A/N: I hadn't expected ten reviews so quickly. Dankie! I think I've replied to all the signed ones, and was pleasantly surprised to find some people already asking questions crucial to the plot.

This chapter is devoted to character bashing, and isn't particularly funny - at least not the first part of it. Apologies in advance.

James and Mary Potter turned up at Hogwarts that evening to meet Harry. They met in McGonagall's Transfiguration classroom. Hermione had offered to come with Harry, but he had turned her down. And he had kept his invisibility cloak on him so that she wouldn't be tempted to Accio it and follow him. Not that she had ever actually done that. She was merely highly capable of it.

"Hello, Harry," said James awkwardly. "Are you, well, alright?"

"We came a couple of times while you were conked out," added Mary with a small smile.

"I'm fine," replied Harry, looking at them warily.

"Oh, I'm so hopeless at this!" exclaimed his father. "Mary, would you mind giving us some time for some ... guy talk?"

Perhaps Mary had been expecting this, for she left without a fuss. Not even a raised eyebrow.

"Look Harry, I know I've been a terrible father," said James. "I hardly know you, after all, and..."

"And you think I'm a slimy Slytherin snake," added Harry.

"Harry, I never..."

"Perhaps you never said that, like Sirius did," said Harry, adding an extra undertone of derision to the name of his godfather, "but you certainly thought it, didn't you?"

"Well, yes, but..."

"You never even asked me what I thought of my being Sorted into Slytherin. You knew me so little that you promptly jumped to the conclusion that I would buy into that whole pureblood ideology shit."

"I'm sorry, Harry, but..."

"You ignored me ever since mother died."

"Harry..."

"You never even asked me if I liked to fly."

"Harry..."

"We could have talked about Quidditch. About the difference between Chasing and Seeking. About how half of Slytherin really is a bunch of gits. But no, I wasn't the Boy Who Bloody Lived, was I?"

"HARRY! Give me a chance to talk here!"

Harry moved towards an open window, and dived out.

Mary Potter left the room, and waited in the corridor. Students passed by her, and she gave a pleasant smile and nod. One of them approached her.

"Hello," said the girl. "Are you Mrs Potter?"

"Yes," replied Mary. The girl she was speaking narrowed her eyes.

"My name is Hermione Granger. Harry's girlfriend."

"Ah," said Mary. "Pleased to meet you."

"Really." If there was any way in which Hermione could have made the words sound more cynical, it wasn't invented yet.

"He's a good guy," added Mary.

"He needs a good mother," said Hermione, her voice icy. Don't even think about getting your paws on my Harry.

"He certainly deserves one," said Mary, gulping.

"Good!" said Hermione, suddenly sounding all bright and sunny. "I'm so glad we understand each other. Delighted to meet you, and all that." And you better hope I stay delighted, you dumb twit.

James ran out, babbling something about Harry jumping out of a window. He ran past them, but Mary stopped him.

"James! This is Hermione Granger, Harry's girlfriend!"

"Prongs!" said Hermione, guessing what Harry had done. "Calm down. Harry is like you."

James Potter continued to try brushing off his wife's grip so he could run after Harry, and then stopped as he realized what Hermione has said.

"Let's return to the classroom, shall we?" said Hermione. It was not a suggestion, and Mary and James returned to the room with her.

"Alright," said Hermione. "What happened."

James explained. Or tried to. Hermione soon got the drift.

"So Harry got a chance to get some of the anger he's bottled up for eight years off his chest, you didn't get the chance to say anything edgewise, and then he jumped out the window."

"Yes, that's pretty much it," said James Potter. Mary looked at him sympathetically.

"Can't say you don't deserve it," said Hermione thoughtfully, "at least from what he's told me. And I believe what he tells me, judging by the way Paul behaves."

"What about the window?" asked Mary.

"Oh, that. Harry's an eagle Animagus," said Hermione. "Now, what did you..."

"When did he learn to transform?" asked James excitedly. "What's his Marauder name?"

"He learnt in the middle of his third year," answered Hermione. "He made secret copies of the notes you and Mr Black made, and did a lot of extra reading. And he doesn't have a Marauder name. He thinks, as do I, that your little gang was a bunch of arrogant and infantile bullies. With the possible exception of Moony."

"We were young then," said James sheepishly.

"Harry is young now," countered Hermione. "Anyway. Try me. What did you want to tell him?"

"A bunch of apologies really," sighed James. "Everything he said to me today was right. He didn't give me any chance to listen to his explanations, but I never listened to his before."

"I see," she said slowly. "Would your explanations have been any good?"

James winced. "Mostly things like how I connected with his brother more, and had to spend time taking his brother to do media stuff, things like that. Paul is more like me, Harry like his mother."

"That would explain a lot," mused Hermione, "I always got the impression that Lily was the one with the brains. In any case, why did you want to apologize now, rather than, say, a month ago?"

"Well, Paul wrote home saying he was dating you, and he then got almost killed by his own housemates... is it any wonder? I'm an idiot, not a monster!"

"To a child, there's often little difference," she stated. "So now he's no longer a slimy Slytherin in your opinion? He is still proud of being a Slytherin, you know, of being ambitious and cunning. The only thing wrong with his House, in his and my opinion, is the Blood Purity myth. And people like the son you are so proud of - the Boy Who Lived to Think That The Sun Shines Out of His Rear Orifice - make me ashamed of being a Gryffindor."

"Paul isn't that bad."

Hermione snorted.

James stayed silent for several minutes. As did Mary. Hermione watched them.

"What do you want from him?" asked Hermione.

"Forgiveness would be nice, but I don't suppose I'll be getting that."

"Not for a while," agreed Hermione. "He's got a lot to get over. So do you, in a way."

"There's so much about him that I don't know. I know he's got a wonderful, loyal, intelligent and protective girlfriend, and that he's got an Animagus form. But I don't know what his favourite colour is. What his favourite novel is. What his favourite Quidditch move is. Or favourite food."

"Green. Ender's Game. Dunno. Pork pies. Write down your questions and Owl them to me. I'll write down what I think, offer them to him to read and change if he wants, and send them to you if he agrees."

"Would you do that?" James looked up, grateful. "Thank you!"

"He could use a father, I suppose. Not that he'd know what to do with one."

"You really enjoy rubbing it in, don't you?"

"You really deserve it."

"Fair enough. Any advice for me? What should I say in any letters I send to him?"

"There are probably tons of Muggle books written on the subject for regretful neglectful parents," said Hermione thoughtfully. "You could start there. Write him letters, but don't expect him to open them at once. Tell him about the little details in your life, and about your experiences here. Tell him about his mother. He would like that, actually, very much. I would suggest putting some memories of her in a Pensieve - he would appreciate the gesture, though I don't know if he would dare look at it himself."

Hermione saw Mary taking notes, and felt quite pleased with herself.

"Thank you Hermione. Anything I should not say?"

"I presume you're not dumb enough to talk of any pranks you pulled on Snape or the Slytherins. Snape's still furious with him because of you."

"What? I thought ..."

"I admit Snape treats Harry better than Paul. But Harry lives in Snape's House. Snape treated Harry like a bastard first year, but it mellowed to a truce after he became Seeker in second year."

"I see," sighed James again. "Anything else?"

"Well," said Hermione. "I am curious about one thing. How did Harry's mother die?"

"Ah," said James, his face paling. "Vampires."

Albus Dumbledore was many things. The most prominent leader in Magical Britain, defeater of Dark Lords, former ambassador of the Wizarding World to the Merpeople, twice winner of the All-England Ten Pin Bowling trophy, thrice winner of Witch Monthly's (it only became a weekly in 1949) Most Gentlemanly Smirk, mentor of the Boy Who Lived.

And Headmaster.

Headmasters had to deal with hormonal teenagers and interhouse rivalry.

Teenagers were mostly predictable.

The two sitting in front of him were not.

On the left was Hermione Jane Granger. Brilliant Muggleborn witch, right up there with Lily Evans. Professional Bookworm and Rule Enforcer. Future Headgirl, easily. The perfect Ravenclaw.

Minerva, Severus, and other professors had provided Pensieve memories of the days while he was in Bulgaria. And now he was beginning to understand why Granger had been placed in his old house Gryffindor instead.

"Told you," said the frayed Sorting Hat. Apparently Granger had been giving Floppy death glares worthy of Lily Evans. "I told you, Hermione Granger, that you would have been worthy of any house. Except Slytherin, but that is only because of the pureblood requirement."

"Then why not put me in Ravenclaw like I asked you to," hissed the girl. She had, interestingly enough, completely forgotten to ask permission from the Headmaster to speak to Floppy. Not that he particularly minded, but it went against what her reputation suggested.

"Ah, but only a Gryffindor would have asked me to do so, Miss Granger," replied Floppy unconcernedly. "A true Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff would have just blindly accepted whatever I said."

"At least the Ravenclaws would not have treated me like pond scum for three years," cried the frustrated girl. "Oooh," she squealed in a faux high toned voice, "there goes the little bookworm! Going for a date with the books again, Hermione? No boy will ever pay attention to you if you like books so much!"

Albus' eyes widened slightly. Perhaps a talk to his old house was in order. Being a bookworm was not a crime worthy of ostracism. Even a bossy bookworm, as Hermione's reputation said she was. Beside, all the teasing was rather ironic, given her recently revealed secret.

"It's my job to Sort students into the House where they would do best," said Floppy, "not to place them where they would be happiest."

Granger would have said some more, but then the third human occupant of the room placed his hands on her arm and squeezed it.

Harry James Potter. Brother of the Boy Who Lived. The first Potter in Slytherin for 124 years. Seeker. A decent student, though probably smarter than his grades indicated. Quiet. Reserved. Probably neglected by his family in favour of his sibling, if all the signs could be believed.

Capable of maintaining a secret relationship with a Muggleborn student while in the most paranoid house.

Capable of pulling off a task rarely attempted in Hogwarts history - causing a Malfoy to lose support within his own house. Admittedly, Draco Malfoy was the most stupid Malfoy Albus could remember, but an interesting point nevertheless.

"I would like to know why you did not bring this evidence to me directly, Mr Potter," asked Albus Dumbledore.

"We did not believe it would be adequate evidence to have Malfoy and company punished enough," said Harry. "His father's influence will prevent any major punitive action being taken by Hogwarts or the Ministry. Hermione's research found that Scrying devices are not considered completely reliable witnesses in any Ministry court. We were aiming for a guilty verdict in the court of public opinion, Professor."

Albus Dumbledore had often wondered why Harry Potter had been sorted into Slytherin. The boy maintained a low profile outside Quidditch, and his antics while chasing the Snitch were definitely Gryffindor. Now he was beginning to understand.

"And do you think you succeeded?" the Headmaster asked.

"Outside Slytherin, yes. Dunno about the other two schools. In Slytherin, I believe most students believe the evidence, but no-one will ever admit to to it."

"That is not what I heard from Professor Snape, Mister Potter."

"I would be surprised it it was," replied Harry. "Snape barely tolerates me, and he's in Malfoy's pocket. Most Slytherin students cannot afford to get on the bad side of his father's opinion, since they are stuck in the Wizarding world after they leave Hogwarts."

"And you?"

"Hermione and I are seriously considering the possibility of disappearing into the Muggle world after school."

Curiouser and curiouser, thought the old Wizard.

"You will not be punished for your actions in the Great Hall, Mr Potter," he said. "As Miss Granger so adroitly pointed out, your actions were completely legal."

They nodded and muttered their thanks.

"Is rule enforcement in Hogwarts so unfair that you feel that fair enforcement deserves gratitude?" he asked, genuinely curious. He had suspected for some time that he had been neglecting his duties as Headmaster.

Hermione fidgeted, and seemed to suddenly found the portraits of the old Headmasters very interesting.

Harry was looking at him like he was making a joke.

"I see," he said, all his hundred and fifty years suddenly making themselves felt. He reached out for a lemon drop, and chucked it in his mouth. Even the Chief Mugwump of the Wizengamot could use comfort food.

"HE WHAT?" cried Blaise. Padma and Terry were with him, as they had waited for Harry and Hermione at the end of Professor Vector's class.

"Yeah," said Harry, scratching his shoulder. "He gave Gryffindor and Slytherin fifty points each for - what was it again, Mione?"

"Pointing out the overdue need for Hogwarts reform," said Hermione, looking at her fingernails as if wishing she hadn't cut them the previous day. It was difficult to bite short fingernails.

"Cor!" exclaimed Terry.

"I second the cor," said Padma, nodding to her boyfriend.

"What do you think this means?" asked Blaise.

Harry looked at Hermione, who shrugged.

"I suppose we should thank you," said Terry. "There are lots of things that could use changing around here. At least that's what my dad says. He's always complaining about how he wishes he had a proper history teacher when he was here. Binns is such a waste of space."

"And revamping the Muggle Studies lessons," said Padma, deciding that this was not the time to point out that ghosts didn't occupy any space.

"And allowing us to play football," said Hermione, recalling the happy days she and her father spent in central Hyde Park kicking a spherical ball around. She considered herself a decent defender herself, even if it was mostly due to the fact that no-one ever expected her to tackle anyone. She smirked, absently recalling the older boy whom she had sent to the hospital with a fractured ankle. And she'd got the ball as well, making it a legal tackle.

"Earth to Hermione, come in Hermione," said Blaise, waving his hand in front of her. She smacked it down.

"You really ought to get medical insurance, Potter," yipped Blaise, shaking his hand out. "Your girlfriend is dangerous. And a menace to innocent little boys."

Padma snorted, muttering something about the improbability of Blaise Zabini ever being 'innocent'. Terry chuckled. Hermione put her head in her hands. Harry gave his girlfriend a one-armed hug, just like she'd trained him to.

"We should make a list," said Padma, "of all the things we would like changed, and take them to Dumbledore. He seemed pretty out of touch, and it would allow him to make a start."

"Ooh, yes!" cried Hermione to no-one's surprise. "And we should explain the reasons for each change."

"Why explain?" asked Harry.

"Because soon other people will notice," explained Hermione, "and they will give him suggestions. Not everyone's suggestions will agree."

"Good point," said Terry. "How much explanation?"

"Depends on the suggestion," shrugged Blaise. "It will need more explanations if it's something someone will agree to. Or if it's something that needs a lot of effort on his part."

"A neutral table in the Great Hall would be nice," said Harry. "I'm tired of checking that my food and drink hasn't been poisoned."

"Like that will stop you," said Blaise. "You're the most paranoid git I know, Potter."

"You taught me, Zabini," said Harry.

"Yes, but that's only after Bulstrode tried to slip me a love potion," concluded Blaise. "Come on, it's time for DADA."

"Bulstrode?" asked Harry as they split up and the two Slytherins walked to the vampire's lesson. "I thought it was Crabbe."

"Shut it, Potty mouth," replied Blaise. "You're just jealous 'coz I can swing both ways and you can't."

The news that Albus Dumbledore had hired a vampire to teach children at Hogwarts was met by the Wizarding public with the expected amounts of derision, scorn, gasps of incredulity, and accusations of senility.

The only accusation that the old Headmaster agreed with was that of being a 'batty confection-loving bastard'. That was true enough, considering his father had died (slipped on a banana peel and broke his neck in a prisoner of war camp) before he could marry his mother.

Those close to the Headmaster pressed him for reasons. His answers made them feel like angels for refusing to succumb to the temptation of lacing his lemon drops with Bundimum acid.

"Albus! How could you possibly hire her?" asked Minerva McGonagall.

"She's very qualified," replied the batty confection-loving bastard. "Near the top of her class at the Balkan Institute for Defence. And she never drinks human blood without the human's permission."

"So she does drink human blood!" shouted Snape.

"Yes, but she's not a danger to students," replied Albus calmly.

"But what about the Ministry? And the School Board?" asked McGonagall.

"She said Lucius Malfoy owes her a life debt. He made sure his allies did not block her appointment."

"WHAT?" yelled Snape.

"Feel free to ask Lucius, Severus. But don't expect him to admit to it."

The early DADA lessons were met with trepidation by the students. Both Muggle-raised and Magic-raised had grown up on scary vampire stories, and the first two weeks were spent with Crina Vanescu explaining the myths and truths about her heritage.

But now they had moved on to Curses and Hexes, and things settled down. Competent DADA teachers were, after all, nothing to be scoffed at.

Hermione wondered about how Harry would take the news that his mother was killed by vampires. He hoped he would not take it out on the Defence teacher.

"Malfoy."

It was lunch time in the Great Hall, and Angelina Johnson stood at the Slytherin table in front of the Slytherin Quidditch captain.

"Johnson," replied Draco, remaining seated.

"One of our students has suggested that we form an unofficial student-run Quidditch League this year," she stated in her loud, clear voice. "I wanted to find out if Slytherin was interested in joining."

"What?" asked Draco, the trained mask of his emotions slipping for a moment. Then he smiled, and was all courteous again. "Please, sit down. Your proposition does sound interesting."

Angelina sat down, and explained the idea. Roger Davies, the Ravenclaw captain, and Diggory had already approached Beauxbatons and Durmstrang respectively, and the two schools had eagerly agreed. She mentioned this as well. When she had finished, the Great Hall was alit with excited murmurs and discussions.

"This is an excellent idea of yours!" exclaimed Draco, genuinely enthusiastic.

"Ah, but it's not my idea," replied the tall black witch. "It's Hermione Granger's. In Muggle schools, students often organize their own activities, which is why she thought of it."

"Ah," said Draco. It was a Lose-Lose proposition. Either way, he lost face. If he refused to let Slytherin provide a team, he would be blamed by its Quidditch fanatics - which was the majority of the house. If he agreed, he would be agreeing to a Muggle idea. Perhaps there was a way around this, perhaps sabotaging the whole league.

"I am sorry, but..." began Draco.

"Oh, one more thing!" said Angelina, suddenly remembering something. "Diggory, Davies and I have already booked the Quidditch Pitch for the rest of the year, except when the Tournament isn't using it."

Damn, thought Draco. "I will need some time to think about it," he said.

"What is so difficult to decide, Malfoy?" asked Angelina, suddenly whipping out the no-nonsense face that she used to keep the Weasley twins in line at Quidditch practices. "Being decisive is highly valued in Slytherin, is it not?"

Draco sighed. This really had not been a good week for him. First his father had sent him a Pincher for getting caught beating Potter up, and now Potter's friends had hatched a plot to humiliate him. He gave up, and remembered the number of times his father had managed to pretend to tolerate those with stupid ideas for the sake of a higher goal.

"We will be delighted to participate in the League, Johnson."

"Changing your mind so quickly?" asked the witch sitting across him. "Are you so spineless that you first decide to wait for tomorrow, and when a poor ol' witch like me gives you a prod, you fail to consult with your teammates and make a decision all at once? Your ancestors would be turning in their graves if they saw you behave like this!"

Argh! Draco could not handle this any more. He drew his wand.

"Expelliarmus!"

He turned, and saw Harry Potter with his wand.

"Merlin, Draco!" said the bespectacled Slytherin Seeker. "Do restrain yourself. Have you not disgraced our House enough? Haven't you learnt enough about attacking people when there are witnesses? In front of other schools, no less."

"What would you know about House loyalty, Potter? Consorting with Mudbl..."

"Don't use that word, Malfoy!" hissed Potter with a look of horror, and turning to the Head Table. "Do you want McGonagall to take points off us?"

Potter turned, and looked across at the tables that had been set up for the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students, and spoke, "I am so sorry you had to witness this. I'm afraid our Quidditch captain is not trained in the finest Pureblood tradition of diplomacy that is our..."

Draco Malfoy was about to lunge at Potter, but Pansy Parkinson managed to hold his arm long enough for him to come to his senses. He turned to Angelina.

"You have the gratitude of Slytherin for inviting us, Johnson. But I regret you will have us at a disadvantage. You see, our regular Seeker - Potter here - will be participating in the Triwizard Tournament, and needs to devote all his attention to that. Therefore he will not be competing."

"Oh!" Angelina's face visibly fell, and Draco could barely hide the smirk. She managed to recover after a few moments. "I suppose that will certainly make it a lot easier for us to beat you lot this year, so I should be grateful."

Draco smiled, and they shook hands. Angelina left for the Gryffindor table, where Hermione was looking shocked as well and writing in her two-way notebook, 'I didn't know Angelina and Bertha could act so well!'

Harry and Hermione were walking to Charms the next day when they were accosted by a clique of Beauxbatons students. One of them, a blonde that Hermione whispered to Harry was the French Champion, stepped forward.

"Good morning," said the girl. "My name is Fleur Delacour, the Champion from Beauxbatons."

"Hello," said Harry, "my name is Harry Potter. And this is my girlfriend, Hermione Granger."

"Enchante", said Hermione, "Nous sommes très heureux de vous rencontrer."

"She is much smarter than me," Harry added in a loud conspiratorial whisper. Some of the girls in the French contingent giggled, and gave Hermione envious glances. Others checked Harry out. "I also wish to apologize."

"Apologize, Monsieur Potter?" asked Fleur.

"For this whole tournament business," he replied. "I should not be there. I don't know why my name was entered, let alone chosen. All I know is that I can't withdraw myself."

Fleur was surprised, and said as much. Harry looked at Hermione, who started to explain for him.

"I've looked at the past records for the tournament," said Hermione. "Each tournament has three tasks. On average, a person dies every sixth task, and a person is seriously injured nearly every other task. We're fourteen year olds. I do not want my boyfriend in danger like that! I have enough trouble watching him getting hurt playing Quidditch!"

Fleur winced, and another of the Beauxbatons students stepped forward.

"I must apologize then, Mademoiselle Granger, for what we are about to ask," he said. "Monsieur Potter, I am Jean Demaitre, the Captain of the unofficial Beauxbatons Quidditch team. We are lacking our Seeker, as she is busy in France preparing herself for her..." He halted, and looked at one of his teammates.

"The equivalent of your OWLs," said the teammate, a raven-haired boy with a goatee.

"Merci Aaron," said Demaitre with a nod. "Monsieur Potter, we lack a Seeker and you are a Seeker who is not flying for his House. Would you be interested in playing for us?"

"There will not be much training for you," added the boy called Aaron. "Twice a week, at most. We know you will be busy."

Hermione looked at Harry, to indicate publicly that it was his decision. Actually, they had already talked about the decision earlier, and decided that this if this option turned up, it would be easier to deal with than forming a Rest of Hogwarts team.

"I will be honoured to join you," said Harry.

The Beauxbatons contingent cheered quietly, and there was much backslapping. Hermione frowned at some of the female attention Harry was getting, and Fleur sidled close to her.

"Don't worry about them," said Delacour. "I think it will be impossible for them to take him from you."

"I know that," replied Hermione, even though she was a tad insecure about it. "But do they know that?"

"I can tell them, if you like," offered Fleur.

"Yes!" hissed Hermione. And then she shook herself. "Wait, maybe not. I'm new to all this. What would you advise?"

"You trust him, non?"

"Bien sur," replied Hermione, slipping into French.

"Alors, let it go. They will realize he is yours, and give up. I can tell you that some of my schoolmates are, how do you say, checking you out?"

Hermione noticed that that was indeed the case, and that her rather embarassed boyfriend was getting back to her. She gave him a kiss, which he was quick to reciprocate.

Fleur smirked, and Hermione smiled at her.

"Perhaps you both can join us at our table for dinner tonight?" asked Demaitre.

"We'd be delighted," said Harry, and the two parties split up.

"Flitwick is going to make everything we eat today taste like into onion-flavoured candy floss," sighed Hermione, looking at her watch.

A/N: Someone really ought to write a one-shot where Hermione teaches Harry how to hug. Even in this universe, he doesn't know how to do it very well, with Lily gone.

One reviewer asked me not to run episodes together. Are ruled lines inadequate?

Pinchers are like Howlers but more painful and silent.

I presume analog watches work at Hogwarts.