guess he didn't know they'd been teaching us Alohamora in class... ...Ack, that's what the incantation was, I can't believe I forgot it!" Ma'rik chuckled.

"The brainy types don't handle well under stress, do they?" he teased. "You're just lucky I was here, or you both would be dragged down to Filch's office." Terry laughed as well.

"Uhh... guys...?" Michael said and Ma'rik looked to him, only to find him as pale as the Grey Lady, and trembling. "I... think we might want to run again..."

"Why, what's up?"Terry asked. Michael pointed into the room. Terry and Ma'rik turned around.

There, standing before them, was positively the largest dog Ma'rik had ever seen. It seemed it barely fit in the room; its ears scraped the ceiling and three pairs of glowing red eyes were trained on the small boys. Yellowed fangs snarled menacingly as saliva dripped down. Of course, it wasn't the beast's immense size or demonic color scheme that was frightening- no, the fact that it had three heads and could easily eat all three boys at one time easily took the cake.

"I think running's a brilliant idea."

"Oh, Merlin..." Terry shuddered as he picked up his fork. "I didn't sleep at all last night."

"Scared it was gonna find you and eat you?" Ma'rik asked lightly, playing with his Canadian bacon. Terry glared and then pouted.

"Yes. But did you see that thing? It was HUGE!"

"I did see it, in fact. It barely fit in the room."

"I mean, honestly, what are they thinking keeping that thing in here? This is a school for Merlin's sake!"

"Why don't you ask Hagrid?" Terry blinked.

"Hagrid? Why Hagrid?" Ma'rik shrugged.

"Just a hunch. Its foodbowl in the corner said 'Fluffy' on it. When Hagrid was talking about wanting a dragon, he said a good name for one would be 'Puffly'. See the theme?"

"Ah... so it's just Hagri'd pet puppy that eats students. Okay, makes sense. But why was it inside?"

"Once again, I suggest the Philsopher's Stone."

"Terry... c'mon. Philospher's Stone in a school full of children? What, does Dumbledore want thieves and murderers to come and kill us all to get it?" Terry seemed to have to pause and consider Ma'rik's question. Ma'rik simply rolled his eyes. "Really, Terry, the sensible answer would be 'no'. He could get fired. Or something."

"Well... you know, I have heard he's been a bit off his rocker since he had to fight Grindelwald...," Terry said quietly. "I bet it was because they were secretly in love or something." Ma'rik shook his head.

"Honestly, with all the conspiracy theories you come up with, it's a wonder you ever get to sleep." Terry simply shrugged. Ma'rik went back to picking at his breakfast. "So, I hear we have flying lessons today. I suppose it's too much to assume that we'll be learning Mysticism?" Terry shook his head and gave a small chuckle.

"Ma'rik, we're gonna learn to ride brooms. Honestly, I don't understand all this weird magic you talk about. It's like the wizards where you're from don't understand magic at all." Ma'rik pouted and leaned his head on his wrist.

"That's not true at all. You'd be amazed by the what the mages back home can do. Chain lightning, frenzy, summoning... 'Course, Necromancy's been banned, but I've still run into a couple necromancers out in the wilderness. They're cool, even if it's all kinda gross."

"You'll have to show me some day." Terry grinned and jerked his head towards the Entrance Hall. "C'mon, let's head out to the pitch. We'll try and get some of the better brooms." Ma'rik shrugged one shoulder non-commitedly and stood, following Terry out. Terry ranted on and on about his conspiracy theory concerning the Philosopher's Stone, and also a bit about all the odd magic phrases Ma'rik kept spouting at him. Ma'rik didn't listen to him all that much; he was busy trying to think of what could possibly be under the trap door Fluffy guarded.

It wasn't more than thirty minutes later when the rest of the first-year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs came out to join them on the pitch, each of them going to stand by s different broom. Terry had already pointed out the one he thought Ma'rik should use- standing up, it reached to about his chin, and the wood was a little bit heavier. Terry had said something about it keeping him from being blown around too much if there was too much wind. Ma'rik honestly didn't care much. He wanted to learn levitation spells, especially since the Cyrodiil Mage's Guild banned levitation spells citing too many deaths from careless use. Thinking about that always put him in a bad mood. Madame Hooch, the flying coach, came out and began barking orders at them, staring them down with her sharp, hawk-like eyes. Ma'rik didn't even bother to pay attention to her, and so when Terry was nudging and hissing at him to pay attention and he found all nineteen other students, plus Madame Hooch herself, staring at him, he blinked and felt somewhat embarassed.

"Mr. Potter," Madame Hooch said sharply, "I do believe I just told you five times to call your broom." Ma'rik scowled and then pointedly ingored her. "Mr. Potter!"

"Er, Madame Hooch, sorry, but...he only responds to Ma'rik Lachance," Terry said timidly. Madame Hooch's eyes twitched, and she sighed heavily.

"Mr. Lachance. Call your broom." Ma'rik inwardly swore. He was sort of banking on the name confusion to buy him some time for this one, actually. Everyone watched him expectantly as they clutched their own brooms to them (honestly, could Terry have not told him when they had started?). Ma'rik wasn't exactly sure what he was supposed to be doing, but he figured, why not, he could show off for once. At least to get the Ravenclaws off his back about Arcane magic. He knew a very basic telekinesis spell that would allow him just enough time to lift the broom into his hand; and so, making a grasping movement with his hand, he focused his Magicka and cast the spell Butterfinger that he'd learned from a wandering mage. The broom glowed with a neon purple light and Ma'rik made another grasping motion; the broom shot upwards, towards his gesture hand, and he plucked it from the air. The rest of the class continued to stare, looking somewhat confused.

"How'd you make it glow, Harry?" Justin Finch-Fletchley asked from somewhere down the line. Ma'rik ignored him and awaited further instructions from Madame Hooch, who wa seyeing him suspiciously.

"Mount your brooms," she said after a second. The class unanimously threw their legs over their brooms and straddled them, gripping the handle uncertainly. "Now, I will blow my whistle, and I want you to kick up from the ground, hard. You will hover several feet in the air until I blow my whistle again, and then you will lean foreward, and touch back down. On my whistle- three, two, one-!" The whistle shrieked, and everyone pushed up from the ground- some with a little more difficulty than others, Ma'rik noted. But he didn't seem to be one of them, despite never having flown a broom before. It was odd... he felt perfectly at ease on the broom. Madame Hooch blew her whistle again; with a little disappointment, Ma'rik touched back down. Madame Hooch watched them approvingly. "Good job. Much better than the Gryffindors and Slytherins, at any rate, we had a broken wrist in the class yesterday and I'm positive Weasley and Malfoy got a detention from their heads of houses. Alright, now we're going to move onto breaking..." And so the lesson went with minimal interest. Ma'rik found he rather enjoyed flying, much more than he originally thought he would, and so he was starting to become interested in this 'Quidditch' game everyone kept talking about. He'd have to ask Terry about it later. Also, it seemed Madame Hooch had decided he wasn't half-bad after all; she praised his form the most out of the rest of the students and mentioned something about how he would definitely follow in his father's footsteps, something about actually playing Quidditch. Ma'rik wasn't too sure about that- he'd never even seen a game. For all he knew, he could hate it, and then proceed to find some other racing broom-related club.

After flying lessons were over, it was time for lunch, and Ma'rik hummed contentedly as he brought his broom to Madame Hooch and paused to wait for Terry. It was as they were walking back towards the Great Hall that it happened.

"What was that, back there, Ma'rik?" Terry asked quietly. Ma'rik blinked.

"What do you mean, Terry?" he replied, innocently. Terry frowned.

"What you did to call your broom. You didn't do it like everyone else. How did you make it glow? How did you do it without a wand?" He stopped in his tracks, and so did Ma'rik.

"Mysticism," Ma'rik replied simply. "It's probably the most basic Telekinesis spell ever invented, because it takes very little effort to master. The guy who taught it to me called it Butterfinger. It lets you control an item that's three or less feet away for about ten seconds, though you can cut it off beforehand. I use it when I'm too lazy to ask someone to pass something at a meal."

"So this Arcane magic... you're not making it up, are you?" Terry asked, now a little more awed than concerned. Ma'rik shrugged one shoulder. "Ma'rik that's so cool! Do you think you could teach me any?"

"Well..." Ma'rik thought on that for a second. "I guess so. It might help you, at any rate." Terry fist-pumped.

"Wicked!" he exclaimed. "Oh, and I'll help you with your Charms and stuff, too, so-"

"I don't care about the magic here," Ma'rik said bluntly. Terry frowned again.

"Why not?"

"It's not real magic. Arcane magic is." Terry sighed.

"Ma'rik, you're over-reacting. Obvious where you come from, the magic is much different, but you did come to this school by your own free will, and even if it isn't what you were expecting, you should at least give it a chance."

"But...!" Ma'rik protested. Terry cut him off again.

"Oh, c'mon, Ma'rik, what would humoring the staff harm, at the very least?" he asked. Ma'rik sighed.

"It wouldn't, I guess. Fine. If it means so much to you, I'll put some effort into it." Terry grinned.

"Excellent." And with that, the two friends walked back into the castle and ate lunch.