It seemed the fifth years had more to worry about than mere gossip this year.
The rumor of the Boggart turning into Darcie Malfoy before Black forced her to take on a gothic appearance failed to bring a decisive reaction from the real Darcie.
Of course, none had truly expected her to march up from the dungeons and barge into the Gryffindor tower to hex Black.
Still, they had expected some reaction.
With the world supposedly coming to an end soon, the students' cravings for over-the-top dramatic events had been growing more intense than ever.
Who knew if the ceasefire ended tomorrow and the Dark Alliance attacked, killing half of them — just like it had done at Ilvermorny School.
It was better to live and enjoy as much as they could before that happened, no?
Lord Black Phoenix's presence in the School's corridors also gave some confidence to the students, allowing them to momentarily forget about the evil and focus on studies, fun, and gossip instead.
In the great hubbub surrounding a gothic Darcie Malfoy, students overlooked another not-so-interesting rumor.
In the same class where Black had blessed the students' eyes with black-lipped and black-haired Darcie, Harry had again passed out after his Boggart had assumed a Dementor's form. Professor Lupin had stepped up, forcing the Boggart to take another form — a bulbous, moon-like orb — before banishing the creature for good.
Another rumor that failed to garner attention was the matter of Pansy Parkinson.
Behind the scenes, she and her family tried their best to get Hagrid sacked, filing numerous petitions at the Ministry in a single day.
Nothing came out of it, though.
Madam Villanelle was indisposed for reasons unknown. So, they couldn't do away with Hagrid. And Hippogriffs were all alike, so they refused to single out Buckbeak, especially when the students needed to learn how to fly them.
Amid rumors, fresh classes, and the CRACKS of Boggarts thundering across Hogwarts every hour, the first week at Hogwarts came to an end.
When the boys entered the Gryffindor Common Room Saturday evening, Black threw himself on the sofa, letting out a moan.
"Damn!" he complained. "Are the third years supposed to get this much homework?!"
Draco threw his legs on the same sofa's top, his back resting on Black's legs. "… I couldn't even tell how and when the week ended," he nodded, staring at the ceiling as he complained. "And we still have that essay to write on Boggarts."
Black let out another groan.
Harry and Ron, shaking their heads, were about to sit on another sofa when Neville stepped down from the dormitory.
"No!" he cried. "Don't!"
Harry stopped with his ass only a few centimeters above the sofa as if someone had petrified him.
Ron couldn't do that and slumped into the cushions.
"They should really change these cushions often," he complained, twisting his butt. "Look… not feeling soft at all."
Only Harry frowned, noticing Black and Draco again nodding, as if they fully agreed with Ron's stupid complaint.
"… It changed?" Harry asked, standing up and looking at Neville.
Neville nodded. "If you sit down in the Common Room, you will start complaining about everything," he described the new Rule.
Ever since their first year, something or someone had cursed the Gryffindor Common Room, imposing weird Rules. Also, there was no definite timeline of their appearance, either. It had become even more ridiculous in their second year, when they wouldn't experience an instance for weeks before suddenly falling into a trap, making a joke of themselves.
Suddenly, Crookshanks rushed down the stairs with Uncle Black, and both ran out of the Common Room.
"What's that stupid gremlin doing here?" Black complained. "Shouldn't they lock it up in Slytherin's dungeon or something? I am telling you, guys — that thing is corrupting Uncle Black!"
"Alright, that's it!" Harry said. "Get up!"
Black, Draco, and Ron frowned together as they got up, sensing an oddness.
Before they could speak more about it, though, Professor McGonagall entered the Common Room, with Lavender Brown, Parvati Patil, and other third-year girls.
"Oh, you all are here," McGonagall said, walking toward the Notice Board and pinning a piece of parchment there. "Third Year's first Battle Workshop has been scheduled for tomorrow morning. I want you all to give it your best and earn good credits."
"No!" The five boys together gasped.
Neville fell into the sofa. "That's the only free day we had…" he began complaining, the girls rolling their eyes next to the boys.
Professor McGonagall was so fed up with these five boys and their antics that she just shook her head and walked away. Before she went out of the Common Room, she stopped and looked over her shoulder.
"Do not let your ego prevent you from learning useful stuff," she warned. "The experts leading the Workshops are some of the best we have. So… Good luck."
The boys looked at each other.
"What was that?" Draco frowned.
"Did you also feel that…" Harry said, "… that she was looking at Black when she said that?"
Meanwhile, Ron walked up to the Notice Board and read the notice. "Hey!" he said cheerily. "It's a Workshop on Defense Against the Dark Arts!"
"Well…" Black sat down on the sofa and began complaining. "… our Sunday is officially ruined. Like we need someone to teach us how to defend against dark arts… Our Harry slapped a Voldemort off Quirrell's bald head in the first year!"
And laughter rang across the Common Room, followed by more complaints.
The next day, early in the morning, the casually dressed students of the four Houses of Hogwarts' third year gathered on the seventh floor in a relatively empty corridor.
"Did we come to the right place?" Ron wondered, looking around. "There is no classroom here to hold this many students."
Others were wondering the same, their heads snapping in random directions.
"I think the Facilitator will meet us here," Hermione chimed in, "and take us to the real venue…"
"If that's true," Black said, "then this Facilitator sure has mastered stupidity…"
Before a few students around him could snigger, steps rang from the other side of the corridor, a shadow appearing in everyone's vision.
The shadow soon shortened as the full figure walked into the light.
Eyes snapped open.
Jaws dropped.
"You've got to be…" Black cursed.
Black t-shirt. Black jeans. Black sports shoes.
An exquisite green wand with gold here and there rested at her hips.
Darcie Malfoy, fifth-year Slytherin at Hogwarts and Facilitator of the Battle Workshop on Defense Against the Dark Arts, looked at the students… and smiled.
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