I rewrite Harry Potter Scenes. I don't own anything. Rowling pwns.

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A Lesson from the Marauders: Book 3

After seeing what Harry's father had to go through with Peter Pettigrew, the Golden Trio argued on their way back to Hagrid's for the last time that year on whether it was really a good idea to chum up to Malfoy afterall.

"His father was a Death Eater, Hermione, and I'm buying his 'I was Imperialized for my resources' excuse less and less," Harry added.

"That's the damn understatement of the year," Ron said, feeling happier about "the Malfoy Situation" than he had all year. "If Mr. Malfoy were really reformed and really sorry, he and Dumbledore would be friends. He wouldn't be this much of a prat. In one year, he's petitioned for Buckbeak to die, for Hargid to be fired and has shown up to every Quidditch game looking like he'd hex Harry right off his broom!"

"That last one is about as definite as our 'Snape's gonna hex Harry right off his broom' suspicions before," Hermione said. "And don't give me that look. I am not going to defend Malfoy or his father. This year has been a horrid mess as far as connecting to those two. I did not tell you this before, because I knew you'd be mad, and it was in the middle of the Buckbeak trial, so I didn't want us to do anything to anger him more, not that seemed possible considering what he said..."

Harry did not like the sound of this at all.

"But Mr. Malfoy's last letter to me was basically a scalding, foot long rant about how I had no place, as a child, a girl or a—" Hermione twitched her lip "—Muggleborn, to question him as much as I did and if my parents were civilized people at all, they would lock me away in an asylum." Hermione scrunched her shoulders inward to mentally prepare for—

"WHAT?!" Ron exploded in a wave of arms. "Who does that evil, pompus ass think he is? Hermione, why wouldn't you tell us about that? We could have done something. We can still do something. Here," he jabbed his hand out over Harry's chest, to where she was walking on the other side of him, "give me that racist git's address and I'll give him a 'scalding rant' that'll make his preppy hair fall out."

Hermione just stared at him. "I haven't it on me right now."

Ron pouted, and quickly dropped his arm. "Well, that's top priority, that."

Harry saw his opportunity as Ron's chest deflated and he began to murmur what Harry assumed were the insults he'll write. "Hermione, it seems your plan to keep up a decent conversation with Mr. Malfoy backfired."

Hermione nodded, now also pouting a bit.

Harry swung his arm around her, then, in afterthought, swung the other around Ron. The looks Malfoy gave him when he was with Hermione paled compared to Ron's glares. Harry still didn't know what he was going to do about that.

"Well, I suppose this meeting is closing? Malfoy has been removed from the Annoying Git shelf and is back on the Incurable Bully shelf, probably indefinitely."

Ron looked as if the Chudley Cannons were entering a seven-week winning streak, while Hermione was trying to look as inexpressive as possible.

"Are we in agreement?" Harry continued. "Let the Griffindor say aye! Aye."

"Aye!"

"Yeah, aye."

"Oi!"

Harry turned as quickly as he could, considering that he had two people latched to his side. Draco Malfoy, the devil's son himself, was running down the hill after them, flipping his attention between them and dodging the pointy rocks.

"You three prats," he called out, huffing "why'd you do it? Huh? Do you hate me that much, you'd side with criminals and dangerous beasts over me?" Malfoy had reached them and was giving each an accusing glare. "You're hypocrites."

"Malfoy, what are you going on about?" Harry gave him a hard stare and prepared himself for a bunch of lying. Snape told Malfoy, the git.

"Professor Snape told me everything," Malfoy drawled, "so shut it. You freed that crazed animal. And the giant chicken, too."

Harry had only known of Sirius' innocence for a few hours, yet he snatched at Malfoy's throat as if he'd been raised with Sirius beside him all along.

"You don't know what you're talking about, so you shut it."

"I'd think you'd be this angry with him, Potter. Didn't he hand in your parents? I should tell Longbottom you've buddied up with his attempted murderer."

Ron grabbed at Malfoy's side. "Do you ever shut up?"

"Boys, stop it! Let go of him!"

Malfoy pushed against Harry's heated chest and both boys toppled, limbs flailing. Ron dived onto the git and pinned him to the ground. Harry wiggled his arms free, though his legs weren't getting any kind treatment.

"Stop it! Malfoy, he didn't do it, that's why!"

"No," Harry barked up to her, "To hell with him! He doesn't deserve to know the truth."

But Hermione was crying and looking positively defeated. "No one knows the truth about anything! Everyone's dying because no one bothers to talk, Harry."

Harry kept his eyes on her if he ever hoped on calming down. He felt Malfoy and Ron stop their tussling and finally get off his legs.

"Harry, it's mostly your story to tell, so I won't blab, but I already talked to him about Tonks and about how I felt about, you know, everything in general. I haven't told him what I also said about his father. I haven't told anyone much these days. I'm—"

"What about my father?"

"You remember that argument I had with him last year?"

Malfoy was on his feet. He nodded.

"I haven't stopped arguing with him since then, really. I gave a letter to Professor Snape every other week or so to be sent to Mr. Malfoy. And he gave me a letter back. But after you were injured, he told me off for being Muggleborn."

"Again," Ron started, as he dusted off his dirty jeans, "that's the understatement of the year."

But Malfoy's glare stayed on Hermione. "As right he should. Who do you think you are, talking to my father in secret? He's a married man, you know!"

"It wasn't in secret, Professor Snape knew!" Hermione shouted right back, clutching the hem of her skirt. "And Headmaster, I think. About the last one, at least. Professor doesn't read my mail, but all three of us discuss it. We've been talking about Muggleborn rights and all that poppycock about Wizarding class divisions. But then he blew up when you just had to insult Buckbeak, so Professor took that letter to the Headmaster." Hermione added in afterthought, "Didn't he ask to read them all?"

"He didn't tell me about this."

"All you do is parrot his every word. That doesn't add much to a discussion."

"He should still tell me! And I have my own damn opinions, mudblood, I just don't—"

But there was no having the end of his statement, as Ron was back to pounding him in the side.

Hermione breathed in and out slowly, and turned her full attention to Harry. "Well, I am feeling much better, actually. I may be more inclined to let you boys fight."

Harry smirked. "So kind of you. Hermione, you didn't use the Time-Tuner for these discussions, too, did you?"

"No, but for the research to prepare for them, yes." Hermione nonchalantly counted off on her fingers, as if bending the rules of time and space to talk to a Death Eater was par for the course. "Every month I had to read new, obscure history about something terrible Muggles did 400 years ago that is supposed to justify 'pureblood defensivism' today. Then there were the laws and trials he kept mentioning about how difficult it is to keep the Wizarding World secret because Muggleborn families were inherently unstable and created security leaks. And then, of course, I gave up and bought an unabridged dictionary in Hogsmeade to keep up with all the fancy words he used to confuse me."

Hermione gave a dry, haughty laugh. "Of course, he only pulled out the university-level verbiage when he realized he was getting his butt whooped by a thirteen-year-old in debate."

"Stop talking to my father!"

"I already have," Hermione said with an impatient snap. "I'm leaving. Hagrid's probably got tea and biscuits waiting on a warmer, being the civilized and gentle person that he is."

Harry looked at the two fighting purebloods with waning interest. Listening to Hermione diss Draco's dad and drinking warm butterbeer sounded so much more inviting than tussling in the mud, no matter how much Malfoy insulted Sirius, Buckbeak, or Harry's sanity. So, he followed Hermione.

"Good thing, that. Snape doesn't know you've had that Time-Turner, does he? That could really implicate us."

"'Implicate us'? You're beginning to sound like a real Marauder, Harry."

"Then all's well that ends well."

"Oi! I didn't come down here for this treatment! What about Sirius Black, Potter?"

Harry breathed in deep. If Hermione could do it, so could he.

"Sirius Black is completely innocent of being a Death Eater, handing by parents over to Lord Voldemort and of murdering twelve people and Peter Pettigrew. It was Pettigrew that did all of that, except of course killing himself, and he's been on the lam since then like the rat he is. I don't know how Sirius got out of the high tower, Malfoy. Probably the same way he got out of Azkaban. Really. If he could do that, the high tower isn't much of a stretch." Okay, he had to throw in that lie. It's bloody Malfoy.

Harry looked into Malfoy's disbelieving eyes.

"But I saw Peter Pettigrew tonight. And I know that Sirius is the victim of exactly what Hermione said: No one caring about the truth. They didn't even give him a trial. Didn't care. Tonks told me that. And you know, that's your cousin. But she's forbidden to speak to you all because her father's a Muggle?"

Malfoy snorted and shrugged his shoulders, as if Harry wasn't supposed to remember his tense, searching glances at her when the Aurors arrived to escort the kids out the castle.

"Draco, the day Tonks is hunting you down because her Muggle-infested family is automatically dysfunctional, is the day I concede to you. But until then, go ask your Death Eater dad who really turned in my parents and who killed hundreds of wizards in this century, not the last one." And who hurt Neville's parents, and who killed Mrs. Weasley's brothers, and who ruined just about every magical life in Great Britain.

Harry stepped a bit closer to Malfoy and Ron joined him on his side.

"And the answer will be purebloods, Draco. Let's see him explain that."

Harry walked away.

"A half-blood, Potter."

"What?"

"The Dark Lord was a half-blood. The irony in that never ceases to amaze me. Though his pureblood followers, I'll concede to them being pureblooded."

"You are an honest man, Malfoy."

"Nothing gets pass you, mate," Ron added with a grin.

"Don't beat me up, then patronize me."

Hermione stepped up. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

Malfoy tugged at his filthy sweater sleeves as he started at all three of them. "Whatever." Malfoy turned on his heel and ran back up the hill.

Ron and Hermione turned their sights back to Hagrid's hut. They spoke loudly about what they feared was a permanent scarring of the mental state of Hogwart's students.

"Really," Ron drawled, "Letting Dementors into the school? I wonder who else has gone the way of the banshee?"

Harry watched the Malfoy-dot disappear on the hilltop, into the school which never seemed as safe as it advertised. Yes, Harry was a hypocrite, though an atoning one. He didn't think it wise to repeat the mistakes of his father and his god-father, not when every year presented more lethal mistakes to be made. Choosing friends, even, seemed a life or death decision in this strange world.

"I'm taking back my vote. Malfoy doesn't go on any shelf. Not until we've investigated further."

Ron looked completely taken back. "I thought we were finally done with this."

All Hermione said was, "Why?"

"We've four more years of living with him, so who are we to say how this ends? In fact, we might as well count the rest of our lives as unpredictable."

"Harry, I ain't got that much optimism in me."

Harry threw his arms around the two people he knew for sure were his friends. "But Ron, we're sure to see Malfoy just as often forever as now. We live in such a disgustingly small community."