Unofficial Portkey Archive

Caught Off Guard: The Hooligan of Hogwarts Chapter 5

The Grasshopper and the Ant

Author's Note: This chapter was beta-ed wonderfully by John - Thank YOU!!! And to my very dear friend Km and the Wizard Alorkin - You are so, so fabulous. And to PuppyKisses - your encouragement is so, so appreciated - I love hearing from you! To a very sweet person - Lorel - I tried to e-mail you a thank you for sharing this story with your husband - and following/enjoying the story yourself, please know that your encouragement was the primary reason WHY I re-published the re-worked/beta-ed chapters…. Please don't give up on me - I PROMISE that I am working on the next chapters.

Let me know what you all think! I am a HUGE APPROVAL JUNKIE!

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Well before dawn, Monday October 20^th

Now how can that be?

Harry was stumped.

Thinking of other possibilities only ended in more questions. Rubbing eyes that had been focused on a monstrous Potions essay for far too long, there was no ready answer. What the bloody hell is going on? Don't tell me that this has developed some sort of wonky-short-circuit!

Deciding to try again, he reached for his wand, said the incantation, "Mischief Managed." and gave the antique parchment a tap. All identifying markings and moving labels vanished - as if they had never been drawn - when the paper folded itself along well-scored creases.

Maybe I didn't see what I thought I just saw because I am so bloody tired? Grasping for a reasonable explanation, he didn't realize he actually asked himself the question aloud until he heard his own words sound in his ears.

Inhaling a steadying breath - more to shelve his frustration rather than to pump more oxygen into his system - Harry made sure he spoke his next words as clearly as his most perfect diction would allow, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." Jabbing the tip of his wand at the folded parchment, the familiar salutation materialized: Messrs Wormtail, Moony, Padfoot and Prongs are proud to present...

For the past year, the Marauder's Map had called the inside of the roof of Harry's four-poster bed 'home'. Thinking back to what Moody and Tonks had said about 'hiding things in plain sight' as one of the 'best defensive moves ANYONE could make' as one maintained 'constant vigilance', it seemed like the most natural place to 'hide' one of his grandest assets.

Anyone could rifle through his trunk (Ginny - Second Year), pick apart his clothes (Ron - looking for a jumper that HADN'T been knit by his mum), or scatter his books and other personal belongings from one end of Hogwarts to the other (again - Second Year - Ginny). It had been a moment of wiliness which led to camouflaging the map as list of made up fictitious names of person's who had slept in his bed over the past century. Not to mention who in their right mind would think to look up in his bed for the map? OR - for that matter - who would know the spell that would reveal the map in the first place? Let alone (beyond Hermione and Ron) know the words to trigger the map into revealing all that was Hogwarts and everyone that was in and around the immediate castle grounds.

It was a perfect hiding spot. He could lie in bed and just look at the comings and goings with Ron, Seamus, Dean and Neville playing Exploding Snap, Wizard's Chess or rating each other's expelling of bodily gasses (so far, Neville had scored the loudest, longest burp to date which earned him an 8.5 score on the Bodily Sounds-o-Metre) without anyone being none the wiser. Or, if he wanted to 'work on his project' and needed to use the map, he could pull his drapes, cast a Silencing Charm and not be interrupted. Or… or… he could just drift…off...for just a few... hours. After all… Must get up extra early to meet...

"Hey Har-ree! Time to rise and shi-ney!"

"What?"

"It's time to go." Hearing nothing but muted rustling, Ron couldn't resist plaguing his best mate. "Whatcha doing in there?"

A muffled answer came from behind the privacy drapes, "What do you think I'm doing?" Damn! - Forgot the Silencing Charm.

An innuendo heavy snicker punctuated Ron's reply. "Makin' like MacMillian?"

"Ron - you're a prat!" It's too blasted early for another round of 'Arse-inine Assonations', Harry sleepily grumbled to himself.

The drapes had yet to part, but the sound of Harry shifting his weight around on his bed was all that Ron could hear beyond the lame insult winged in his direction. "Is that all you've got? Talk about not having a 'comeback at the ready'."

"I'll be there in a minute, you big, red git."

"Mate - perhaps you didn't apply yourself as completely as you should have this summer if you're only going to be a minute," Ron insinuated.

The sound of a zipper being pulled into place did not bolster Harry's defence. Nor did the derisive look that was cast at the Gryffindor Keeper when his Captain finally emerged wearing only his Quidditch cords and reaching for his jersey and uniform jumper.

"Blimey Harry - you keep that up and your arm will be too tired to reach for the Snitch," murmured a sleepy Neville before he rolled over and pulled his blankets up and over his head, completely cocooning himself in woolly warmth.

"Damn Harry - Neville's right. I never thought 'bout that. Should I collect you a sling or something?" Ron knew that a sleepy Harry was nothing short of a sitting target. One could say almost anything to the lad before he woke up properly - a.k.a his morning workout. The trick was knowing how far one COULD go before Sleepy Harry became Retribution Boy when his morning workout entailed trouncing whomever had been razzing him. "Perhaps a trip to Madame Pomfrey's for a Forever Cold Pak?" Feigning motherly concern, Ron attempted to 'examine' the arm in question. "You haven't sprained anything, have you?" The face and accompanying hand gesture his best mate sent his way answered the Keeper's question.

Normally, Ron mused, the boy got up without a hitch. But it had been a heck of a weekend. An essay for Snape, an oral presentation for History of Magic, and a Quidditch practice that ran over - fit in among all the other things seventeen year old males do to keep themselves occupied. Last night, Ron heard Harry crawl into his four-poster sometime after midnight but well before the larks ever dreamed of rousing themselves. And now, his best mate was reaping the benefits of staying up so late. It wasn't my idea to get up BEFORE the bloomin' birds in order to take a couple of turns 'round the Quidditch Pitch before our run.

Looking down and contemplating whether he was capable of donning his trainers, Harry felt sleep threaten to overtake him. But, it had been his idea. It was because of him that Ron and Dean were up, dressed and ready to go while he was still turning over the events of a previous night - when he was in an empty Common Room with a sleeping Hermione, reading Shakespeare aloud - with his eyes closed. With his shoulders and head resting on his pillow. With his blanket pulled snugly around him... Very much like...

Yanking his jersey into place with a bit more ferocity than necessary, Harry felt his good humour return.

Ron saw Harry disappear as a Gryffindor-coloured Quidditch jumper was pulled over his head. Retribution Boy shook black 'bed-head' hair free of the red and gold wool as round spectacles were reached for and anchored around a pair of ears. And it was Retribution Boy who surged to his feet, laced up a pair of trainers and directed a truly mischief laden, eyebrow-arched, Sirius-channelled look his way.

Watching Harry look more like his father than the person he had been bunking with for the past six years, Ron knew that this morning was going to be outstanding. Seeing a sidelong glance aimed at Dean, Ron nodded in acknowledgement. All he had to do was keep the game 'in play'. After all - I haven't earned the title of Keeper based on my good looks alone!

Answering his friend's call-to-arms with a challenge of his own, Ron egged Harry's Marauder-esque instincts. "I've got a 'Snitch' for you to catch!"

With that one sentence, three different events, in three different places - performed by three different individuals - all came together in one fluid, unspoken strategy.

Within three long strides, Ron reached for the dorm-room door and swung it wide. Harry and Dean rushed at Neville's sleeping form. Dean grabbed at Neville's knees and helped Harry turn the tall boy over and hoist Longbottom onto his shoulder. Once Harry was stabilized with a six-foot, seventeen year old 'snitch" - who had his arse in the air and wrapped in his own blanket - draped over his shoulder, Dean waited for Harry to clear the threshold before descending the staircase after Weasley and Potter.

Bouncing down the stairs Harry made sure that Neville - while sufficiently padded by his blanket to not be harmed - was far from comfortable.

Muffled pleas for amnesty amid sleepily projected, "What did I do?" marked every time Harry's foot landed heavily on a stair.

Gaining the Common Room and approaching the Fat Lady's portrait, Harry didn't break his stride when he questioned Neville, "So - what was that you were saying about my arm, Nevvey-pooh?"

A healthy boost from his shoulder, chest and arm muscles easily resettled the 'Snitch' he carried. Giving Longbottom a hearty clap on the rump, "What's that Neville? Can't understand you, mate - must be that blanket you've got wrapped 'round yourself. Perhaps we should do something about that, hmmm?" Heading down towards the Moving Staircases, Harry offered one more hint to his friend as to a possible destination, "Let's see if we can make sure that you are truly appreciated by one and all. After all, I think it is HIGH time EVERYONE had a chance to see you as Dean, Ron, Seamus and I have over the years."

With Ron trotting ahead as a look out and Dean bringing up the rear, the three man-boys and one 'Gryffindor Burrito' easily evaded any chance encounters from Mrs. Norris, Filch or any other professors who were about the castle. Especially since Harry and Dean both watched as Ron pulled out his wand, tapped the area he perceived Neville's head to be and whispered, "Soporifica."

Harry snapped a surprised, but approving, look at the tall red head as he felt Neville suddenly become dead weight. That'll keep Longbottom 'in play' but free from attracting any unwanted detentions - that's my Keeper!

"Merlin, Ron - what did you do to him?" Dean was up for supporting a mate - but wanted to make sure Neville would be okay.

"It's just a spell - my brothers cast it on me loads of times. Mum nearly had kittens the first time. Blamed the twins when it was Bill's doin' all along. Anyway, it makes the person appear dead asleep. As if he had taken a sleeping draught," Ron explained. Cavalierly.

The lack of guilt in Ron's voice was enough to convince Harry. "Gentlemen. In your esteemed opinion, where do you think I should release my Snitch?"

Number 14 on the list of 'Things That Are Grand About Being Back In School' - having the capability to pick up on your mates' "Brilliant Ideas" because they oh-so-closely mirror ones own.

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The din of student chatter as the Houses assembled for breakfast faded to a dull roar as Prof. McGonagall concentrated. Swishing and flicking her wand, she whispered, "Wingardium Leviosa". Several goblets floated into the air and hovered. Not taking her eyes off the suspended vessels, she sensed - rather than saw - her fellow teachers beginning to fall in around her.

"Well - any opinions?" Minerva regretted her choice of words as soon as they left her mouth. Now she could be standing in the Great Hall all day. And she had no one to blame but herself.

The clinking of a multitude of bangle-styled bracelets preceded a vague, singsong voice. "My senses are calling to me - from the beyond - telling me that..."

Minerva McGonagall had all she could do NOT to bring the goblets crashing down on the Divination professor's head. Instead, she satisfied her impatience with the scarf-bedecked, jewellery laden, patchouli drenched teacher by saying, "Sybill - I thought Madame Pomfrey warned you about being around too many people at one time?" Seeing Trelawney struggle to take in her meaning, Minerva levelled her gaze and attempted to clarify her meaning, "How it 'clouds your mind' and has the potential to impede your overall…health."

Calling out to Hagrid - someone I know I can count on to have a viable point of view - Prof. McGonagall was slightly taken back when she didn't hear any answer to her hail.

"I saw him earlier this morning, rummaging around my wheelbarrows." It was Prof. Sprout who supplied information on the gentle half-giant's whereabouts. "Said he had a special treat in store for his first year students and wanted whatever plants and weeds I was going to compost - as long as there wasn't anything poisonous in the mix was his caveat. I, of course, said yes. How could I not? Whatever he has…" Knowing Hagrid's propensity for the unusual and dangerous, Prof. Sprout offered her rationale for letting the Magical Creatures teacher dig through her throw-aways, "They're herbivores."

"Be that as it may - " What she wanted to say was that when it came to Hagrid and his lesson plans, anything could happen. And it usually does - was the Transfiguration teacher's snarky postscript. Drawing a deep breath and only smelling perfumed dirt, Minerva fought against casting a cleansing charm on Trelawney. Counting to ten in Gaelic barely put a dent in her impatience - I need a distraction.

Scanning the room as best she could, Prof. McGonagall thought that she noticed a substantial lack of yellow-lined robes among the students. "Where are your Hufflepuffs, Sprout?

"Those dears." Giving a hearty laugh, Prof. Sprout put a steadying hand on her friend's evergreen robes. "You see - they had a special House meeting last night."

It was Mistress Sinistra, currently not assigned to oversee any House, who asked, "That's rather odd - isn't it?"

"Well, apparently someone said something to someone else, who ended up talking to so-and-so - you know how kids are. Anyway. The end result was that Hannah Abbott, Susan Bones and Ernie MacMillian-"

"I have always seen great things in their future." Prof. Trelawney's interjection, complete with her hands waving weirdly in the air, rang with the sound of true plausible deniability.

Silencing the flaky teacher with a look she generally reserved for errant students, Minerva gave her attention - and hence everyone else's - back to Prof. Sprout. "Please. Continue."

"I apologize for interrupting your conversation, Prof. McGonagall." Headmaster Dumbledore smoothly cut his way through the group of teachers to stand by her side. "I believe that hanging the vessels just underneath the display of the House Standings would be most aesthetic. After all - if I am not mistaken - that is where the 'Ratings of the Hooligans' have always hung."

Concurring with Albus, Minerva focused her concentration one more time. Affixing themselves to the stone wall, an effortless combination of wand angles and words on behalf of the Transfiguration professor and the goblets engorged, elongated, became transparent and were 'at the ready' for the first prank of the competition.

Mistress Sinistra, perusing the Great Hall with her own eyes, seemed impressed. "I think every student is at breakfast this morning."

Stowing her wand, Prof McGonagall agreed with her assessment. "As well they should. This only happens once a year." Turning to face her fellow teacher, "The students who will be graduating this year are of course curious and eager participants. The other classes are keen to see what the Hooligans facilitate so that they have some sort of gauge for the next year. As I have had more than one student explain over the years, 'it would be a faux pas to be redundant'."

Looking around them - it was obvious that some of the oldest tricks lived long lives. Saltcellars were being shaken into coffee mugs and teacups. Sugar bowls were being dipped into and sprinkled onto eggs and fried potatoes.

"You see my dear Sinistra? Don't you remember when YOU switched the sugar and salt labels down in the kitchens all those years ago? Now - it is a staple." Chuckling to himself for his obvious pun, Dumbledore touched each of his staff members with his eyes before continuing, "That is performed every year courtesy of the House Elves."

A delicate blush touched the Astronomy professor's cheek before she smoothly questioned, "And that is the same reason why said House Elves will be serving tartan-coloured eggs for the next two weeks, Head Girl McGonagall?"

"Well - that was some time ago." Her Scottish burr became a bit more pronounced as she lilted her sentence with a very well pleased grin and a wryly-arched brow. "As if I could have foreseen anyone deciphering my clan's particular colours."

Turning his twinkling blue eyes towards his Deputy Head Mistress, Dumbledore quickly thought back to the time when Prof. McGonagall, Transfiguration professor, Gryffindor matriarch and Deputy Headmistress was simply Miss McGonagall. I had forgotten how you were caught, my dear Minerva. Reluctantly switching to another subject - that was of a similar vein, "Professor McGonagall."

I know that look. Oh Merlin, what has happened now? "Yes, Headmaster?"

"I know that it is difficult to see through this throng." Nodding his head in the direction where a sea of heads was now settling at their respective House Tables, "But, if I am not mistaken, it appears that you are missing a student." Turning his head and looking over his half-moon glasses, Prof. Dumbledore directed his consideration at the Herbology professor. "And it appears that you are missing your entire House."

Good-naturedly waving her hands before McGonagall, Sinistra and Trelawney, Prof. Sprout picked up her tale where she had left off. "All I was going to say was that the students devised some sort of 'Hooligan Survival Strategy'. When they told me about it... well, I was dealing with a very colicky Fanged Geranium at the time and I did not give them my complete attention. But I do recall it having something to do with 'safety in numbers'."

With her fellow teachers either caught up in Sprout's tale or scavenging for pulled plants behind the Herbology greenhouses, Prof. McGonagall collected her briefcase and made her excuses. Thankfully, no one tried to engage her in a last minute comment - except Dumbledore. Who hadn't said a word, but still had that gleam in his eye that read: I am looking forward to hearing about this later. Knowing Albus for as long as she had, the difficulty didn't lie in understanding his meaning. What was worth pondering was what he knew and what she was going to discover.

Approaching the end of the Hall, Minerva was surprised to see the massive doors open of their own accord. That is - until she was respectfully greeted by a trio of Gryffindors. One of which was responsible for opening the doors and holding them ajar.

"Morning, Professor."

"Lovely day - isn't Professor?"

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley - good day to you. Mr. Thomas, thank you for the door service." Pausing for just a moment, Minerva McGonagall hadn't been assigned to Gryffindor House for nothing. Eying each one of the boys with an expectant gaze, she asked, "Is there any-thing you three wish to tell me?"

In true Gryffindor fashion, three heads looked anywhere but at each other. She had to give Mr. Potter credit - he had the presence of mind to look introspective. As if she had asked what the meaning of life was and he wanted to make sure he chose the right words to form his answer. As for Mr. Thomas, returning her fixed stare unflappably, he simply shook his head. Mr. Weasley - I wonder if you know that you have outmatched your brothers on the 'I'm Too Charming to Be Punished' scale. The Keeper had screwed up his eyebrows in mock-concentration and began ticking off a silent, extensive list on his fingers.

"Nope - I think that you pretty much have a current inventory." Ron, having run out of fingers, 'reassured' his House matriarch.

"Can't think of one thing, Professor," Dean could help but wing a 'thank you' to whomever 'discovered' semantics.

Pretending to come out of his reverie, Harry flashed his Head of House a "I-know-that-you-suspect-us-but-I'm-not-going-to-tell-you-and-you-are-going-to-have-to-find-out-on-your-own' grin. You asked about something, Prof. McGonagall. You did not ask about someone.

The nursery rhyme, 'Thee Blind Mice' popped into her head so suddenly that she had to strive to keep a straight face. Giving the dark haired boy and his two companions a once-over - implying that she knew that they HAD to have been up to something - she waited for a moment before offering the lads something constructive to do with their substantial talents. "Have any of you seen to Ms. Granger?"

"No - not yet. We came down earlier and she wasn't here. Doubled-backed to the Tower, but apparently we had just missed her there as well. Why?" Ron knew that Prof McGonagall rarely said anything without having some sort of secondary meaning. Whether she was in a classroom, presiding over an Order meeting or standing in a doorway evaluating three of her charges.

"Professor." Harry's face lost a bit of it's teasing quality. The fact that McGonagall had said 'seen to' rather than 'have you seen' proved that he and his mates weren't the only ones proficient in word games.

"I believe I last saw our Head Girl - in a less than quiet verbal exchange - with our Head Boy." Re-directing the attention of her seventh years, Prof. McGonagall shrewdly nodded in the direction where a knot students comprised of several Slytherins and one Gryffindor stood. As well as a few token Ravenclaws, who were hanging onto the outermost edge of the fray trying to get a listen. Inferring her meaning using only six words, "I'll leave you to it then," more question than departing address, Minerva McGonagall headed down the corridor and towards her classroom.

Sparing her a farewell glance, Dean turned towards Harry and Ron. Who were already on the move and walking shoulder to shoulder.

Between the three of them, the boys made quick work of the gathering crowd. Taps on shoulders, a quietly spoken word - or in some cases - a deliberately placed glare - effectively dealt with the Ravenclaws and the 'more curious-than-militant' Slytherins. What gave Harry, Ron and Dean pause, as they neared Malfoy and Hermione, was hearing Malfoy telling his fellow House-mates to 'sod-off'. Literally.

"I mean it McNair. Sod. Off." Draco had yet to get it through the thick-skulled boy, who stood just behind his left shoulder, that his presence wasn't necessary.

"Malfoy - I told you I would take care of it." Hermione's voice took on the low-pitched calm voice that was, as any Hogwarts student knew all too well (either by experience or by legend), the calm before Hurricane Hermione. "I will speak to-"

"Speak to whom? Just trying to understand those - ," the pug-nosed girl shuddered with contempt. "All they are fit to say is 'Yes sir' and 'No sir'. That's it." Pansy Parkinson's snobby nasal voice sounded like fingernails scratching a blackboard to Draco's ears. "Perhaps the reason why YOU identify with the House Elves on such a personal level-"

"Pansy - go sit down. NOW!" All I need is for this to turn into some sort of demeaning, name-calling mud-slinging session. Tall enough to see over the majority of the dwindling number of heads surrounding he and his female counterpart, Draco couldn't miss Potty, Weasel and their friend quietly dispersing the crowd. Just great. Putting his most bored aire to the test, Draco made it a point to glance around the Hall. A handy ruse when one needs to make eye contact in a clandestine fashion, Draco mused.

Hermione saw the three boys come up and thin out the majority. While she was glad to see her friends - it was too early in the morning to have to deal with Knights in Hogwarts Robes, waving a bloody standard and rallying around an over-blown bloody sense of bloody chivalry. Especially when it was wielded by friends who bloody felt the need to 'ride to the bloody rescue' of a 'damsel' NOT in bloody 'distress'.

Knowing that it was important (on many levels) to maintain co-ownership of the scene, she ignored Ron's deceptively casual, evaluating posture. Which included taking up a defensive flanking position. Or Dean's physically overbearing presence bringing up her other side. Harry's pervasive self-possession was more difficult for her to set aside. A certain dark-haired man/boy who truthfully matched - fibre for fibre - Draco's cool sense of self-confidence with his own sang-froid. Just great. Stuck between a rock and a hard place - was the catch phrase that sprang into her mind.

"Mal-F-O-Y." Drawing out the last syllable of his name was a subterfuge. What she really asked her counterpart was: Do we have to have an audience? Switching to a more personal note, Hermione could help but realize: now I truly know what it means to keep friends close and 'enemies' closer.

Two can play this game, my little Gryffindor-ette.

"G-R-A-N-G-E-err." Draco could all but see her mind moving. With McNair and Parkinson standing so close, there was not a lot he could do. I have already instigated damage control. That was his silent response to her question. On the surface, it was obvious what was going on and why it was important to her to do what she was doing. He couldn't help but wonder… Is there a subtext at work here? Perhaps some dynamic he might have over-looked between the Gruesome Threesome? Or was there something else? And just because he was more than a little intrigued didn't mean that he was going to pave her way with lollipops and roses. Giving her a smirk that really had no meaning, he let her make what she wanted too out of it. At least she is never boring.

Hermione saw Draco's lips curl. He's going to make me work for what I want. Now she had four people to manage. As for Pansy, McNair and… Zabini? Watching the handsome Italian saunter up, she put those three Slytherins out of her mind. After all, those are Draco's people and his responsibility. She had enough to deal with already. Especially, since they can't know that they are being handled.

"Pansy - didn't you say just last night - that you were going to have breakfast with me?"

Draco silently congratulated Blaise. His fellow House mate played his hand perfectly by letting his voice drop to assume a slightly wounded timbre. Which had the effect Draco was counting on - hence the purpose of the 'summoning' look he launched only a moment ago.

"Why Blaise - I thought you had forgotten all about me." Pansy - all thoughts of Hermione, school robes and House Elves banished for the moment by the arrival of the gorgeous Slytherin - turned and looked prettily up at the tall boy. Re-directing her gaze, "I was just saying," her pug nose sneering at the brunette standing a few feet away, "That some people…"

"And here I thought you would do anything to spend some time with me." Blaise shot Draco a 'you-are-seriously-going-to-owe-me' look before giving the snobby Parkinson a regal nod, "Then I should leave you to enjoy breakfast by myself."

Plastering - what by all accounts resembled anything BUT - a 'come-hither' look on her face, Pansy reached for the sleeve of Zabini's robe before she said, "If you must insist on the p-l-e-a-s-u-r-e of my company, my dear Blaise then the l-e-a-s-t I can do..."

Letting the by-play work it's self out, Hermione set her own pieces in motion.

With that done, she cast a specific look at Dean - the more easily swayed of the three - and sent him a message: I need to do this my way.

Not liking what he was seeing but deciding that Hermione knew best when it came to these things, Dean gave his fellow Gryffindor a nod of understanding. Addressing Mr. Immovable, Dean good-humouredly said, "Hey Ron - let's get some breakfast." Dean touched his gaze to Ron's glower. Come on mate - trust her. She knows what she's doing.

Not looking at either Harry or Dean, but eying the Slytherin males with equal repugnance Ron spoke low and smoothly. "If I eat now - I will only be hungry later." In other words: there is now way I am going anywhere - not without her in tow and these guys sent to their tables.

Shifting his position so that Ron would unconsciously turn in his direction, Dean countered. "If need be - we can always get you a snack later." And made sure his red-headed friend saw his deliberate exchange with Malfoy, Zabini and McNair. Which translated to: If need be - we can always pick this up later. But here is not the place, and now is not the time.

Watching McNair shift uncomfortably as Zabini led Parkinson away, Harry could feel all the different undercurrents flowing around him - even if he couldn't identify them all. He was wise enough to notice Hermione's growing temper and the fact that Dean was looking to balance out the two sides as the two Slytherins made their excuses to Malfoy. Before he could start to pull apart different threads, Ginny and - Luna Lovegood? - had closed in on them. Where did they come from?

"Morning Dean." Ginny, by planting her hand on Dean's arm, accomplished what all the undertones could not. It broke the tension between the boys. Well - all but the Head Boy's and Head Girl's.

A sincere smile broke across the Londoner's face at the sight of his girlfriend. Placing a chaste peck on her cheek, "Morning."

"I knocked on your door this morning," the pretty red-head explained. Deliberately ignoring everyone but Dean, she put a knowing smile on her face. "To see if you were interested in having breakfast together." Pointing to the blonde-haired person standing just to her right, "I didn't find you so I made other plans."

Draco could see McNair squirming in his robes. It was common knowledge that McNair had more than a crush on the nasally voiced Slytherin. And, between the cutesy display going on between the Gryffindor and the Weaslette, and way Zabini is pouring more than 'tea' into Pansy's 'cups', his jealousy must be reaching it's breaking point. I really must remember to compensate Zabini for doing such an ugly job so well.

Still only having eyes for her boyfriend, Ginny tossed her hair over her shoulder with a well practiced lift of her chin. "Dean - do you think that you can handle the company of two beautiful ladies or do you think you might need a hand?"

Feeling a pair of brown eyes suddenly turn on him, it was a rather pointed look fired from Ginny that snapped Ron's attention from where he was keeping an eye on McNair and re-directed his gaze to his almost as sneaky sister. Who just happened to have the girl he ploughed into the previous Friday standing in the wings.

Trapped between his good manners, hormones (after all, Luna is a right pretty bird) and the desire to protect his 'other sister', Ron had to compromise. Clapping a capable hand lightly on Hermione's shoulder, he spoke over her head and addressed Harry and Malfoy at the same time, "It would be a shame if I found myself needing a mid-morning pick me up." To Malfoy - the threat was all but spelled out. To Harry - it meant that if he was needed - he wouldn't be far away. And, with that being said, he completely changed his tone of voice as he turned to face his sister. "Ginny - as if that knuckle dragger you call a boyfriend could manage keeping two such lovelies entertained at the same time." Letting her lead him by the elbow while Dean escorted Luna to the Gryffindor House table, the more he thought about it, the more Ron was convinced that the "Top Ten Most Embarrassing Ginny Moments' should settle the score nicely.

Tossing a caustic, "Ever the gentleman - my brother," to the masses, Ginny sighed deeply. Expelling the tension that had seeped into her just by standing near the two camps, she turned and appreciated her brother on many different levels. One of which included accepting that Ron would - at the very least - dredge up 'Embarrassing Ginny Stories' as payback for drawing him away from his two best friends. Thinking about her 'seventh' brother and 'second' sister, she was thankful that she entered the Hall when she did. Looking to put off the 'Did I ever tell you about the time when Ginny…' for at least a few moments, the youngest Weasley went on the offensive. "Ron - tell me why no one but a dishevelled Seamus answered your door? I think I would like to hear about your morning." Looking at her friend as Luna absently smoothed a length of moon pale hair, Ginny straightened her back and conversationally challenged, "I would bet a trip to Honeydukes that our morning-"

"I wouldn't wager anything more than a bag of Chocolate Frogs, love." Dean said, interrupting Ginny as he waited for the girls to take their seats before he and Ron settled.

Letting Dean and Ron punctuate the retelling of "What Do You Do With a Six Foot Snitch?" with sound effects and voice impersonations; Ginny and Luna shared a smile. Of which Ginny took a chance and tried to share with Hermione. Who at that split second was looking at her watch. Despite still being caught up in some sort of drama-of-the-moment.

I bet she doesn't even realize how many times a day she looks at her watch. Even though she had done all that she could for her 'sister', again Ginny was grateful for her timing. If she hadn't run into Luna in the Breezeway when she did - I would have missed Hermione's signal altogether.

Lowering her wrist, Hermione knew that she had had enough. Enough subtexts, enough by-plays - enough of enough. With McNair, Dean, Ron, Pansy and Zabini effectively dealt with… I have more to do this morning than dwell on the wash cycle of bloomin' robes. And, more to the point, this particular interaction with Draco has ended in a draw. He managed his camp and she handled hers. The morning was winging and there was a whole day yet to go.

"Draco - I will solve YOUR problem."

Turning to Harry, she quickly thought of something that would save him face and not compromise the tenuous hold she had on her temper. "And I will SOLVE your problem - later."

Silencing the retorts that were about to be fired from each boy's mouths, she 'channelled' Prof. McGonagall. "You." Addressing Draco, "I will speak to you as soon as I have figured this mess out. Preferably in my office. I do not want another public spectacle. And as for you," giving Harry a three-quarters, sidelong look, "I will see you in Potions." Preventing Draco from getting the last word, "The BOTH of you in Potions."

Watching her effectively clear anyone out her path with nothing but a commanding stare as she strode out of the Great Hall, Harry had to ask Draco to repeat his question if Malfoy expected him to answer properly.

"I wasn't talking to you - I was asking a rhetorical question. But, seeing as how you heard me… Does Granger always have to have the last word?" Noting that no one noticed that Draco neither lost nor won this latest round with the Head Girl, his fascination was some what dispersed. Only to be replaced by… Severely ending that train of thought, Draco re-visited their exchange. So much for winning this round. We both took hits and neither Granger nor I came out on top.

Deciding that the threads of what had just happened was better deciphered when there were eggs and sausages on one's plate, Harry shrugged his shoulders. "Generally speaking - yes. She usually has the best things to say." About to turn away, Harry chanced a civilized question to Malfoy. "What started this?

Choosing to tell Potter was no big concession on Draco's part. He would find out anyway from the Hogwarts Gossip Mill. "There is some complication with the laundry schedule. Particularly as it pertains to Slytherin House."

"And why are you not dealing with this personally, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Professor Snape - I didn't see you there." It wasn't that Draco wasn't glad to see his Head of House - it was just too damn early.

"Evidently." Turning to the student who failed to acknowledge the presence of a teacher, he took special gratification in stating, "Mr. Potter. I trust your essay will be satisfactory." Reaching into his cashmere and silk robes and withdrawing a rolled length of parchment tied with Gryffindor colours, Prof. Snape offered it to the dark-haired seventh year. "Interesting, isn't it? Prof. McGonagall stopped me in the corridor just outside her classroom and insisted that I give this to you - personally. I, of course, having just come from the Class Superlatives Case where I attempted," deliberately drawing out each syllable of the word, "To post the Slytherin House nominations, was glad to be of service to our Head Disciplinarian."

Does everyone play word games around here? Instead of asking that question, Harry merely accepted the parchment and hoped he could get away before pride in pulling off his stunt gave him away. "My essay will be waiting for you on your desk."

Done what was asked of him, Severus turned his attention to his Head Boy. "Mr. Malfoy - perhaps we should discuss…"

Being done with Potter - for the moment - Draco had no choice but to fall in step with Prof. Snape as they separated from the Gryffindor. Sliding into explanation-mode, Draco began, "You see, sir…"

Whatever Snape and Malfoy were discussing fell from Harry's ears as the Gryffindor and the two Slytherins went in different directions.

Sitting down between Ginny and Luna, who had claimed seats across the table from Dean and Ron, Harry pulled the apart the knot that tied the parchment and unfurled it. And turned the colour of pride.

Stretching his long legs their full length underneath the table, Ron inquired, "What did 'Slime-erus' want with you?"

"Yeah mate - what gives?" Dean parroted.

Ron pre-empted Harry's hesitant look. "We're one step ahead, mate. We've already told the girls."

"I thought someone wasn't here," Ginny giggled as she looked up from spreading her napkin across her lap.

Eager to see what would put a smile on his best friend's face - especially after a near-confrontation with Draco Malfoy - Ron wanted to know what the parchment read.

Clearing his throat dramatically, Harry began to read the precisely formed, flowing script.

Misters Potter, Weasley and Thomas,

As we have already exchanged morning pleasantries,

I would like to express my gratitude to three such up-standing Gryffindors.

Mr. Filch has expressed, on numerous occasions, his continuing success in

enforcing the 'No Magic In the Corridors' rule. It has been brought to my attention

that so much of his time is spent devoted to upholding the school's edicts that

he has encountered some time-management difficulties.

Fulfilling my duties as Deputy Headmistress, I of course offered my - by extension,

YOUR - services. The least of which entails assisting our devoted Caretaker in

performing the many duties that his lack of time and man-power impedes.

Of which he will relay - what I have assured him would be - your collective

enthusiastic work ethics directly to myself.

Mr. Longbottom, while grateful for earning the Class Superlative for

'Student Most Likely to Be Suspended In The Air & Behind Glass' ,

has been excused from accompanying yourselves as Mr. Filch's private quarters

are tended to over the next two weeks. From what I have been made to understand,

by way of Mr. Longbottom, Mrs. Norris is over-due for a serious grooming session.

Yours in Gryffindor Pride,

Professor Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress and Disciplinarian

"So it is true - you all really DID put Neville behind glass." Luna was incredulous.

"Yep - under the heading of-" Prideful delight spread through every one of Ron's freckles.

Eager to fill in any gaps that may have been left out of the re-telling, Harry organized his breakfast to the rhythm of interrupting his mate, "Most Likely to Be Suspended Behind Glass. The original concept was supposed to read: Most Likely to Be Suspended At Least Fifteen Feet in the Air at Least Once a Year."

"But we ran out of room. SO - we 'made do' with what we had and kept the important parts." Dean's teeth gleamed within his wide grin.

Ginny kept stirring her tea as she reviewed the contents of Prof. McGonagall's note. Oh Merlin!

Picking up on the mood change in his 'sister', Harry offered some reassurance. "Gin - we got off easy. So we gotta spend the next two weeks doing whatever lousy job Filch tosses our way."

"He's right, Gin. It could have been a lot worse." Ron was more enthusiastic than apologetic, "Not only was she the one who FOUND Neville, despite asking us direct questions just prior to discovery, but I know that it wasn't easy to get Neville out from behind that glass."

"Especially after we cast Hermione's 'Impervious Charm' on the display case." Dean clunked his goblet with Harry's.

Going on as if Dean hadn't interjected, "And, we cannot shirk our duties because," Reaching for the parchment, Ron turned it so that Ginny could read it with ease, "Not only has she made it a point to have Filch report directly to her - but more over-"

Apparently suffering from a bout of Interrupt-itis, Dean cut in one more time, "She called on our honour. That is why she signed off the way she did: Yours in Gryffindor Pride. And that is also why she-"

"DELIBERATELY had Snape place that parchment directly in my hands. Let alone that he knew what we did before McGonagall wrote that note." Seeing the stunned looks on his friend's faces, Harry replayed his encounter with Prof. Snape. When done, Harry offered one more insight into being out-Maraurdered by Prof. McGonagall. "That way, she was guaranteed that we wouldn't try to find a way to wiggle out of this."

Ever the strategist, Ron added, "We must be rubbing off on Neville. " Nodding his head in approval, "Good show, Neville. I would have done the same."

Luna glanced at Ginny before saying, "You mean to say - that it is because of Neville you all have to de-tangle, de-flea and de-tick that monster Filch calls a cat? And, because of that, you all are p-r-o-u-d of Neville?"

Ginny, Ron, Harry and Dean all raised their goblets. To Ron's pleasant surprise, a fifth goblet - Luna's - was added to the collection as they all toasted to the successful extraction of their absent friend. "To Nevvy-pooh!"

Giving credit where credit was due, Dean shook his head. "The lady is good, my friends. She's got us all tied up. She even splurged and put a festive bow on top of the package."

Referring to Harry's concerned comment, "For your information, gentlemen," Ginny released the slight furrows in her brow. "The terms of your collective paroles were NOT what I was thinking about. Well, not mostly." Ginny pulled her spoon from her tea and listened to the tinkle of metal settling on ceramic. "You guys got what you deserve." Ignoring three 'mortally offended' looks mirrored by Harry, Ron and Dean, she continued, "No - I was thinking back on a conversation I overheard between Remus Lupin and the twins." Looking at everyone one at a time, "I missed the majority of their talk, but I specifically remember that it was shortly after Fred and George escaped from Umbridge. Lupin was trading stories with the twins as to the various stunts pulled over the years here at Hogwarts. And he was saying - whether one is a 'Marauder' or a 'Wheezee' - everyone has a mentor. Whether that person KNOWS that they were an influence is neither here or there. In fact, from what they said, I got the impression-"

Ron didn't have time to rebuke his mate for interrupting his sister - again. This time Dean wasn't interrupting anyone.

It was the sound of creaking metal.

Ron scrambled his brain to find some sort of match for the sound that leeched into the Hall. It's like the metal was rubbing against itself. Which was immediately followed by the clank of metal striking - stone? A flash of bright, sparkly, purplish light illuminated the stretch of corridor in front of the massive doors of the Great Hall and made spots dance in front of his eyes.

Ron saw teachers and staff members begin to rise. To rally. All conversations stopped and immediately new ones began as students craned their necks to try to get a better look at what was happening. Prof. Dumbledore, by his carriage alone, seemed to stand taller and with more authority than all the others. Prof. Snape, his black silk over-cape flowing around him, began to stride towards the secret door behind the Slytherin table. Profs. Sinistra and Sprout also stood - but waited for directions from the Headmaster. Ron couldn't help but notice that everyone was waiting on a cue from Dumbledore.

And, as another creak of metal grating on metal echoed, suddenly everything was calm. Eerily calm.

For about ten seconds.

Long enough for Harry to witness Dumbledore turn to Malfoy and softly issue a command. "Fetch the Head Girl and Prof. McGonagall. I believe that this might be of some interest." Calling to the blonde haired boy one more time, "And Mr. Malfoy, could you also collect Mr. Creevey? I have a feeling we will be needing his services as well."

Barely were the words out of Dumbledore's mouth when a sound like rushing water bounced off and around the walls of the Great Hall. Everyone - students, staff members and teachers locked their gazes on a spot on the wall, underneath the House Standings. One of Prof. McGonagall's transfigured goblets - those reserved for Hooligans - began to accumulate points.

The points had hardly had a chance to settle when the ENTIRE HALL saw Ernie MacMillian, Susan Bones, Hannah Abbott - followed by the rest of the Hufflepuff House - come H-O-P-P-I-N-G into breakfast. Well - hopping and falling. They were hopping because none of them could walk. Those who fell obviously hadn't brushed up on their hopping skills in some time.

Harry's mouth dropped. He wished he could salute whoever pulled this prank off. It was spectacular.

Ron was right there with him as he locked his eyes with his mate's. In his opinion - it was one for the annuals.

Dean's words died in his mouth - he would have conjured and laid down a length of red carpet for the perpetrator if given half a chance.

"It is impossible to walk when your legs are fused together by the Leg Lock Jinx!" Leaning backwards behind Harry's back, Ginny hurriedly explained to Luna - herself stretched behind the Captain - when the Ravenclaw asked what was wrong with the Hufflepuff House.

Anything else the pretty red head would have said was lost as the entire Hall burst out into laughter and overwhelmingly applauded. Whether the applause was for the Hooligan who managed to strike every single Hufflepuff - at once - or the applause was for the Hufflepuffs having a grand time (between trying to stay upright or talk amongst themselves or communicate with friends in other Houses) with their current state, didn't matter.

And just the other night I was assuring some of my more junior staff that I have pretty much seen it all. Dumbledore was thrilled. 'There is a first time for everything' was the adage that popped into his mind. Keeping the laughter out of his voice but finding it impossible to keep the mirth from his face, he issued a summons, "Prefects?"

Ernie MacMillian and Susan Bones - trying to hold each other up but only succeeding in tipping the other precariously in one crazy direction after another - answered, "We are here, Headmaster."

Watching the two students make grabs for each other in order to stay up-right, Dumbledore called out to their House Matriarch, "Professor Sprout?"

Laughing so hard that Prof Sprout had taken to waving a hand in front of her terribly flushed face, she sputtered, "Yes, Headmaster?"

Raising his hands to quiet the rest of the students enough so that he would be able to hear what responses would come from the Head of Hufflepuff House and it's Prefects, he had to ask, "There seems to be something - amiss? - with the members of your House."

Stabilized for the moment, Ernie and Susan looked to Prof. Sprout. Who - realizing that speech was beyond her - nodded to the two Seventh Years in a way that allowed them to respond on her behalf. "We've been pranked, Headmaster."

Exercising his lips - more to keep them from curling up in laughter than anything else - it was a moment before Dumbledore could ask the question guaranteed to challenge his sense of control. "And this was accomplished, how?"

A voice from the back of the crowd answered, "It was BLOODY BRILLIANT!"

Again, everyone in the Hall broke out into delight.

"Headmaster," began Susan. "We, as a House, concluded that there was nothing we could do to prevent members of our House from falling victim." A crashing noise signified the toppling of several Hufflepuffs somewhere near the Ravenclaw table. Stifling a chuckle, Susan continued, "So we decided that if we stuck together - as a House - that a Hooligan would not be able single out a specific student. That there would be 'safety in numbers'."

Nodding his head - as if he were agreeing with her sound strategy rather than admit that he was keeping in time with Hannah Abbott's listing - Dumbledore encouraged the girl to continue.

The unexpected movement of a door opening behind the Slytherin Table took Ron's attention away from Susan. Malfoy, Snape, McGonagall and Hermione were emerging. Tapping Harry's foot did not do any good; he was already looking in their direction. The boy's got Hermione-Radar alright. The individual expressions on the four newcomers were priceless. McGonagall immediately looked to Dumbledore before turning to her Head Girl. Malfoy looked like he had never cast the jinx before in his life (which was a blatant untruth, Dungeon Dweller!) and was witnessing its effect for the first time. Snape looked like he might actually crack the perma-scowl that had dominated his face since before creation. Hermione? She reached for McGonagall's sleeve, locked her gaze with his and let her mouth fall slack.

"The lot of us had just entered the Breezeway - on our way to breakfast - when all of a sudden… Just as the last person crossed into the section of the hallway where the suits of armour are arranged, every Timeless Knight turned its head."

Dumbledore was knocked for six. "The Knights did this?"

Finding his tongue, Ernie substantiated Susan's narrative. "Their heads turned, Headmaster. It was as if they had us fixed in their sights. Then they all - at once - dropped to one knee, sheathed their gauntlets with shields and levelled their halberds at us."

Hermione looked at Harry and clapped a hand over her already opened mouth. Harry looked at Dean. Dean looked at Ron. Ron turned to Harry at the sight of Ernie's gloved hands waving in the air as he told his tale. "Pay up, you three. Five galleons each. Harry won the bet - Ernie MacMillian has on opera-length gloves."

Becoming more animated the more he spoke, Ernie continued. "Heck, Headmaster, who would have thought that the Knights were capable of coming to life? Here we were - no where to go - stunned from the sight of battle ready armed soldiers who haven't moved in a millennia…When all of a sudden there is a flash of purple light and - BAM! All of our legs were locked together! By the time any of us could see properly, half of us were on the ground and the Knights were standing at attention - makin' like they had never moved in the first place!"

Glancing at Prof. Flitwick to make sure he was 'at the ready' to remedy the situation, Dumbledore called out to the Hufflepuffs, "Would you say that the Hooligan who pranked you was clever? That this prank was a worthy prank?"

Not one to be left out, it was Hannah Abbott who answered the Headmaster. "Most definitely."

A few more points were added to the Hooligan's receptacle.

"How would you - all of you - rate the execution of this prank?"

Ernie glared at his girlfriend for speaking out of turn before addressing the Teacher's Table. "It was flawless, sir. We never saw it coming. How could we? All of us together? Every single member of my House was in the one place where we thought there was NOTHING for a Hooligan to use as a resource."

Another layer of points accumulated.

Dumbledore was eager to move on - not because he was tired of talking about the prank - but because he wanted to investigate such a magnificently devised act. "One last question. And this is put to the entire House. Would you say that you admire what has been done to you?"

Professor Sprout, Ernie, Hannah and Susan looked at each other before quickly surveying the rest of their House. It was a resounding, "ABSOLUTELY!" that put the final few points in the Hooligan's bin.

With that being said, the entire Hall collectively laughed and applauded one last time. The Headmaster and a few select teachers - McGonagall included - began to make their way out of the Hall. Along with the 'Special Correspondents' for the Hogwarts Gossip Mill. Unfortunately, as they passed the Hufflepuffs - a few 'badgers' forgot they had their legs fused together and when they tried to make way for the students and professors trying to exit the Hall - a few more toppled over.

"You know that who ever planned this prank had this in mind as well." Ron's admiration was evident.

Shaking his head as he watched more Hufflepuffs fall over, Harry was more than impressed. "Mate - whoever is responsible for this was COUNTING on this as being their exclamation mark." Pointing to the tangle of teachers and students in various stages of getting up and falling down, he added redundantly, "This is definitely part of the show." Giving a cursory glance in the direction of Snape and Malfoy, Harry didn't bother to watch as they went their separate ways. He was more focused on Hermione as she began slowly tacking her way to the Gryffindor-populated table.

Meanwhile Professor Flitwick, who was closely followed by a slightly spent Professor Sprout, seemed to be at a loss as to where to start to help the afflicted House. Between them, they started to sort out the best way to de-jinx the Hufflepuffs. But not before Hannah Abbott lost her balance. She not only brought down housemates that were in her immediate vicinity, but - to Ron's amusement - as Prof. Sprout was nearby, her Head of House had the floor come up and hit her as well! Which sent a fresh ripple of laughter through the student body. Hufflepuffs, Flitwick and Sprout included.

"Morning Ginny. Luna - it is so good to see you!" Sitting down heavily, Hermione had a bright smile on her face and turned to everyone one at a time, "Did you see that?" Referring to Prof. Sprout needing the assistance of several to gain her footing, she burst into light chuckles.

"Herms - how could we miss it?" Ron playfully goaded his friend.

Passing her the pumpkin juice, the Quidditch Captain waited for a sharp come-back. That never happened. Apparently she is too good a mood to take exception to Herms, Harry mused.

In mid-pour, Harry saw Hermione fix her sights on two people fighting their way through the crowd. It was Colin and Lavender.

Eagerness seeped from every part of Lavender's body as she approached Ron's side of the table. "Have you heard?"

Dean was the first to ask, "Heard what, Lav?"

"They found it!"

Hermione took a sip of her drink before admonishing her house-mate, "Slow down, Lavender. Who has found what?"

"Dumbledore and Malfoy." Reaching into her robe, Lavender pulled out a rather plain looking wand. "This was found attached to the inside of the Knights' halberds! This is how the Hooligan did it!"

Luna, looking a little dubious, "How did you get it?"

A slight blush touched Lavender's cheeks, "Well. If truth be told - I was asked to give this to Hermione." Turning to her House-mate, a bit deflated now that the 'thunder of her news' had passed, she said, "With instructions to see if you could find out what it was, because no one in the Breezeway could identify it."

Stretching out her hand, Hermione felt the smooth wood being placed in her palm. Looking at it closely but not saying anything, she quickly passed it over to Harry and Ron for additional examination.

"I dunno know what this is." Harry said.

Ron, on the other hand, made a grab for the polished length of wood. And inhaled sharply. "I know what this is!"

Six voices, at various pitches and levels of excitement sounded as one. "WHAT?"

Holding the wand on it's end and balanced on the end of one of his fingers, Ron toppled it over before continuing, "A Won Shot Wand."

Dean was quick to ask, "A one-shot wand?"

"You dolt." Apologizing for calling his friend a nickname usually reserved for Harry, Ron made amends by passing the wand over to Dean and explaining, "A W-O-N Shot Wand."

"It is something Fred and George have been working on," Ginny blurted. Looking at Luna before 'checking in' with Ron, "But I thought they hadn't fully developed them yet?"

Centring his attention around Ron, Harry needed more information. After all, he was the original investor in Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. "Whoa mate - catch the rest of us, will ya?"

"You see - the twins came up with this amazing concept." Holding his hand out to Dean, Ron waited until he had the wand back in his possession before he filled in everyone's blanks. "What could be more fantastic than a wand - pre-loaded with one hex, curse or jinx - guaranteed to win anyone who wielded such a wand, a duel?" Seeing Hermione's look of disapproval, Ron was quick to fire back, "Obviously not one of the Unforgivables. Do you think that they are that thick?" Pre-empting Ginny, who he knew had a few stories of her own about products that the twins dreamed up which failed when tested, "You can't answer that."

Wrapping his mind around the amazing possibilities that such a product could possess, Dean said, "You mean to say that this wand was constructed with the intention of having it LOADED with the Leg-Lock Jinx? That the Hooligan fired off twelve wands - simultaneously - and that is what happened to the Hufflepuffs?"

"Not just the Leg-Lock Jinx. Think about it - what is one of the number one reasons why duels are lost?" Ron asked as if the answer was as clear as a summer day.

"Because you loose time deciding which spell to fire." Luna came back with the correct answer before anyone else.

Ron's mouth moved as everyone else's eyes widened, "And you would know this because?"

Effectively ending any fact-finding mission the two Weasley's might embark on with a very cryptic, "I would?"

Filing her response under the heading of "Questions to Ask Another Time", Ron quirked an eyebrow and continued. "Numerous models - all of which are equipped with one specific curse, hex or jinx. There are supposed to be ones that cast Bat-Bogeys. In theory - any thing really." Ron was really excited. And a bit perplexed. If the wands had been perfected, why didn't his brothers send him any? Who could get their hands on such a product before me? "

"Hang on - then the Hooligan must have done something else to the Hufflepuffs." Harry stated.

Luna didn't see where Harry's mind was going. As the theory stood - it seemed perfectly reasonable.

"Fred and George created something that could only be fired with the wand being held by its owner. There is no way one person could fire all twelve wands, that were in twelve different locations, all at the same time." Harry that felt his logic was sound. "Let's not forget that it was the Knights who had fired the wands at the Hufflepuffs. How could one person get the Knights to act in unison?"

Resting her butter knife on the side of her plate, Hermione looked up from her toast to ask what she knew the others had to be thinking, "Do you think that there were accomplices?"

Ginny immediately fired a, "No way!" at Hermione's question.

And to clarify things further, Ron's emphatic, "NO HOW!" stamped out that theory.

Looking to understand why, Harry looked at his best mate, "Why not?"

Scoffing at the seven other persons around him, Ron's face was the epitome of scepticism. "Twelve accomplices - one for every Knight? Without anyone saying anything to anybody? AS IF! Not at this school, my friends." Switching to a more normal tone of voice, "The twins are as thick as thieves. No one can come between them when there is a plan afoot." Ron gestured in the air to drive his point home.

"But in a competition - to see who is the best - I can GUARENTEE you that they would be the first to separate and let the chips fall where they may," Ginny surmised. "They would shake the foundations of this castle - individually - to claim the title."

"So what you are saying, " Luna said, "As far as I understand - it would be every man-"

Lavender, Hermione and Ginny all cleared their throats at the same time.

Recovering quickly, Luna amended her sentence, "Or woman - for themselves?"

Impressed with how quickly Luna caught on, Ron looked at her before replying, "Precisely."

Seeing a hint of something cross her brother's face, Ginny had the beginnings of a "Brilliant Idea' of her own take shape. Waiting until Ron had taken to adding more food to his breakfast plate, she prompted, "Those two would not let ANYTHING stop them, would they Ron."

Hermione and Harry shared the same thought: What are you up to Miss Ginny?

"Absolutely not," Ron said around a mouth full of potatoes.

Lavender was piqued: Something is afoot.

"In fact, NOBODY can stop a Weasley from doing ANYTHING, can they Ron?" Ginny raised the level of excitement in her voice.

"Just try to stop one of us!" Ron reached for the sugar bowl and passed it to Dean. After all, the boy did ask for salt.

"And if I said that only YOU could take Luna to the Fall Ball because you were the ONLY ONE who could show her a proper time…" Ginny deliberately didn't finish her sentence.

Colin's flash finger was itching. A sure sign that something picture worthy was about to happen.

"Then I would say - Luna, you are going to the Ball with me!" Ron was emphatic. So much so that he clapped the tabletop with his palms.

"Really? Oh Ronald! Thank You!" The joy in Luna's voice was unmistakeable; except to those who really listened to it. She obviously did not take his invitation seriously - but camped it up as to keep pace with everyone's - including her own - sense of humour.

The spots in front of everyone's eyes were quite real when Colin snapped the picture of Ron - smacking the table with a look of absolution on his face. Just before he realized that he had been tricked into saying, out loud, what he had been thinking about all weekend. I knew I wanted to take the girl I crashed into to the dance, and I PROMISED her that I would make it up to her for crashing in to her - I just didn't know the girl I was looking forward to was Luna.

Shattering the moment with an excited, "Ooooh! Just wait until Parvati hears about this! A Hogwarts Hottie who has a date!" Lavender gave Ron a quick shoulders-only hug, touched fingers with Luna before hustling away with her 'exclusive scoop'.

Harry leaned toward Hermione and asked, "Do you think you can find a glass jar big enough?" He could help but bring up one of the moments when Hermione truly caught him off guard. His best friend not only captured - but bottled - the infamous Rita Skeeter, the former Viscountess of Yellow Journalism.

"Only if she goes secular," she returned with a smile. Hermione knew exactly what Harry was referring too - indeed that was one of the few times she couldn't resist showing the boys that she had a bit of a Marauder in her as well. But , as the conversation suddenly died, such thoughts vanished. She was now a bit worried about Ginny.

Thinking that things could either go really well for his girlfriend or plummet to Hades in the next few seconds, Dean reached for her fingers and gave her a re-assuring squeeze.

Ron looked at Ginny. She is DEFINITELY sneakier than McNair. But, he had spoken the truth. Talking about himself - too himself - in the third person, happened fairly regularly. No one could make Ronald Weasley do something that he didn't want to do. Hell - I have even fought off an Imperious Curse. Granted Knott - a virtual Squib, cast it but I succeeded. And, the Luna who sat across from him and shared in their morning revelry was a slightly different Luna from the girl who created a roaring lion's head hat two years ago.

Feeling his knotted tie press a little to close for comfort around his collar, Ron looked at the pretty blonde haired girl. Who was looking more embarrassed than part of the fun by the minute. His sense of honour and genuine desire to do the right thing took over. "Luna?"

Ginny was nervous for her friend. Ron had spoken the truth - not even his little sister could truly manipulate Ron into doing something he didn't want to do. She answered Dean's squeeze with one if her own and looked expectantly at Hermione. Who nodded her own head as if to say: It will be okay. Trust him.

Harry was, in all honesty, a little peeved at Ginny. She put the lad in a terrible predicament. If Ron decides to retract his declaration and say that he was caught up in the moment and only reacting to his sister's prods, then not only does Ron look the fool, but he has hurt the poor girl's feelings. If he were to go through with it and confirm his invitation, then it looked like a pity date, and that would be just as bad. There is no easy answer.

Knowing precisely what was needed, it was Hermione, who cleared the air by asking Colin if he was able to take any pictures of the prank. And purposely involving Dean, Ginny and Harry in a re-telling of the moments she missed.

Ron knew what his friend had done for him. And he thanked the stars that she was one of two best friends a person like he could have. She's created an opportunity for me to speak to Luna without everyone's ears trained on every word and nuance. "What is your first class?"

Watching the Ravenclaw expel a long held breath, Ron was relieved when she said, "Dead Languages - why?"

Standing up, he collected his things and tucked her books underneath an arm. "Care to take the scenic route?" Watching her extract herself from the table, Ron fell in step next to her. And mentally sighed when she didn't tell him to 'bugger off'. What he did hear was her saying that she would be glad for the escort.

"Who knows - I just might be glad for it." Luna said mischievously.

Walking together, Ron turned to touch his gaze to Hermione's, who had been watching them leave with a very relieved look on her face. Ron mouthed the words, 'Thank You', to his friend before saying to Luna, "You can't be too careful now - can you? Have you heard that there is a Hooligan on the loose? Apparently, not even Timeless Knights are safe any more…"

The rest of their conversion fell away as they left the Hall. And as it should be, Harry though. It is no one's business but their own.

Breathing easier now that Ron and Luna had left the breakfast table, Ginny looked at Dean. "Does everything around here happen before the first classes of the day?"

Laughing quietly, Harry was quick to say, "Only the important stuff, Gin. Only the important stuff."

Now it was Dean's turn to play Devil's Advocate by saying, "I wouldn't go that far, Harry."

Enjoying his tartan-themed eggs, Harry had to ask, "Why do you say that?"

Hermione, answering so shrewdly that it was a moment before anyone could respond, "Because one never knows what tomorrow might bring."

* * * * * * *

Author's Note:

This is an EXTREMELY LONG CHAPTER. Please, feel free to get up, stretch a bit - pour yourselves a goblet of pumpkin juice. I am personally partial to Diet Coke with either a slice of fresh lemon or lime. Or dash to the refrigerator for a snack.

Perhaps a generous slice of pumpkin pie or Mrs. Weasley's famous treacle tart?

If there are any brownies - can you save me one?

I truly intend to get through another prank in this sitting. There will only be six left to go.

Can you guess who will be the Hooligan? And where was Seamus during all this? And what about…

* * * * * * *

Harry was intrigued. Not that Hermione seemed to know something that he didn't - but that she was all-u-ding to knowing something that apparently no one else knew. Giving her a side-long glance - just in time to see her look at her blasted watch again - he couldn't resist trying to get more information, "Care to share, Miss Granger?"

Blithely ignoring his innuendo, Hermione slipped her book bag's strap across her body and made ready to leave. Giving Harry a Draco-inspired half-smirk, Hermione said, "I have NO IDEA what you are referring to, Mr. Potter." She gave every impression that she knew PRECISELY what he was referring too but was refusing to give any more than what she had already offered.

Giving the striking brunette a jaunty salute, Dean said his good-byes and finished making plans with Ginny as to what kind of 'post-dinner activities' they might pursue.

That's not right. Watching her struggle to get up, Harry was a little worried. For all her cavalier attitude, she looks a little peeked. Granted she had a bit of colour on her cheeks - but that was more from laughing than anything else. No - she definitely isn't her usual mile-a-minute-whirlwind-of-a-Granger this morning. I was so caught up in school work and Quidditch over the weekend, that I barely saw her in the past two days. Following his train of thought, Harry concluded that if he had a busy weekend, then she must have had a…

Harry never had time to finish his thought. Without being conscious of it - his Seeker instincts kicked into high gear and caught a woozy Hermione as she started to fall. Performing a mental rewind as he slowly lowered her back onto the bench, Harry remembered watching her stand, and then begins to wobble - as she became VERY PALE - and started to actually fall backwards. She is more than overworked, was the third thought that flashed through his mind. The first two involved being relieved that he caught her and just being there in the first place.

Whipping out his handkerchief (embroidered and provided by Mrs. Weasley last Christmas in lieu of a hand-knitted jumper) and handing it to Dean - who immediately dipped it in cold water before passing it back to Harry - who in turn placed it on Hermione's forehead. Watching her raise her hands - as if to push him away - Harry ignored her protests and slipped the cool cloth to the back of her neck. Shushing her with confident authority, "If you can do this for me - then I can to this for you," Harry wasn't going to suffer any of her stubbornness. For the first time, he wasn't trying to laugh off or displace his very real feelings for her. That's not to say that he wasn't going to clamp them down almost as soon as he let them loose.

Looking up at a concerned face, Hermione's guard dropped for just a moment. And for a split second, the façade she showed to Harry, the 'I'm-your-fellow-Housemate-and-best-friend' front she put on, slipped off its peg. Because, as she would later acknowledge, she wanted it too - and had for quite some time.

Embarrassed because people had started to turn and stare at her, "Harry - I'm fine," Hermione accepted his stabilizing hand but pushed away the cloth. Despite how good it felt against her overly-warm skin.

Determined not to be brushed aside, Harry looked at her with nothing but concern. "Dean - can you take our books to the dungeons? I'm going to take Hermione to the hospital wing."

Feeling her strength return - slowly - Hermione fuelled her re-charging energy with a hint of indignation. "Harry - I am NOT going to hospital. You can get that notion out of your head." Turning a blind eye to the scowl her best friend winged at her, she soldiered on, "I just stood up too fast." Resorting to her 'know-it-all' persona, Hermione altered her tone of voice. " Come down off it, Harry. I've seen it happen you loads of times. You - anyone really - stands up too quickly and all your blood goes rushing to your feet and before you know it, you are flat on your arse with everyone staring at you."

Sure, Harry heard what she said. If it weren't for the way she said the last five words of her little diatribe - I would cast an Impediment jinx on her and take her to see Madame Pomfrey and deal with the consequences later. But, as she succinctly reminded him, Hermione HATED to be the centre of attention. Her specialty was performing 'behind-the-scenes' and being 'front-and-centre' only when it made the most sense. That was one of the many things that he admired about her - and at one point had driven a wedge between he and Ron. She never played second fiddle. She knew her importance in his life and the impact that her life made to those around her. Unlike Ron - whose issues with jealousy - now long gone and put to bed - had caused the two mates to spend months not even talking to one another.

She was no coward. And she was a highly capable leader. But, following the public arguments she had with Malfoy - she did not want to be the focus of any further attention. And so - he had acquiesced.

"Fine. I don't believe you, but fine." Looking to assuage his conscience, Harry tried a different tack, "At least drink something that DOESN'T have sugar or caffeine in it - for me?"

Grateful for him respecting her wishes and not slinging her over his back like some bloody Neanderthal, Hermione knew that refusing his common sense and those gorgeous green eyes was futile. "Done." And made a mental note to talk to Harry later about his slightly patronizing comment later. Reaching for a glass of water Ginny thoughtfully poured, Hermione sat still long enough to finish the refreshing beverage.

It is now later. "Don't patronize me, Mr. Potter." Standing up one more time - this time in stages - Hermione reached for her book bag and said good-bye to Ginny. Dean and Sir Condescending, she would see in Potions.

"I'll see you guys in class," she tossed over her shoulder as she swept from the Hall.

* * * * * * *

The next morning, in Divination, Harry and Ron laid claim to seats positioned near one of the few coveted windows in the top-most classroom of the North Tower. Or, as the Tower had been come to be known - Trelawney's Tower of Terror. The reason behind the re-naming was fairly straight forward to any Hogwarts resident. If a student's homework or 'in class predictions' did not include the burning of horrible smelling herbs and 'foreboding visions' of sadness, despair, tribulation or someone's impending doom, then the teacher would call that student in for some remedial lessons on how to 'connect with their Inner Eye'. Which - in itself - was nothing short of torture. While Trelawney's Tower of Terror had a wonderful ring to it, students who had taken the class also adopted a short hand version: The Three Tee's.

Normally, Firenze taught the N.E.W.T level class down on the first floor of the castle. But today, he had been called away by Hagrid to help the half giant with - no one could understand WHAT Hagrid had said - but whatever it was, it had the Magical Creatures professor in a tizzy.

The sound of Fang barking was loud enough to draw the attention of two bored lads looking for any possible distraction.

Surreptitiously looking at Trelawney's direction to make sure she was intent on telling Lavender what it really meant when the girl said she saw her grandmother's face dissipate in the smoke of a snuffed candle, Ron was watching intently at the 'goings on' at Hagrid's cottage.

Harry, with his nose tuned into the much welcomed fresh air (That is a wonderful change from whatever foul smelling powder Trelawney tossed into the fire at the start of class, he snorted) had his eyes closed. Giving every appearance of trying to channel 'The Beyond' when in fact, he was giving his imagination a free rein.

"Is it possible to actually see a giant in distress?" Ron asked, his forehead all but resting on the small window pane.

"I suppose so - why do you ask?" Harry still hadn't cracked his eyes. With any luck he would be able to make it through the class without being told that he was this term's Harbinger of Doom.

"Well - I can't quite make it out. One minute Hagrid is walking with Firenze, the next he is whistling to Fang and setting off for the Forest." Ron voice carried an edge of concern. Neither Firenze nor Hagrid were welcomed with open arms, hooves or other various appendages by all the creatures which called the Dark Forest 'home'.

"What do you think?" It wasn't a cop-out. In Harry's book, no one could figure out a situation - no one other than Hermione - with as much clarity when there was a shortage of initial information. Also - there was only about twenty minutes left of class. It was a sincere hope that between Lavender and Parvati, Trelawney would be too occupied to call on him to participate.

Turning away from the window and squaring his body to the small table, Ron fixed his eyes on a spot in the wall just over his friend's left shoulder. And only saw the curling edge of some peeling paint as he thought about what could have wound the half-giant to the point of being frantic. Pulling his attention from the wall, Ron let his eyes wander over the classroom. An exercise which had proved affective when he was trying to figure something out that was evading his inner strategist. Sometimes, just looking at things can trigger a random thought that can lead to a tangent that could turn out to be the solution to whatever problem needs sorting. Also - it has the added bonus of appearing like I am 'In The Beyond' and therefore Trelawney-free for as long as possible, he mused. Unfortunately, he came up short. "I've got nothing, mate." Switching to a different subject, Ron kept his gaze vacuous and asked, "Merlin - do we really have to report to Filch after class?"

Recalling the brief and rather curt conversation he had with Malfoy just after Vectors, Harry didn't crack his eyes when he replied, "Yeah. Apparently some boxes need to be moved. But Filch, via Malfoy, said that it can wait until after dinner."

"That's good to hear - I am SO looking forward to seeing if anything else…" A whiff of patchouli tickled the inside of Ron's nose. "Quick - she's coming!"

Immediately, Harry sat up a little straighter and began to silently move his lips - making it seem as if he were 'communicating' with 'someone'. Cracking his eyes just a smidge, he saw Ron draw up his long legs and rest each ankle against the inside of the opposite knee. Assuming some sort of 'channelling posture', Harry saw Ron lift his face to the open window - as if he were 'casting his soul' to his Inner Eye - and completely relax his body. Pride for his friend's capabilities had to be stamped down - for the moment. At least until Trelawney had passed.

The jangling of bracelets was the tell-tale sign of an eminent 'Reading'. Figures, Ron thought. We were SO close to escaping WITHOUT having Her Flakiness in our pockets. A glimmer of hope remained that he and Harry could still sidestep an 'Intercession'. And that hope was quickly replaced by resignation for the inevitable.

Harry, still moving his lips, formed the silent words: Oh Merlin - here we go. No getting out of this now.

Prof. Trelawney had taken to waving her arms around her body, in front of each boy's face and all the spaces in between. Murmuring incoherently, neither Ron or Harry could fathom what she was about - that is until each Gryffindor felt the small table shake and quiver. Ron and Harry chanced a look at the other. And whispered at the same time, "She's over the edge!"

From her perch on the table, Prof. Trelawney had arranged her legs very much like Ron's but instead of resting her wrists on her ankles; Dean and Seamus could see that she had spread her arms so that her palms all but touched the noses of their two friends.

"Mate - I could not have planned this even if I tried." Enjoying the show immensely, Dean nudged Seamus and said, "This is bloody brilliant!"

Crossing his arms and settling himself a little further back on his narrow chair, Seamus had to agree. "It would be a terrible shame to deny them this experience, wouldn't it?" The special emphasis he had put on the two words 'terrible shame' contained every shade of every meaning that every antonym that those two words possessed.

Shaking his head at the silent plea Harry sent his way, Dean added, "Who are we to deprive our best mates the opportunity to gain the best education possible?" The lilt in his voice dripped with mock indignation at the thought of 'not doing the right thing' by their friends.

Completely on the same page as Dean, Seamus made eye contact with Ron before appearing to be completely engrossed in Trelawney being the 'conduit for the flow of energy' between the two boys. "I know that I would not be able to sleep a wink if I knew I was impeding my friends' intellectual and spiritual growth." Damn, this is fun, Seamus thought. It wasn't often that both Harry and Ron were in such a pickle. Feeling a sharp jab to his ribs, Seamus snapped his head at Dean's raised hand.

"Mr. Thomas - do you have a question?" The singsong response came from the Divination teacher.

"Yes, Professor. I am confused. I thought that direct bodily contact was the best way to channel energies?"

Harry silently vowed revenge. Dean Thomas is a dead man!

Putting together why Dean had jabbed him in the ribs, Seamus didn't miss a beat when he 'backed-up' his friend. "I remember you sharing with us how important the 'Principle of Touch' is when performing this aspect of the 'Delicate Art of Divination'."

Just wait until… I know where you sleep, Finnegan! That was the thought that kept Ron from bouncing out of his chair. That, and the mental image of dangling the Irishman over the beak of the Giant Squid.

Looking to add a finishing 'touch' to his machination, Dean asked Trelawney one more question. "With the combined energies of yourself, Harry and Ron - do you think an Eternal Triangle would be in order, Professor?" Groping for some bogus term he had heard back in Third Year, Dean explained, "You know - just in case a 'Great Door' is inadvertently opened?"

"Mr. Thomas - ten points to Gryffindor! You are certainly 'In the Beyond' today." Prof. Trelawney's voice rang with approval.

Watching his teacher as she roamed her eyes around the room looking for a 'viable third person', Seamus concluded: I would be remiss in my duty of being a Gryffindor if I did not try to help. "Professor." Watching her focus her huge glasses on him, Seamus barely kept his voice even when he volunteered, "If I remember correctly - it was Mr. MacMillian who successfully predicted when the school bell was going to chime."

Ron was cranked. That little…! Of all the people in class to choose from, Seamus had to suggest the boy who successfully predicted when the end of class bell was going to ring. The bloody bell rang because it was the bloody end of class!

MacMillian! To say that I am more than a bit testy would be an understatement. Harry made a show of rotating his shoulders as a way of reminding Dean that, what was done to Neville could just as easily be done to anyone.

Hearing Professor Trelawney to call out, "Five more points to Gryffindor!" only made each boy groan. Now Seamus and Dean are bloody heroes! Which had to immediately be masked as sounds of 'soul casting'.

Listening to the 'seer' summon Ernie to the window-side table and firmly instruct the boy, Dean and Seamus each gave Harry and Ron a 'thumbs up' sign as they heard her admonish, "In order to proceed properly, you must strip off those gloves! My dear boy, if we are to have any success in protecting ourselves and those in this room from…"

Harry and Ron made three different vows in time it took for the Hufflepuff to drag a chair into place and sit down. The first two involved wringing the proper restitution from Seamus and Dean for creating such a diabolical situation. The third involved Ernie MacMillian. Whose obscenely furry hands thoroughly grossed out four seasoned Gryffindors as the three boys interlocked fingers in Trelawney's Tower of Terror.

* * * * * * *

With all the chatter in the Great Hall, Ron counted himself lucky to hear himself think. Let alone hear what Hermione was trying to say to him. For once, she had not ruled out the possibility of eating lunch due to a previous commitment and she was actually sitting down to a meal. With him. And the rest of the Student Body. But it was enough for now. It was good to see her. He was her 'brother', for crying out loud. And more than once she had proven that family was not restricted to blood ties.

All the different Houses were intermingled with the topic of conversation dominated by Hooligans. At least that was what Ron was trying to understand as Hermione was telling him about Terry Boot.

"What did you say about Terry?" Ron had to ask again.

Laying a hand on his arm, she looked up at Ron's freckled face. "I said - did you hear about Terry Boot and Mistress Sinistra?"

A Ravenclaw and a professor? Hmm… Now that is a new one. Waggling his eyebrows lasciviously, more because he knew it would wind Hermione than actually being a bit…intrigued by a possible liaison between the Astronomy teacher and Miss Boot, he said, "Really? I wonder if they need a look out? Perhaps I should volunteer my services."

"And here I thought you were saving yourself for marriage." Hermione glibly lobbed back at him.

Reaching out and taking her hand, Ron sent a fervent prayer that his ears would not turn red until he got all the words out of his mouth, "Oh contraire, mon amie. I said I was going to save my first group endeavour until after I get married." Okay - now my ears can turn as red as a holly berry.

Extending her hand and 'straightening' Ron's tie, she shot an ace onto his side of the court, "Then what do you call all those 'Brilliant Ideas' the group of you do at all hours of the day and night? Hmm?"

Tugging his tie so that he could breathe, Ron responded with the best forehand shot he had - he stuck his tongue out and aimed a 'raspberry' in her direction.

Calling a 'draw' without missing a beat, she continued with her story, "Well - as I heard it from Michael Corner - apparently Terry tried to prank Mistress Sinistra by tying a length of Invincible Silk between the door handle of the Astronomy Tower and the nearby cupboard."

Always ready to hear about what the 'amateurs' were up to, Ron was ready for the rest of the story. "And????"

Dropping her voice but articulating her words so that her friend could hear her more clearly, Hermione said, "Well, as it turned out, Michael bought some rather dodgy Silk to begin with and it broke the moment Mistress Sinistra went to leave the Tower for the night! And the best part of this whole thing is that the door to the Astronomy Tower opens INWARD. So - even if he HAD decent stuff from the get-go - she could have still gotten out. And because she was lurking in the corridor, she still would have gotten caught."

"Well - that leaves her off the list." Ron's inner pragmatist reared its head. Only to be replaced with the sound of a true professional. "You gotta admit - the girl deserved to be caught. Even if she did think it through to begin with - a lame stunt like that warrants scoffing. Locking a teacher in a classroom - that is why they are teachers - they like being in a classroom." Ron heard Hermione laugh with him as he made his pronouncement. A passing thought clouded his smile for just a moment: Since when is Hermione so excited about rule-breaking? Mentally shrugging his shoulders, he figured it was about time Hermione got into the spirit of the competition. She works too hard as it is, he thought. She deserves to have a little fun.

Watching Hermione suddenly go very still and quiet made his Anxiety Bone start to itch. "What is it?"

Looking down at a spot on the bench where their two bodies almost met, Hermione's face was painted with concentration. Looking up at her 'brother's' face, Ron was taken back by when she said quizzically, "Running."

Picking up a crisp and tossing it at Harry, Ron vied for his mate's attention. Who was currently very involved in an exchange with Lavender. "Hey Harry!" Gotta remember to catch up with Lav later.

Dutifully plucking the crisp from his robes and tipping it into his mouth, Harry asked, "What gives?"

And that was as far as he, Ron or Hermione got when not one but TWO Hogwarts professors came charging into the Great Hall at the same time. Each one speaking at the same time.

"Headmaster - I've been robbed!" Hagrid's heavy breathing was interspersed with every word he spoke.

"Headmaster." Snape's oily voice reverberated throughout the hall

"How does he do that?" Ron whispered to Hermione. In the past six years, the sound of the Potions Master's voice always seemed to reach precisely who he intended - despite minimal lip movement.

"Shhh!!!" and a quick tap to his toes was all the attention his 'sister' afforded him.

Glaring down at Prof. Snape, Hagrid snorted derisively, "As if what you've got to say is as important as me being a victim of thievery."

Returning Hagrid's glare with just as much contempt, Snape didn't alter his speech volume or intonation. "Your sheep aren't missing."

"How would you know? You hate sheep. You won't even wear wool, your so bloomin' biased. Why, for years I've been seein' packages arrive for you from tailors who wouldn't know a length of wool from a hole in the ground, their so pernickety." Drawing a deep breath to launch another verbal attack, Hagrid expression changed from being defensive to something akin to a torch being lit somewhere behind his eyes. "Wait a minute - how did you know someone stole my sheep?"

"How many times do I have to repeat myself?" Snape's voice rang with conviction, "No one stole your precious sheep."

Seeking to intercede before the verbal banter took an ugly turn for the worse, Prof. Dumbledore rose from his chair and looked at each of his staff members in turn. "Professor Snape. Professor Hagrid. Is there something we can help you with?"

Neither the Potions Master nor the Magical Creatures expert answered Dumbledore's question. Each kept the other in a stare-down.

Staining his voice with sarcasm, Hagrid placed his hands on his hips and bobbled his head when he said, "And how precisely do you know that, Pro-Fess-Or?"

Stepping back only so that he could aim a scathing look at the half-giant without craning his neck, Snape narrowed his eyes. "My fellow professor - you wouldn't happen to be looking for twelve sheep? All of which sport various different colours?"

"And how would the likes of you know that? You won't even eat the mutton that the Elves prepare because you despise those living beings so much." Ron could see that Hagrid was becoming more defensive by the moment.

Trying to diffuse the escalating situation, Dumbledore spoke once again. This time, he chose a different tack. "Professor Snape - do you have any idea where Hagrid's sheep can be located?"

The icy demeanour typical of the Potions Master was cracking. Clenching his teeth, it was a wrench for Snape to push the next few sentences beyond his teeth. "Headmaster. I know where each and every one of Professor," stretching out every syllable of the word to make it sound as sarcastic as possible, Snape continued, "Hagrid's fleeced beasts can be found." Drawing out the moment, it was a few seconds before the Potions Master, his revulsion for the four-legged animals etched into his every limb, unveiled what he knew. "At this very moment, those creatures are milling about and eating everything they can get their greedy little mouths on - IN MY CLASSROOM!" His last three worded were nearly shouted.

Hagrid shook his great shaggy head, "You mean to say that someone had the gall to pull somethin' like that over on you?" The Magical Creatures professor was more astonished than anything else when he said, "Will wonders never cease."

Re-directing his gaze at the Slytherin House Standard, Snape pulled his arms free of his sides and buried his hands deep with the folds of his silk-lined over-cloak. Wishing that he was anywhere but standing in the Great Hall with a concession to end all confessions, he steeled himself against the grudging admiration that had begun to take hold since he first marched from his infested classroom. Squaring his shoulders and all but snarling, his announcement reached the ears of everyone in the Hall despite the fact that he didn't raise his voice. "Headmaster - I have been Pranked!"

Dumbledore and the rest of the assembled staff and students did not know what to say. Up until twenty minutes ago - in all the years that Professor Snape had been teaching at Hogwarts - had no Hooligan pranked (or successfully pranked) the Potions Master. Between his spies, guile and paranoia, Snape had been the elusive Golden Lark of Prankdom. But now - someone not only got the sallow faced teacher - but got him good. Reaching for his quickly dissipating self control, Dumbledore again asked the question he posed to the Hufflepuffs not twenty-nine hours earlier. "Professor Snape. Would you say that the Hooligan who pranked you was clever? That this prank was a worthy prank?"

Knowing that this would be as good a time as any for the ground to open up and swallow him whole, Snape waited a few seconds to see if his wish would actually come true. With the floor of the Great Hall still intact, he had to answer. Seething with grudging respect, he spat out, as if he had put something disgusting in his mouth, "YES." The sound of rushing wind as the points accumulated in the Hooligan's receptacle only added more 'insult' to Snape's 'injury'.

Rather enjoying the turn-about that was taking place in front of him, Dumbledore couldn't help but approve of the way the Hooligan orchestrated the prank. It was almost as if the sheep in the classroom was secondary to 'putting the screws' to Professor Snape. There wasn't a teacher who hadn't counselled a student or fellow faculty member about the methods Snape employed to keep order and control in his classroom and beyond; this was the first time the Headmaster had seen the Potions Professor subjected to his own style of 'coercion'. And the man cannot lie - there is no budge room this time, my dear Severus. Good show, Hooligan. "And this was accomplished, how?"

"When I entered my classroom, I saw twelve differently coloured statuettes scattered among the desks throughout the room. As I tried to re-locate the carved beasts, I found that they were adhered to the desktops. So, being the consummate professional that I am, I taught my class. All the while those things were constantly in my field of vision."

Snape's story had everyone quiet as - quiet as sheep, Harry thought ruefully.

"As the lesson was winding down, I ordered everyone to stay in their seats. I could tell that each and every one of those facsimiles were rich with Dark Magic."

A chortle from Hermione had those nearest to her firing every variation of the word, "Quiet!'

"I approached the sheep nearest to me, took out my wand and commanded it to: Reveal Your Secrets." Snape, who normally would be sounding the Horn of Victory at ferreting out such a ruse, only could shake his head in respect. "And brought the broad side of my wand across it's back. The next thing I knew, there were twelve - live - bleating - coloured - sheep - in my classroom!"

The urge to clap in appreciation, admiration and pride in what the Hooligan accomplished was too strong to stifle. Many students crooked their fingers, brought them to their mouths and let our ear-piercing whistles. Those who couldn't whistle, they 'whooped' at the top of their lungs. Those who could whistle, whoop and clap did not hold back. Not even Snape could restrain his veneration.

Letting the din quiet on it's own, it was several minutes before Dumbledore asked the one question that was guaranteed to stick in the Potion Master's side. "Professor Snape, how would you rate the execution of this prank?"

Prepared for the worst, the students and staff held their breath as Snape looked anywhere but at another student or the Heads Table. Finding the Slytherin House Flag to be safest place to fix his gaze, he had to be honest. Even if it pricked a bit. "It was…exemplary, Headmaster. Not only did the Hooligan bypass the wards to my classroom, but the Hooligan transfigured live sheep into miniatures - only to have them revert to their original state once I applied a spell which is known to be a personal specialty."

Another cascade of points brought a fresh round of elation from everyone in the Great Hall.

Looking to give his Potions Master a chance to escape without being too obvious, Professor Dumbledore raised his hands. "Professor Snape, thank you for your candour. It was much appreciated by one and all." Switching his gaze to Game Keeper, "Hagrid, it appears that Professor Snape has indeed found your missing sheep."

"Blimey - I would have to say so, Professor Dumbledore." It was apparent to Ron that Hagrid did not know what to make of the situation, but was ready to collect his animals with all due speed. "Who would have thought to do something like that? I was saving those sheep as a special lesson. Why, I had even-"

Raising his hand was the gentlest way Dumbledore knew to interrupt the Magical Creatures professor. Diverting his attention to a Potions professor who would rather be anywhere than where he was, Albus took control of the situation.

"Given your aversion to the animals -" Dumbledore began.

"Hatred and loathing, sir." Snape interrupted to clarify and lingering doubt about his true feelings towards the woolly beasts.

Nodding in a way that acknowledged Prof. Snape's preferences and continuing where he left off, "I think that, if I could prevail upon our Magical Creatures instructor, the animals should be removed before they begin to consume the very desks on which they were adhered. Don't you agree, Prof. Hagrid?"

Getting the Headmaster's point, Hagrid offered a hurried, "I'll get on it straight away," and bustled out of the Hall.

"By your leave, Headmaster - I can be found in my office if my services are further required." With that, and a dignified nod to the Headmaster, Snape swirled his cloaks around his body and strode from the scene without looking back.

Looking up at the Hooligan Standings, Professor called for everyone's attention. "It appears that we have a front runner." Scanning each of the Tables for any tell-tale sign as to who was behind such a brilliant prank, Dumbledore was actually pleased that he could not find a single clue as to the identity of the Hooligan. "As it now stands, the Hufflepuffs and Prof. Snape are no longer viable targets for any Hooligan who is looking to level the playing field." Giving a smile to everyone, he closed with, "And good luck - to one and all. For it seems we will have quite an exciting time ahead of us!" Sitting back down, Albus turned to Prof. McGonagall who was sitting to his right. "I say, Professor. I had the most peculiar thing happen just this morning…."

Ron looked over at Harry. "Can you believe it? Someone actually pulled one over on Old 'Slime'-erus." Searching his brain for an appropriate way to convey just how impressed he was, Ron came up with one word to sum up his impression of the Hooligan's latest coup. "WICKED!"

Now everyone was talking about the 'Fleecing of Snape', as it was quickly dubbed.

Harry, just recovering his breath from one of the most brilliant scenes he had ever had the privilege to witness, was stuck on one point of Snape's tale. Addressing Ron, he had to ask, "Sheep come in colours?"

Reaching for an apple and taking a hearty bite, Ron waved the fruit in the air as he answered his friend, "Well - duh? How else do does one get different coloured wool?"

"I hope you bite a worm, Weasley." Harry made a face at his friend for making fun of him.

"Why - then you tell me Harry - how would my mum get all those different colours for all those jumpers she knits every year?" Twisting to the Gryffindor sitting directly to his left, he muttered, "This ought to be rich."

Thinking that no matter what he said, Ron was going to twist it anyway, Harry figured that he might as well wear his ignorance on his sleeve. "Well - I suppose the wool is dyed. You know - using vegetables, flowers and things like that to get different colours."

Talking with a fresh bit of apple in his mouth, Ron looked up at the ceiling of the Great Hall, "Muggles - always doing things the hard way." Looking around the table and enjoying the way Hermione's eyes were crinkling as she fought back her laughter, he took his explanation one step farther, "If you need different colours, your breed different colours. Merlin - you would think that nothing could be simpler!"

About to take another bite of his apple, Ron was surprised to see a smirking Hermione restrain his wrist. "Um - Ron?"

"Yeah?"

Reaching in to the fruit bowl, she pulled out an orange. "Maybe you would like this instead?"

"What are you talking about? I wanted an apple. I am eating an apple. I am ENJOYING my apple. Is there anything wrong-" Ron stopped in mid-sentence when he looked at the piece of fruit that was now in dire need of defending. "You have GOT to be kidding? I'll be tasting flobberworms for a week!" Ron dropped his mostly eaten apple - which contained a mostly eaten flobberworm. Only an inch of its tail could be seen sticking out through the core of the fruit. Spitting chucks of apple as fast as possible - and seriously considering making himself become sick just to purge his system, Ron glared at Harry, "YOU did this!"

Harry was the epitome of innocence when he placed a hand over his heart and tried to make himself look as 'insulted' as possible. "Moi?"

With the upper-class men currently involved in making fun of the Gryffindor who had nearly consumed an entire flobberworm, it was Dennis Creevey who had the 'bright idea' to say out loud the pun no one dared to utter. "Looks like someone finally pulled the wool over his eyes!" The way those around him groaned and went eerily quiet for a moment before turning to the boy who had the unfortunate distinction not to keep such a though to himself. Colin didn't even bother pleading ignorance for his younger brother.

It was Dennis Creevey who had the unfortunate distinction of not only going to his next class with a jumper full of crisps, but his pants - courtesy of the lovely Miss Brown - transfigured into a very short pleated plaid skirt.

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