The Darkest Night

Chapter 7: Purple Purebloods

Snape finally let Potions out after assigning a nearly twelve inch piece of parchment on the properties of Devil's Snare. Slytherins and Gryffindors alike had been put in a very bad mood and were only too happy to leave the dungeon classroom. Draco gathered his books and placed them into his bag. He turned to leave, but felt a heavy hand fall onto his shoulder, holding him back. He stiffened.

"Mr. Malfoy, a moment of your time, if you please." Snape withdrew his hand. A tall man, Draco had been overjoyed when he had finally been able to speak to his head of house without craning his neck skyward. Now, they were able to speak eye to eye.

"Sir?"

"I would like to have a few words with you, preferably tonight. Can you come to my office? Is nine o'clock a good time?"

Deep in this chest, Draco felt his breathing become restricted, as if Snape had suddenly reached inside and squeezed the air out of his lungs. Grasping his shoulder bag a bit more forcefully, he nodded. "Yes, sir." Snape inclined his head in acknowledgement, and bid him a good afternoon.

Crossing the cold flagstones to the dungeon door, Draco looked back over his shoulder. Snape had seated himself behind his desk, an inkpot full of red ink to his side. The ruthless potions master was in full teacher mode. Every now and then he would glare at a paper, snort in disgust, make a few choice comments, one of which sounded strangely like "Weasely" and "paramecium", and toss it into the trash bin beside him, which belched forth flames after every piece of parchment. Draco pitied whoever owned that paper. He softly closed the heavy wooden door behind him.

Draco fretted about the upcoming meeting with Snape the entire day. He just couldn't keep his brain on topic. Was the professor going to inform him that Lucius had discovered his coveted secret? Had Voldemort found out, and demanded his immediate insertion into the ranks of the Deatheaters? Whatever the case, Draco knew that he had to prepare himself for the worst. What if Snape was going to hand him over to Voldemort? He wouldn't go without a fight. He was a Malfoy, and that meant that, no matter what he faced, Draco would give them a fight they'd remember before he fell.

Draco spent his free period in the school's extensive library that smelled of must and old wood, perusing through the dusty stacks of the Defense Against the Dark Arts section in case Snape had something up his sleeve. Of course, he already knew the Unforgivables, and a good many curses that he knew could do some damage. Trouble was, Snape probably knew all of them too, and Draco knew that he would have little chance of defeating or even defending against Professor Snape, who had far more experience and even more knowledge that Draco could ever hope to attain. In the end, he decided to focus on Barrier spells and Illusion charms, both meant to distract and protect so he could get a good hex in before Snape had the opportunity to attack. Draco attempted to memorize those two especially.

He also picked up a book specializing in Lycanthropy. Come to think of it, he didn't know quite how he even found it. When he was looking for defense spells, he had come across the book, hidden behind a several large tomes covered in cobwebs. Its blue cover was stained with age and must have been held together with magic, or else surely it would have fallen apart in his hands. He had wiped the film off the book cover, revealing the title in gold lettering. Not silver. Ironic. "The Wolf Inside: A First Hand Account." Hopefully, this guy would be able to tell him a bit more than what he knew now, which was next to nothing. And that was being generous. It would be beneficial to know what he was up against, particularly since the full moon was quickly approaching.

Wary Madame Pince gave him a distrusting look, turning up her pointed nose and peering over her horn-rimmed glasses as he checked out several similar books.

She's in the wrong field if she's not a people person, he thought silently. In fact, this whole "I'm an angry librarian, leave me alone or else" thing is probably some sort of façade anyway. He had always had a sneaking suspicion that the underfed vulture carefully watched every book that went in and out of her library, and then reported to Dumbledore if anyone was acting "suspiciously." All the same, that's what Draco would do if he was librarian, and then maybe persuade (blackmail) a student or two when he needed a favor.

Really, it must be a boring job, mused Draco as he traveled to Transfiguration. So you've got to do something to take up some time (other that draw in the anatomy books or charm the books to attack students).

Transfiguration proved to be brutal. Seventh years were performing human transfigurations, a very complicated and advanced form of magic.

"The transfiguration for today is a frog. No Ms. Malbrook, it must be green. No other color will suffice." A disappointed Ravenclaw lowered her hand. McGonagall paced up and down the aisle, watching their progress. "Remember to perform the last twirl movement with your wand at the end of each transfiguration, or your partner will reform without the benefit of their clothing." Several students snickered. "I will dock your score an automatic letter grade if this occurs. You can also expect a detention, of my own choosing. So I suggest that you refrain from any of these -" she flashed a pointed look at the Slytherin side. Most met her gaze, smirking. "- antics. Please resume."

Draco had been lucky enough to be paired with a very pretty Ravenclaw girl named Ophelia Claymore, from a very respectable pureblood family. She was quite bright as well, and had no problem changing Draco back and forth. It was an unpleasant feeling, being transfigured, but not altogether dislikable. Although difficult to describe, the best way he could think to explain it would be saying that it felt like being stuffed into a very small box. His body knew that it did not belong in that form, which is why human transfigurations never lasted longer than a few days. The human body naturally tries to revert back to its original state.

When he tried his hand at the transfiguration, it went rather well. At least, it went well in the beginning. The problem came when it was time to change poor Ophelia back into her usual, beautiful self. Draco had been ready to perform the spell when another possibility leapt into his mind. What if Professor Snape had called the meeting because Dumbledore had changed his mind, and had decided that Draco had to leave Hogwarts? Forever. With these thoughts in mind, he attempted to continue his assignment.

Ophelia's head appeared first, sprouting from her froggy torso, and then arms and legs had closely followed. He even performed the extra twirl movement to prevent any embarrassing episodes. So Ophelia had reemerged, completely whole, with only a few minor mishaps.

The Ravenclaw gasped and rounded on Draco, green eyes blazing like hot pokers. "What do you think you're doing?" she hissed, voice dripping with venom.

Draco blinked.

Her eyes were the only thing that had remained their natural color. The rest of her was a different story. Ophelia's hair, skin, and even her clothes had turned a lovely shade of amethyst.

He couldn't help but snort at the sight, which seriously undermined his sincerity. "I didn't mean to." And he hadn't. He really hadn't. But how was he going to convince anyone else of that? And of course, he would never admit to making a mistake in the first place. Better to look clever and in control than stupid and incompetent, i.e. Neville Longbottom. He would play this for all it was worth.

Ophelia shot him one last scathing glare and marched straight to the front of the room to inform McGonagall.

The Slytherins jeered as she passed, thinking that Draco had performed the color change spell on purpose. Blaise shot Draco a thumbs up from across the room, while Crabbe and Goyle guffawed loudly. Draco grinned devilishly and took a bow, sweeping his hand to the side like a conductor pointing to his musicians. Except that he was waving toward Ophelia.

The Ravenclaws looked completely scandalized. Most of the time, the Slytherins left their pranking for either the Hufflepuffs or the Gryffindors. Ravenclaws and Slytherins had usually been on good terms, and they couldn't imagine why one of their own had been attacked for absolutely no reason. It left them fuming.

McGonagall sent Ophelia to the hospital wing, since neither she nor Draco had any idea what he had done. McGonagall assumed that Draco knew perfectly well spell he'd performed, and was just being his normal impudent self, which was fine for Draco. This made him look much more advanced in his transfigurations than he actually felt.

The Gryffindor head of house, rather scary in her own right, gave Draco a special detention: clean out the owlery, with absolutely no magic. He tried to protest this cruel and unusual punishment, but she would have none of it.

"I hope this stunt has been worth it Mr. Malfoy," she said, peering over her wire rimmed spectacles. "And if you're not sure now, I believe you'll have plenty of time to think about it tomorrow night. Happy cleaning." She smiled her patented smile, lips thinning until barely visible, and returned to her perusal of the classroom. Sitting back down at his desk and attempting to look arrogant (which wasn't that hard, as we all know), Draco glumly watched the other students as they continued their transfigurations.

He had just finished concocting another possibility for Snape's meeting (this one involving a tin of broomstick handle polish and a pair of pantyhose) when a shrill scream arose from the other side of the room. Draco, senses alert, searched for the cause of the disturbance, and immediately turned back to his own work. He felt the heat rise in his face. Apparently, someone had forgotten the last - and very crucial - twirl movement of their wand.

*****************************

The entire hall was alit with candles, illuminating the whole room as if it were day. Light glimmered off every polished surface, shining through the silvery ghosts as they floated and mingled with the student body. Although serene in appearance, the noise level was anything but. The clamor of silverware and loud banter rang throughout the hall, but a single hysterical voice rose above the rest.

"I can't believe it. I just can't! Every single paper, he just has to find one tiny thing wrong with it!" Hermione was practically pulling her hair out in frustration. Forsaking the food in front of her, she held out her potions homework for everyone to see. "Look, look at this!" she said to anybody who'd listen, which was basically limited to Ron and Harry.

Ron looked up from his plateful of food, fork in hand, and continued to shove food into his mouth as he spoke. "Well, you can't expect him to give you full marks," he said, taking another enormous bite. " 'e 'ates shus, 'n eh ee un else in Gyfinor."

Hermione looked disgusted, and insisted that Harry back her up. "You read that, and tell me what you think."

Harry accepted the piece of parchment and scanned it briefly. "Hmm, red marks across your entire paper, snide remark at the bottom, yep, Snape wrote that." He made as if to hand it back, but Hermione didn't take it. Instead, she sent him a withering look.

"I know that Snape wrote it. Read the remark at the bottom, his so-called 'evaluation'."

Harry sighed and read on obediently, speaking aloud for Ron's benefit.

Dear Ms. Granger,

Although it pains me to do so,-

"Yeah, right," muttered Ron, rolling his eyes. He stabbed a lonely roll with his fork.

- I must subtract points for several grievous errors that you have made. Let it be known that the main ingredient in a bone regeneration potion is not locewings as you have indicated, but lacewings.

"He knew good and well that it was an "a" and not an "o"," pouted Hermione.

And, unless I am mistaken, a potions ingredient known as locewings is not in existence. I will have to subtract points for incorrect ingredients. I am quite disappointed that you have resorted to inventing your own potions ingredients instead of spending the same time and effort that other, more industrious students have.

"Cheating Slytherins," coughed Ron, clearing his throat. "Oh, sorry, please continue. Must be something going around." He waved his hand as if to clear the air in front of him. Harry grinned and continued.

-"If I were a NEWT examiner, I would be forced to give you partial credit for such a large error. I suggest you revise more if you plan to attend the Advanced Potions NEWT examination.

SS

"Well, what did you expect?" finished Harry, and he handed the parchment back to Hermione.

"I keep saying it. The man's a sadist! No person in their right mind would wear that much black unless they were either really depressed or in cahoots with evil. Something really bad, you know?" Ron searched the staff table for the man voted Best Sneer by Witch Weekly, nine years and running.

Said professor was currently glaring at the Hufflepuff table, who were all doing their best not to make eye contact with the greasy potions master. Occasionally, a first year would glance towards the table, only to be met by obsidian eyes and a curled lip that would have done Grindelwald proud. Needless to say, half the table was soon in hysterics.

Ron looked glum. "Look at the bright side Hermione. At least you got your paper back. Mine is a pile of ashes at the bottom of Snape's rubbish bin." He sighed wistfully.

Hermione was ignoring him like he hadn't even said a thing. "No, I can refute it, I know I can. The Wizarding Educational Grading Decree of 1632 says that-"

"Hermione," Harry groaned.

"-Chapter 18, line 4 of section B. I can go to the library right now and-"

When she got into one of her rants, there was usually no stopping her. Ron and Harry silently agreed that they would let her blow off a little steam.

From across the hall, both boys heard a loud roar from the Slytherin table. Draco sat in the middle of the group, smiling faintly at some unheard joke.

"The Ferret is up to something," frowned Ron, talking exclusively to Harry.

"What are you talking about? He's always up to something," sighed Harry, leaning an elbow forward onto the table. He slowly pushed some food around his plate. "He's actually been rather quiet lately. Not as many taunts as usual," Harry pointed out. "I'm actually feeling kind of left out."

"That doesn't mean a thing, and you know it," growled Ron. He turned in his seat to glare at Draco, who was listening to another conversation. The Slytherin seemed to subconsciously rub his shoulder. Ron's scowl deepened. "Something's not right about him. I can't put my finger on it, but I think that Ferret Boy is hiding something. Like that day in potions when he turned Jungle Boy on us."

"Now you're being paranoid. Or have you seen something in your crystal ball?" smirked Harry.

"Ugh, don't remind me. Thank Merlin we don't have to do that again. Séances aren't near as bad. All you have to dois sit there and pretend you're talking to someone. I think I'll try my Great Aunt Esther tomorrow, and we'll talk about the weather and the Cannons' chances for the cup this year."

"Your Aunt liked Quidditch?"

"How should I know?" shrugged Ron. "I've never met her. And more importantly, how would Trelawney know?"

Their conversation abruptly ended when Draco, with no warning, stood up and practically ran out of the Great Hall, robes swirling behind him.

"I knew it. The git is doing something right now! I betcha he has the Dark Mark, and he was just called!" said Ron gleefully in a conspiratorial whisper. Several other whispered conversations arose around them.

"Or maybe," said Hermione sarcastically, "he has to use the bathroom. If it was the Dark Mark, then Professor Snape would be leaving too." Their heads turned towards the staff table. Snape was stabbing something on his plate with his knife, a determined and half-crazed look on his face. He didn't look like he was being called. Or is he was, then it was only the voices inside his head doing the talking.

Ron gave her a half-guilty, half-skeptical look. He had forgotten that she was still there.

The redhead picked up his fork and pointed at Hermione, as if to emphasize his point. "You'll be singing a different song when we find out that Malfoy's imperioed half the school population. Just wait," insisted Ron defensively.

"Hermione, pass the potatoes, will ya?" said Harry. Ron and Hermione bickered all the time and Harry found it best if he just ignored them.

Hermione picked up the dish, but nearly dropped it when a loud burst of laughter sounded from just a few feet down the table. The entire 6^th year of Gryffindor were practically rolling in the aisles.

"Finite Incantatem," tried somebody, but it did nothing to curb their laughter. It finally died down after several angry protests from the staff table. Ginny, stifling a giggle behind her hand, walked over when she caught Ron's questioning eye.

"What's so funny?" asked Ron.

"Malfoy," giggled Ginny gleefully.

"What's so funny about him," Ron scowled.

"Well," began Ginny, eyes lighting playfully. "Not so much him, but what we did to him."

"Ginny, you didn't!" gasped Hermione, looking scandalized.

"Nothing he didn't deserve Hermione. In fact, I think it was rather creative."

Ron goggled at his sister and said in a mystified voice, "You pulled a prank on Malfoy? What'd you do?'

"Fred and George are trying out some more of their wheezes, and they sent some stuff to me in the mail yesterday. After what he did to that poor Ravenclaw-"

"That was pretty funny," admitted Ron begrudgingly.

"-the Ravenclaws wanted a bit of revenge."

"What happened," breathed Hermione, imagining horrible images of torture and abuse.

"We hit him where it hurts," laughed Ginny. Several more Gryffindors had gathered, but Ginny was laughing so hard now that she was having trouble telling the story. Neville was watching Ginny with undisguised admiration.

"It's a new powder, unnamed right now. We had Ernie MacMillion sprinkle some on Malfoy's hair today during Charms. It'll change his hair color every couple of hours or so, they think." Ron guffawed, and Harry had a hard time not falling off of his seat. "It's supposed to last about a week, but we're not quite sure."

"Didn't he feel it in his hair?" questioned somebody from down the table.

"Nope, it's completely weightless. Besides," smiled Ginny. "With all that gel that he still wears sometimes it'd be a wonder if he felt a bludger." Everyone laughed.

"Hold on," said Harry, his forehead creasing. "Not to ruin the mood or anything, but I didn't see any color change when he first walked in. How come?"

"That's because it was finally taking effect. It kind of flickers a bit before it becomes more permanent. Or else whoever put the powder in his hair would be obvious if it happened right then. Lucky for him that he noticed early on."

Ron, grinning broadly, stood up and gave Ginny a huge bear hug. After an intense few seconds, she struggled from his grasp and walked shakily back to her friends, still gasping for breath.

"Aww, my own little sister," said Ron in mock sadness. "She's just growing up so fast. Soon, she won't be my little girl anymore." He wiped a nonexistent tear from the corner of his eye. "Do you think that's the prank she was planning? The one where she needed the map?"

"No, why would she need the map when the prank was done in class?"

"Hmm," frowned Hermione, looking thoughtful. "Has she told you anything Ron? Any clues that we don't know about?"

"No," he reported dispiritedly. "She doesn't want to ruin the surprise. Says it'll make Fred and George's jokes look like child's play."

"Not likely," scoffed Harry.

"I agree," commented Hermione. "They will be hard to top off. Although I'd like to see her try."

"Let's just hope she doesn't get expelled, or Mum'll kill me.

**************************************************

Draco ran through the corridors, cloak flying behind him, avoiding any hall that even had the possibility of having people. Once in the Slytherin dorms, which were mercifully devoid of people, he locked himself in his dormitory, placing every anti-open spell he could think of on the door. Chest still heaving from the fright he had received, he finally forced himself to look in the mirror.

It was worse than he had expected. His beautiful hair, once radiant and shining in its splendor, was now the most hideous shade of purple one could ever imagine. It wasn't just any normal purple either. It was the kind of color that you only saw old, overly large witches wearing on laundry day.

Oh the humiliation! The indignity! And dammit! His eyes had changed color again. It just kept getting worse and worse. He could never go out in public again. It was settled. He'd lock himself in his dorm, and live there until this stupid spell wore off. Of course, it would be such a shame to deprive the world of such a splendid example of perfection. Unless...

Draco ran to his trunk and searched frantically through its contents. Organization didn't matter anymore. His reputation was at stake. He haphazardly tossed his belongings across the room: robes, books, potions ingredients, Playwizard, chess set. Wait a minute! Playwizard?! He glanced around the room, then hurriedly threw the magazine back into the trunk. Now, back to business.

About five minutes after his desperate search began, he triumphantly pulled out a small blue bottle and scanned the label.

"Scutherworth's Magical Hair Tonic: guaranteed to make even the most horrendous hair terrors shine like new - for natural blonds only (and we mean it)."

Draco sprinted for the showers, and locked those as well. Someone would pay for this.

(2 hours later)

"Draco, are you alright in there? It's been hours! What are you doing?" Blaise banged on the heavy oaken door again, and looked back at his two companions.

"Do you think we should get a professor?" he suggested, and threw another angry look at the bathroom door.

"And say what?" replied Goyle. Crabbe blinked and nodded in agreement. Or maybe it was just an eyelash, no one could ever be sure.

"What's going on?" interrupted Andre Dolohov. "Why can't we use the bathroom? Did Peeves leave another skunk in there?" The tall boy sauntered forward, and looked questionably at his fellow 7^th years.

"No. Malfoy's been in there for at least two hours, and we don't know what to do. He won't talk to us," responded Blaise gloomily.

Andre raised a dark eyebrow and declared "If Malfoy's been in there two hours, then he doesn't need a professor. He needs a girlfriend. I think you're all idiots for caring anyway. It's Malfoy, he'll be fine."

"Just mind your own business Dolohov. No one asked you to come in and save the day," Blaise retorted hotly. He turned his back to the group and banged on the door once more.

Andre looked mildly disgusted. "Is he crazy?" he asked Crabbe and Goyle, nodding towards Blaise. When he got no response, he threw up his hands and walked away, muttering angrily. "Honestly, all this fuss because Malfoy's got a digestive problem."

Meanwhile, inside the bathroom.....

Five washes later and Draco still couldn't get his hair back to its natural shade. Nothing was working! He had been reviewing what had happened in the Great Hall over and over again, and he just couldn't reach a conclusive answer. He had been eating, talking to Blaise when his head started to tingle and itch. After a quick glance at his reflection in his golden water goblet, he knew something was unquestionably wrong. It hadn't been until he had seen his reflection in his mirror that he realized how royally screwed he really was.

Draco had heard no muttered spell, felt no potion, no nothing. So what could have happened? He would speak to Snape tonight, and maybe find a countercurse. But one thing he was sure about : Potter and Weasley had something to do with this, and it was time to bust up their little party.

Malfoys simply do not wear purple. He had no idea how he would ever get out of this one.

Feeling defeated and utterly humiliated, Draco dressed and exited the bathroom.

He could hear the regular noise of the common room above him: the clank of fighting chess pieces, random shouts of spells and cries, and the crackling of the hearth. He was king of this room; he had no reason to be worried. Right?

Oh Merlin, what did I do to deserve this?

He braced himself and entered. Head held high, eyes icy; he threw open the doors, letting it crack loudly against the wall.

A good entrance was everything.

The room went silent. All eyes stared at him, so he glared right back, daring anyone to so much as comment about his hair. Faces swiftly turned back to whatever they were doing. It's kind of like when you see person on the street asking for money. Don't make eye contact, no matter what, or you're sure to be verbally assaulted. And Draco was ready for anyone that tried.

Merlin pity even the house elf that stared too long. Draco WAS NOT in a good mood.

"Draco!" cried Pansy, striding over and looking crestfallen. "Why did you change your hair?" The silence that had settled over the common room suddenly broke as if by magic, and the Slytherins turned to watch the exchange.

Draco's eyes pleaded silently with Pansy, hoping that she would catch the hint. Her eyes widened. He remained suave.

"Oh! Ohhhhhh, of course," said Pansy. She circled Draco, eyeing the top of his head as if getting a new perspective. "Yes, why didn't I realize before? You're starting a new fashion trend! You're going for the punk look, aren't you?"

Relief washed over Draco like a bucket of warm water. He really did underestimate Pansy sometimes, and he was secretly grateful that she wasn't as dense as most people thought her. He played along.

Pansy wheeled around to face the common room. "I heard it's all the rage in Beauxbatons, although I think I would have chosen a different color. Maybe blue would set off your eyes, or even red. What do you think Draco?"

For you Pansy, right now, I'd do anything you wanted. Heck, I'd be the minister at Mrs. Norris and Filch's wedding.

"Yes, maybe that would be better," agreed Draco, as if suddenly reconsidering his hairstyle. "Besides, I think I like green much more. I'll consider it after I get back from my meeting with Snape. But I don't want to be late. Please accept my apologies, Pansy."

"Of course Draco." She opened her arms, clearly expecting a hug. Draco conceded and wrapped his arms around her, and felt her warm breath tickle his ear as she got closer.

"You owe me one Draco Malfoy. I won't forget." She smirked at him and bid him good night.

Hey, that's my smirk! But for now, he was just happy that he had come out of that room alive. The power arrangement of the Slytherin common room was a very fickle thing, and one could lose power easily if someone else viewed you as weak. He had to keep up appearances if he wanted to keep his position. But now he also owed Pansy a favor, like it or not. Draco had a feeling that this was going to come back and bite him in the arse.

So then he went to meet Professor Snape, known deatheater and best friend of his father. His footsteps reverberated about the passageway, sounding a staccato rhythm that signified his impending doom with every footfall. All too soon, he came to the heavy door that opened into Snape's office. With a deep breath, he turned the knob and pushed the door forward.

Reviews;

Kiskool- This is a bit sooner than usual. I hope the chapter is up to your standards. Did you like the Trio's interaction? As you can see, they're getting a bit more suspicious. Who knows? We'll see if they find out anytime soon. Thanks for the review.

Launigsiae: Muchos gracias! Gracias por la ayuda en la gramática. Nunca soy perfecto. Puedo utilizar siempre ayuda. ¡Deséeme la suerte! Tengo una entrevista oral en mi clase española mañana, así que conjeturo que veremos cómo va ésa. Gracias por las buenas palabras.

Unknown: Hello again! First off, would you rather me call you by a name, or would you just prefer to be the mysterious Unknown? Haha, I think I like that. Wonderful that you like Narcissa and Lucius. I really was worried about that portrayal, but I'm glad we agree. I'm also in agreement about Draco's view of the light side. Your review has influenced me a bit for the next chapter (Snape stuff), just so you know - your review means a lot to me. I'm not quite sure on all of the reactions yet, but I'll have it figured out soon. Thanks for the help, it's ALWAYS appreciated.

Tiffany&Co.: Welcome back. I tried to include more cunning, or should I say, contemplative thoughts for Draco. You were right, I guess sometimes his inner voice did seem a bit childish at times, mainly for comic effect, but he can't be completely one sided. So thanks for the suggestion, I hope this is a bit better. I agree that Lucius and Narcissa would hide their love, mainly in public, but I also think that to be a real couple they would at least have to show a little affection for each other. That doesn't mean that they have to fall all over each other. But it would be private, and just for themselves. I don't think Draco would ever see this side of his parents, and if so, only seldom. You're right, Draco normally is very cold and calculating, but my excuse is that he is changing a lot, and he's not going to be spiteful to someone if he thinks he can use them. And Hagrid certainly has knowledge that can be used. Still, I tried to make him as superior as possible without driving Hagrid away. Thanks for the compliments, and I hope I answered your questions. Feel free to flame me in your next review if you still don't understand, and I'll do my best to clarify.