"That's him!"

"Where?"

"Right there! I can see his scar!"

This was how most of Harry's morning was spent in the halls of the Academy. Everywhere he went the quiet whispers and pointing of fingers seemed to follow him. Harry found this to be particularly disconcerting, as it was difficult enough to find your way from anywhere in the Academy to anywhere else, without having people talking about you constantly.

Stairs and hallways seemed to lead in the direction you wanted to get to, and then a small "zap" would be heard and they would disappear... or take a different course entirely. And if the geography changing itself weren't enough, there were the other inhabitants of the building who were more than happy to throw you off-course.

One of the worst was Poof, who would gleefully help any student into dead end after dead end, his gaudy clothing shaking with mirth as you tried to find your way back again.

But Poof was nothing compared to the janitor, Zilch. If the students seemed to think little of him, it paled in comparison towhat he thought of them. He seemed only to happy to punish students for the slightest infraction. And even if he wasn't there himself, his french poodle Flopsy seemed to be. It was rumored he could see through Flopsy's eyes... a thought that seemed entirely possible when you found yourself staring at the dog in a deserted hallway, only to see Zilch there seconds later.

Harry felt that getting to his classes was a lesson in and of themselves. The classes themselves were far more difficult. Harry had never given much consideration to the sort of things one must learn as an alien before. He was learning it was not nearly as easy as he had supposed it to be.

They had to study astronomy extensively... as, unlike humans, it was highly likely they would be traveling galactically within their lifetimes. Most of Harry's evenings were spent peering through a telescope and vainly attempting to remember the names of stars and constellations. Strangely enough, of all the stars and planets they studied in class, Earth seemed to be one of the least remarkable of the bunch.

They also studied Medusa control, and alien infiltration with the Rave and Claws. While Harry found many of his classes to be difficult, they were also incredibly interesting. The exact opposite, however, was Transylvanian history. The teacher, Professor Binge, was a hologram projected to the students. And if his low, bored monotone drone was any indication, he was every bit as unexcited about the subject matter as the students were. In fact, many students saw the course as the perfect opportunity for a quick nap.

Proper fashions class was the most dreaded of all the Grabmemore classes. It was the only one they had with the Simpering house... and it was two full periods. To make matters worse, it was taught by the head of their house, Professor Riff Raff. He'd been a General in the Transylvanian Army from what Harry had heard, and was now teaching.

Their classroom was just as dismal as the class itself, a near empty black room with little heat. Closets lined the walls with labels all along them... 'feminine', 'masculine', 'formal' were among the labels Harry recognized, others he was clueless as to what they could possibly mean. Filing into the classroom, the two houses carefully segregated themselves and sat in groups. Harry took his seat between Ron and Orville, and Flamboy held court at a nearby table with Crabs, Boil, and a weasly looking Simpering girl, Malignant Bullwhip.

Professor Riff Raff entered the room slowly. His steps were even and measured, and his head slowly turned to look the class over as he reached his desk. Thin, bony fingers slid over the metal finish of his desktop as his eyes took to searching each member of the class out as he spoke in a slow, low drawl. "This class... is designed to teach you the proper fashion etique.." his eyes stopped on Harry briefly, narrowed, then continued over the room "etiquette for the honorable Transylvanian endeavor of blending in for research. I don't expect that all of you will truly appreciate the delicate intricacies of the subject matter.... but perhaps some..." and here his eyes fell upon Flamboy "may just be suited to the task. That is if this class isn't the normal bunch of morons I get."

Harry felt himself shifting slightly in his seat. He decided he should start taking some serious notes. This wasn't going to be an easy class.

Professor Riff Raff rounded on Harry. "What sort of outfit would one wear if they were going to infiltrate a baseball game.... Furter?"

Harmony shot up her hand.

"I... don't know sir."

"Really" a sneer curled Riff's lip. "What sort of dress is appropriate when accompanied with a black purse?"

Harmony's chair began to wobble from the force of her waving hand.

Harry felt his face reddening."I don't know sir."

Riff's face was one of triumph. "The great Harry Furter. Perhaps instead of writing whatever you'd like in my class you should pay attention. For your information, Furter... one wears a baseball cap, and perhaps an awful ratty pair of jeans to a baseball game, and the ONLY color any human should ever wear with a black purse is black." he paused, then looked around the room. "Well?? Write it down!"

Dozens of little hands began to scribble away madly.

The lesson went just as badly after that. They had been assigned to devise an outfit for a Venutian funeral, but as Harry had never once been to Venus, he found the task very daunting. It seemed that most others in the class hadn't either, as their attempts were just as scattered. This was much to the glee of Riff, who appeared to enjoy deriding everyone's work- all with the exception of Flamboy, who Riff made quite the point of showing the others in the class how incredibly stylish his strange looking outfit was.

After what seemed like an eternity, the class was finally over, and everyone went down to the great hall for lunch. There was a great cry overhead, and what looked like a million Widget birds flew over the students, haphazardly dropping packages and mail- though each recipient got what was meant for him.

"What's that?" asked Harry, peering at an all black rolled-up sheet of paper Don had in his hands.

"Oh, it's our paper. The Transylvanity." he began to unroll it and peer over the contents, and Harry peeked over his shoulder as he read.

TRANSYLVANIAN INTERGALACTIC BANK PILFERED!!
Nothing was taken from the bank, according to experts and employees, but what concerns most is the
method of break-in. A masterful use of Medusa technology was used to enter the bank with extremely
few clues left as to whom the intruder was, or what they were after.

Authorities are stumped as to who could have pulled this off, but it was certain that the perpetrators
were interested in a particular vault, which contents had been emptied previously in the day.

Harry glanced at the picture with a stunned face. "Don!" he whispered insistently, as Don peered at him with a quizzical look. "That's the vault Eddie and I went to!"

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