Signs

~-*-~

Seventh Year started harmless enough that first week of September. The trip to King´s Cross, uneventful train ride, and the eventual Sorting and feast. Continued seamlessly with the same speech each year by Dumbledore. But somehow, this year it was different. For Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley, this year was the year. One to live in infamy.

"All students are reminded that the Forbidden Forest, is, of course, forbidden." Dumbledore reiterated the fact over the feast that first night, eyes twinkling their merry blue, long white beard and hair still as straight and immaculate as one would not expect someone of such an age to be able to keep it.

The students waited expectantly for the end of the speech and beginning of the feast as was customary after the usual announcements. However, it did not come, and many furrowed brows and quizzical expressions came with the pause from the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"A special note to Seventh Years," the kind, old voice spoke in volume again after the pause. "Though it has been many years since the last attempt, I find it necessary to say that any of the childish, and supposedly traditional Seventh Year Pranks will be met with dire consequences for anyone that disregards the ban on such an act."

A few heartfelt sighs of disappointment filtered through the upperclassmen, but mostly ignoring of the fact by the students most likely to commit the dreaded Seventh Year Prank; something waited for with much excitement when one is so often told by older students to their younger siblings and often their own children of such the grand tradition. Banned years ago for the level of suspicion it drew to them from Muggles, it was suggested by the Ministry to give more severe punishments to those that would be likely to disobey. Such had put a damper on many attempts over the past decade, however, many had tried to be caught on the designated Halloween night of the Prank.

Two years before, many had thought the infamous Weasley Twins to pull the greatest Seventh Year Prank of their time. However, due to the aforementioned infamy of their name, special arrangements were made and they couldn´t even get past the portrait of the Fat Lady on that fateful All Hallows Eve.

Surveying the sea of students at the perfectly lined tables, Dumbledore smiled once more and commenced the beginning of the feast.

"So then Harry," Ron began through mouthfuls of chicken and mashed potatoes. "What´s our Seventh Year Prank to be?"

Hermione looked scandalized, and Harry simply raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Ron!" Hermione gasped and leaned forward to speak in a loud, breathy whisper. "We can´t do a Seventh Year Prank! You heard what Dumbledore said!"

Ron rolled his eyes and took his time chewing before replying. "Dumbledore´s in on the whole thing." Pause and another round of chewing. "And I don´t remember ever asking an uptight know-it-all like you to participate." Turning to Harry, he smiled (gracefully showing his mouthful of food for all to see). "Right then. Any ideas?"

Harry squinted his eyes and tapped his chin in an exaggerated display of thought. Hermione huffed. "It has to be better than Malfoy´s." As if by rehearsal, the three (Hermione a bit more covertly, casually acting as if she didn´t care) turned to the Slytherin table to find the pale ferret in question surveying his own table with a wary eye. Catching the trio´s eye, he narrowed his stormy gray gaze and gave a rather rude finger expression before stuffing a fork-full of Yorkshire pudding in his mouth.

Raising an eyebrow, Hermione spoke with fervor. "I´m in."

Her two male best friends looked at her with surprise. "What?" She asked. "Any chance to show that git up is one well spent, no matter how many points we could possibly lose, demotion from Head Girl to not even a prefect, detention..." she trailed off and looked horrified, while staring glumly down at her plate.

Harry patted her hand affectionately. "Don´t worry Hermione, we´re naturals at the sneaking around business."

Ron nodded enthusiastically, before stuffing another bit of chicken in his mouth.

~-*-~

Draco Malfoy, Scourge of All He Encountered, was having a hard time planning his Seventh Year Prank. Devious and cunning though he was, it would be hard to find someone of the same year, and also of the same caliber as him to pull the great, masterful Prank he had planned. Waiting with baited breath for years before his time, Malfoy had planned, had used his cunning wit, had sent away for PlayWizard magazine (though that had absolutely nothing to do with the Prank in question), and did what he did best - schemed.

However, looking glumly (or as glumly as Malfoys can manage between the sour look and the stick up their butts) at Crabbe and Goyle, he realized it would not be so simple for such a great plan as his.

Looking quickly at the other Seventh Years of his house, he raised his lip in annoyance and a half-snarl. Narrowing his eyes, he looked once more and struck inspiration.

Zabini, he realized and smirked that smarmy smirk he was often used to displaying. Looking at the anti-social boy with is curly black hair, olive-colored skin and short stature (and noting him to be the poster-child of the Greeks), Malfoy was sure no plans would be leaked by such a character.

However, two people were simply not enough for what he thought to be at least a three-person job. On his third glance around the table he slowly acquiesced to the sinking feeling of the one other person that could be in any way, somewhat suitable for the job.

Parkinson he thought with an internal snarl and looked to the leech that currently had her finely manicured and slimy hand upon his thigh. Resisting the urge to break the valuable fingers of her writing hand, he looked to her and considered the options.

So loyal she would die for you, was definite a plus in the area of getting her to join.

Has an annoying habit of talking incessantly and often to anyone that will listen, particularly Ravenclaws he noted with a grimace.

Sighing, he realized he had little choice. And with an uncomfortable air of optimism (one he usually squashed at the opportunity - the glass was half empty dammit!), he realized she might actually do well enough.

"Pansy," he said in what he was sure to be a breathy, seductive voice, but was really just annoying to anyone but the hormonal and obsessed Pansy Parkinson. "I need something from you."

And of course she instantly brightened and many gutter-minded thoughts flowed freely. Leaning forward, she smiled a toothy smile (revealing a bit of spinach between her front teeth) and replied in the same breathy whisper she had read in Teen Witch that drove those young wizards mad with passion, but really sounded ridiculous as well.

"Of course darling," and closed her eyes, puckering her lips for a kiss.

Draco made an unconscious parallel between her face and a gaping fish out of water at the moment, and grimaced in the face of terror. "Er, with the Seventh Year Prank I mean."

She opened her eyes, and hardened her gaze, before leaning back to her own personal space bubble and setting her mouth in a firm line. "You don´t want to kiss me then?"

Crap Malfoy thought, and even though he may be a Malfoy, even his own particular family with all their patented line of Evilness (often bottled and sold under the name of CK perfume), knew it best to entertain a woman´s fantasies.

Grabbing her quickly by the shoulders, he squinted hard, and brought her in for a quick and hard kiss that left her breathless and him gasping for a strong alcoholic drink. "Of course I wanted to kiss you," he replied and was thankful she was too dense to notice the bit of incredulity his tone conveyed.

I need to gargle with bubotuber pus, he squinted and looked down the table at Zabini, who, curse the little midget, thought it funny. Narrowing his eyes, Malfoy gave him the rude finger signal he seemed so fond of.

"A henge," Ron said a week later in the common room after many other had gone to bed and the few that remained we his best friends and an oblivious first year sleeping in fetal position in the floor, clutching his Potions homework close to his chest and muttering incoherent things in his sleep while twitching occasionally.

Hermione wrinkled her nose. "That´s so... cliché." Ron rolled his eyes and Harry stared into the fire, practicing his Brooding Hero pose for later in the year.

Minutes more passed as Hermione and Ron generally argued about the ridiculous notions of each others suggestions, which ranged from a large bout of cow tipping ("How would anyone notice that!" Hermione shrieked), to painting a particularly naughty phrase in Latin on Big Ben ("How will anyone know what it means?" Ron sneered).

"Crop circle," Harry said at last, breaking his reverie about death, the war, and generally all things very angsty to look at his two best friend.

~-*-~

They considered it for a moment, Hermione and Ron looked at one another. Finally the red-haired male broke out in a goofy grin and Hermione set to plotting. Harry smiled and his chest swelled in smarmy smugness at it.

"I´m telling you, it´ll be fucking brilliant." Malfoy said the same night to Parkinson and Zabini as they sat alone in the Slytherin common room.

Parkinson seemed oblivious past that glazed look in her eyes, and Zabini examined his nails in a bored fashion.

"A henge," Malfoy stated fully and glared at his oblivious cohorts.

"Yes," Pansy agreed immediately and Malfoy had the unsavory thought that he would probably have to shag her afterwards or she would spread nasty rumors about his choice of underpants around the school ("Is it true you wear briefs with Teletubbies on them?" Aghast and disgusted, but a bit guilty, shock. "No!").

Zabini squinted slightly. "It´s a bit cliché...."

Malfoy bristled and had the urge to smack the smarmy little man that was Blaise Zabini.

"But," the Greek boy continued with a sigh. "Yeah, all right."

Malfoy smirked. They always come around.

~-*-~

Halloween weekend fast approached, but Harry, Hermione and Ron had little in the way of a plan. Hermione kept raving about organization being the key to success (along with some other things about color-coded charts and detailed itineraries), while Harry and Ron looked at her like she was daft and shrugged before going back to chess.

Needless to say, Hermione became the Mastermind behind the operation while Harry and Ron shifted to the background under the petty title of Minions.

Many detailed sketches were made, books were read, late nights put forth in the effort of The Cause, while on the part of Harry and Ron they often liked to sneak off for snog-fests (with each other or actual girls, no one could really tell, but Hermione hypothesized the former).

~-*-~

So, the weekend before the deed was to be done, Potions crept upon them in an alarming way, with the distasteful mitigated assignment of partners Snape so often does in an attempt to further the plot of these silly little stories.

And really, it was no surprise when Hermione was paired with Malfoy in an attempt to finally wean Neville from the Bottle (so to say, and actually, literally in reference to the butterbeer bottle) and paired him with Millicent Bulstrode (whom, it was well-known, fancied the poor boy). Harry and Ron gave her sympathetic, but really unconcerned looks as she moved to sit next to the distasteful (But really dead sexy she noted distractedly and almost dropped her cauldron when she realized it) ferret.

Draco eyed her warily, but looked down to those fantastic calves bared beneath the school-girl skirt and noticed once again how attractive she was, even if he would rather die than admit it. Plus, she had the personality of a blasted-end skrewt. She thought the same about him.

Snape retreated to his desk after playing such a cruel joke upon the Seventh Years, glaring at any noise and talk the flitted through the classroom.

Granger and Malfoy worked peaceably in silence, casting disgusted looks to one another whenever they could manage, but generally ignored each other and reluctantly entertaining unworthy thoughts of each other´s physical attraction (however blasphemous it was).

It was also, not a surprise that, being the two brightest students in the class, they finished so early that a good twenty minutes were left to let their potion simmer in relative ease.

Covertly attempting to once more read some inane book about crop circles her parents had sent a bit warily at her request ("She´s your daughter," Dr. Granger - the female - accused to the bewildered other Dr. Granger). Malfoy however, noticed and took extra pains in taunting.

"Trying to attempt contact with your home-world Granger?" Snape looked immediately at the bout of speech, but noticing it to be Malfoy, he ignored it and looked back to his comic book cleverly concealed in a large volume of the magazine Potens Potio (Special August edition with cover-story about the "Babes of Potion-Making.").

Hermione glared and hunched her shoulders a bit more over the book, to no avail as the ferret leaned in more, breath fluttering against her ear in a distracting (Annoying! she surmised angrily) way.

"That one looks like male genitalia," he whispered and though it seemed really, really silly to the rational part of her mind, she couldn´t ignore the seductive deep and rich tone of his voice that sent shivers down her spine.

Closing it abruptly, Hermione turned and found herself so close to his face their noses were almost touching. Praying to the dear, sweet deity that might save her from this situation she managed her best sneer.

"Something you probably would know nothing about you transvestite," she squinted a bit at it moments later and filed it way as an Insult to Never Use Again.

He smirked, and this time she could tell no overt malice in the formation, but rather something much more terrifying. "Hmm," he said and licked his lips, which instantly drew her eyes to his pink tongue and full lips that she observed to look very soft indeed.

Leaning in, with lips poised half an inch away, he gave her a smoldering gaze Hermione often found to look ridiculous upon this certain boy´s face - when not in the general vicinity of his pheromones, and under at the mercy of her own silly hormones that is.

Pulling away abruptly, Draco left Hermione blinking rapidly and facing the hate-filled look of Pansy Parkinson as Malfoy looked at their potion as if nothing had happened.

Annoying bugger she thought and resumed her favorite pass-time when concerning Slytherins, glaring.

After checking it, Malfoy sat down on his stool and looked at Hermione, absorbed once again in her book. He couldn´t fathom why she would be reading on such a subject. But he often tried not to demean himself by trying to figure the thoughts of such a low-life form as Mudblood Granger.

Then, noticing the intense look of Zabini, who motioned with his light almond-colored eyes, between Granger´s precious book to Pot-head and Weasel, Malfoy took the hint.

"How inventive Granger," he spoke in a sneer, all former bouts of hormone-induced actions forgotten.

She looked up to him and raised a bushy eyebrow. "What´s that ferret?" Eerily calm for just being subjected to the Malfoy Charm, he bristled a bit at the reference to the fourth year incident.

"Crop circles, in England of all places. I´m sure no one will see it coming," palpable sarcasm reigned in his tone.

Looking shocked and a bit angry, Hermione set her hard gaze upon him. "And what are you doing, a henge?" He didn´t reply and that set her laughing in a condescending quality. "Oh, that´s rich. I´m sure the Muggles won´t expect anything when a new henge pops up over-night."

Draco frowned. "Think you can do a better job Mudblood?"

She smirked. "I know I can do a better job pissant."

Malfoy rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "A bet then."

Hermione narrowed her eyes in the rising competitive edge she felt coursing through her. "Terms?"

A pause. "Five galleons for each person involved paid in full at time of judgement to us, because ours shall be better than yours. Caught by a teacher, and you automatically lose."

"Who´s the judge?"

"The Daily Prophet." Hermione raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

Reaching out his right arm, and the strong, masculine hand with it, he raised his eyebrows in an unspoken dare at his opponent. Looking at the hand as if touching it would give her some rare case of hives that would kill her in a matter of hours, she finally reached her own out and shook it for mere moments before pulling it back hastily and wiping it a bit superfluously upon her robes.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. Snapping his magazine shut abruptly, Snape rose and made sure to glower upon the Head Girl and Slytherin prefect conveniently placed in the first row.

"Miss granger, ten points from Gryffindor for incessant chattering when you´re supposed to be brewing a potion. I realize in your arrogant little mind this class is far below your high standards, but please try to make yourself useful for once and shut your mouth." Menacing gaze and all he didn´t even stop to check their perfectly concocted potion but rather moved on to terrorize other students (particularly Neville).

Hermione seethed while Malfoy had a hard time trying to stop smirking.

~-*-~

"It´s happening Minerva," the darkly toned voice resonated through the Staff Room at tea time that day. Severus Snape, though often wary of any social interaction beyond that required by law, found that with good reason, it was not always so incredibly painful. Just slightly tingling at the edges in an annoying way.

Professor McGonagall looked up from her large book and half-raised teacup to look at her Tall, Dark, and Snarky fellow teacher. Sipping lightly, she looked back down to her pages of boring Transfiguration textbook notes she read to prepare for the next lecture. "Potter versus Malfoy I take it?"

Snape made a face. "Granger versus Malfoy actually. Though I´m sure there´s only one brain shared between your beloved Trio of Gryffindor Troublemakers."

McGonagall however, swelled with pride at the mention of her most promising and favorite student (though she often didn´t mention or show favoritism) being the Mastermind she always knew she could be.

Sipping once more, she cast a quick glance to the Potions Master who stared gloomily into the fire. "How much is it then this year?"

"Five galleons per each student."

Nodding, Minerva noticed her cup was dry and stood to refill it. "Flitwick and Sprout?"

"In their own petty bet I´m sure."

"They never could match up with our games Severus." A strange smile flit across both Professors´ faces. A pause as McGonagall refilled her cup. "Though I´m sure we´ll win once again this year."

"I wouldn´t be surprised if you didn´t. Mr. Malfoy has quite a henge in store. Very lovely, I´ve seen the plans."

McGonagall raised her an eyebrow and looked at him like she could hardly believe he just used the word "lovely" being the snarky, depressed bugger that he was.

~-*-~

Slipping out under the guise of the Invisibility Cloak on the fated Halloween night proved to be the easiest part of the night compared to what it took to get Hermione on a broom without wailing and shrieking in fear.

Finally acquiescing to riding with Harry, the one with more riding experience and it seemed and actual heart when compared to the dastardly Weasley boy, she sat behind him and nearly suffocated the poor Boy Who Lived With Amazing Luck in a vice-like grip her arms presented around his waist.

The whole commute took less than an hour from Scotland to the Southern England countryside. Ron made inane comments the whole way about how high up they were, wondering how loud of a "splat!" one would make if they fell off the broom and hit the ground, if it would generally be instantaneous in death upon impact, or take a great many hours of pain to finally be put of their misery by roving carnivorous cats to put one out of their misery. Or generally, aggravating an already aggravated teenage girl as teenage boys seem to do so well.

Back at Hogwarts, Malfoy, however, had a harder time. Parkinson had furthered her attempts at becoming the Human Leech ever since the Potions incident with Granger weeks before. Simply telling her it was a diversionary tactic meant to disarm the enemy helped to no avail and set Zabini laughing in all his smarmy glory when she had a fit. Malfoy generally thought he would like Zabini a lot more if he directed the condescending laughing and sarcasm to a more suitable target.

First, with a lack of the wonderful Invisibility Cloak Potter was so dense to have been handed to him, Malfoy had to make due with the good old fashion sneaking. Finding it second nature once he got started, little wriggling movements resembling a snake worked well enough to avoid Filch and Mrs. Norris.

They didn´t anticipate, however, McGonagall.

Almost to the main doors they had come, until after rounding the last corner Malfoy had the certain displeasure to bump, literally, into McGonagall. Stepping back, Malfoy tried to maintain a sense of dignity when Parkinson seemed intent on that stupid aghast face and Zabini had the indecency to smirk.

"Er...." was all he could manage in the face of adversity, however, and it didn´t seem like very much.

Surprisingly as it was, it turned out to be enough as McGonagall simply raised an eyebrow at them with an intense glare before stalking off in the direction suspiciously like Madam Hooch´s broom closet.

Brow furrowed, Malfoy decided it was best to not question a good thing no matter how it might come back to bite you in the ass later (Malfoy Code Number #132). Quickly motioning to continue, they made it to the Quidditch pitch without more problems. Once there, however, Fate seemed set against Malfoy´s chance at great fame (besides becoming the next great Dark Lord after he was to cleverly manage to poison Voldemort´s fruitcake at this years Christmas part at Malfoy Manor). Parkinson seemed to have not realized transportation in the obvious lack of skill and license with Apparation meant something of the broomstick alternative.

Squealing and using petty diversionary tactics like tears and incessant whining was almost enough to make Malfoy smack her unconscious with a hex and leave her to bond with the entity of the Quidditch Pitch.

Remembering her talents at charms was only marginally better than his, however, he made many promises (most of which he didn´t plan to keep ever) and coaxed her behind him on the broom where they set out for the South of England.

~-*-~

"That´s far too complicated Hermione!"

The girl in question whispered back excitedly. "Exactly! The Muggles will never suspect it to be hand-made."

Leaning over to Harry, Ron whispered while Hermione reviewed her sketches and itinerary of the night. "She´s bloody daft, that one."

Harry nodded with eyebrows high in a mixture of annoyance and disbelief. "Like Oliver Wood, third year, Quidditch season." Being boys, the only clearly understood and worthwhile metaphors and similes were made with Quidditch.

"Right then," holding out to each a sketch of what looked to be male genitalia crossed with Mickey Mouse, she reviewed the plan of events once again. "Harry, start at the left corner, here-" convenient pointing of the lighted tip of her wand. "While Ron, you begin here. I´ll ride with Harry and begin here. Work in a circular pattern inwards with the charms."

Both boys sighed and knew best after seven years than to argue with a fanatic and determined Hermione. Mounting their brooms, they set to work. However, only fifteen minutes later they hovered in the air bickering.

"Ron! That looks too man-made! The Muggles will never believe it!"

Giving her a disbelieving look, he muttered something that suspiciously sounded like "should´ve gone with a henge."

"And Harry!" She rounded on the boy who sat astride on the broom beside her who looked at her with wide, albeit frightened eyes. "Circular! Not oval!"

"Five points from Gryffindor Mr. Potter," they whirled (something slightly hard to do on a broom when not expecting to) to find a placid-looking Professor McGonagall in all her stern-faced, hair-in-bun spinster glory hovering in a familiar fashion upon a rickety school broom.

They all managed to gape for a good two minutes before a bug flew into Hermione´s mouth and she shrieked about the impracticality of brooms and how unhygienic her mouth would be for days.

Snatching the papers from Potter´s hands, McGonagall gave them a quick look-over and nodded. "Ten points to Gryffindor for Miss Granger´s thorough planning and foresight." More gaping on the part of Potter and Weasley while Hermione looked smug (in between the recurring spats of bug guts from her mouth).

"Well!" McGonagall said to the students. "You don´t want the Slytherins to win the bet do you?" That got them working as they set off in their circular flight patterns once more.

~-*-~

"Bloody bugger!" Zabini yelled a good half a mile away, obviously having trouble transfiguring the wood boards to the desired pieces of limestone for the henge formation.

Parkinson, surprisingly enough, didn´t have too much of a problem, except for the annoying fact that all of her stones seemed to have a distinctly grainy pattern to their exterior.

Malfoy´s were, of course, perfect, and easily placed with simple Leviosa charms. Zabini, in all his smarmy smart glory, was horrible at Transfiguration.

Frowning down at his parchment detailed with color-coded charts and a small itinerary posted at the side of the sketch of stone formation, Draco recognized in an ever vigilant mood, that they were behind schedule.

Sauntering over to the annoying Greek boy, Malfoy put on his best snarl. "Hurry up Zabini! We´re behind schedule."

"Fuck your stupid schedule Malfoy!" Raising his pale eyebrows in surprise, he glanced at the normally olive colored skin now flushed red with exertion and frustration.

"Now, now, scheduling is as important a key to success as color-coded charts and proper organization."

The Greek boy glowered at him suitably. Parkinson tutted at him absently as she finished the last of her transfiguration and was now carving stupid little words into the stone. Upon closer inspection is looked suspiciously like "Pansy (heart) Draco." Aghast and disgusted Draco whipped around back to his male Slytherin companion.

"Bugger it," he pronounced and stuffed the parchment into his robe pockets with a few crinkling sounds. A few quick swishes and flicks of his wand, and they were complete. Parkinson looked on in an admiring state while Zabini erased all her handy work to replace it with "Pansy (heart) Weasley", and "Draco (heart) Jammy cows." The humor was much unappreciated.

"Mr. Zabini," a smooth and cold voice said from the shadows of a nearby, wooded grove. "I hardly see how such will further the cause of this little escapade."

Three pairs of apathetic eyes looked towards him as he stepped forward in what was supposedly a grand entrance wasted upon the ungrateful wretches.

"Hello Professor Snape," Malfoy said distractedly and looked back to his parchments.

Parkinson and Zabini shrugged, awaiting further commands from their "leader" (or so Malfoy called himself, Parkinson called him "love bunny" and Zabini used a myriad of colorful words and phrases not to be mentioned here).

"Chop chop children," Snape said uselessly while his pupils glowered at him when setting to their levitation charms.

Smiling a sinister smile, Snape thought: Beat this McGonagall, you silly bint.

~-*-~

"They painted the whole of London red!" Hermione asked in a frantic state at breakfast that next morning.

Harry and Ron (each complete with their own set of dark circles under their eyes - pillows and pajamas sold separately) nodded glumly at the reiteration of the Ravenclaw Prank, staring in a disheartened state at their porridge.

"Malfoy made a henge," Ron said.

"Told you it was cliché," Hermione interjected within her frenzy of neurotic rantings.

Harry shrugged. "The Hufflepuffs only managed to encase a third of Buckingham Palace in the briar before the police caught them. I hear Professor Sprout was no where around when it happened, supposedly trying to find Prince William."

Hermione wrinkled her nose at the implications. Squinting, she tilted her head to the side. "We still won the bet," she acquiesced in a sullen tone, and looked to the High Table at Professor McGonagall, who talked animatedly to a pouting Professor Snape.

Malfoy looked positively murderous that morning, particularly with Parkinson attached to his arm in what looked like what had been a surgical procedure.

Later that day, much to many´s disgust, they found Hermione and Malfoy snogging in a broom closet after she had gone to pick up the payment.

Harry scratched his head and wondered when he missed hearing that as terms of the bet.

~-*-~

"Minerva, Severus." Dumbledore gestured to the seats left empty beside the gloating Flitwick and disappointed-looking Sprout.

"Lemon drop?" he offered politely, and all declined.

"Right then. Lovely work this year. I was especially impressed by the Ravenclaws." Flitwick beamed a brighter Shade of Smug while the other three Heads of Houses gave the squeaky midget distasteful glances.

"The Hufflepuffs have something to work on for next year." Pointed look to Sprout, whom they were sure had suggested the idea behind the Prank in the first place.

"Slytherin was a bit cliché, even if complete with some humorous carvings." Snape´s scowl deepened.

"Gryffindor´s was a bit Gryffindorish in it´s outlandish nature, and theoretically imaginative." Dumbledore smiled and the distinct twinkle in his blue eyes shone over the half-moon glasses.

"Though next year, steer the children away from crop circles. The Muggles are starting to believe it to be aliens, or all things."

Clapping his hands together, he smiled. "Impressive Seventh Years Pranks everyone. Though I hope to see more imagination next year." Dismissed with a wink, they went their separate ways.