Chapter Four

Harry closed the curtain tightly around his section in the dormitory. He had already said goodnight to Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle. He didn't really talk with the other Slytherin boys, so he didn't bother to wish them a well night's rest.

Pulling out the package his parents had sent him, he dunked the candy onto his bed and pulled out the wooden box. His dad must have been the one to pack it, he knew there was no way his mum would've even considered sending him it. Still, Harry wondered why his dad had sent it to him.

He opened the box and smiled. Inside, glinted the steel and silver of a variation of knife-life instruments. Vials of disinfectants and healing salves rested to the side of the box, the corks differently colored as a way to label them. It was the kit Harry had made himself, created out of tools he'd gotten from a number of sources.

Running his fingers across the larger retractor, Harry pushed against the cloth lining of the box before reaching the long, smooth-edged knife. It could delicately cut through the sternum to reach the heart. Healer Knight used a different tool whenever he worked on cadavers to show him, utilizing a saw-like blade instead.

He picked out a scalpel, the blade designed specifically to make shallow incisions into the skin. It was a rarely used tool, typically used in hand surgeries that required to only the skin itself and not graze the flesh. A cosmetic tool, mostly, to aid the removal discolored or 'imperfect' areas. Harry placed it back inside and picked up his favorite.

Another scalpel, but one meant for deeper incisions. Harry used it even when it'd make it more difficult for the task at hand. He had once ruined one of the animals his godfather had brought to him- a stillborn rabbit. He had wanted to get to the heart, his favorite organ in any living creature, but he had gotten distracted. After he'd begun, the rabbit was barely held together by small links of flesh. It had to be thrown away.

Harry ran the blade across the palm of his hand and watched his blood prickle out. He let it bleed for a minute, until it slowed, before he wiped it clean, disinfecting it then rubbing a healing salve into it. The cut was gone in seconds, not even a scar left behind.

The weekend had passed by drowsily. Harry finished his Transfiguration homework, played chess with Draco (imagined jamming the Black Queen into Draco's right eye and the White Queen into the left), and watched two Slytherins duel over the seat closest to the fireplace. It was becoming obvious, very quickly, that Slytherins would duel over anything. They seemed to take everything personally. Harry didn't understand why the Sorting Hat had put him among these people, but he supposed the enchanted talking hat who could read minds and had existed for centuries probably knew more than him.

Remus and Sirius had both sent him letters over the weekend. Remus warned him against procrastination and told him about his newest attempt at a novel, stating he was going to try a romance novel next. 'I think it'll do loads better than my last! People like romance.' Remus had wrote. Sirius himself mostly rambled uselessly on about meaningless details of what he's been doing, though he carefully maneuvered around where he was exactly and why he was there, instead promising metal figurines and ornately covered books from the nearby souq. Harry had written back immediately.

His dad had also sent him a small note, asking questions about if he's made any friends or enemies, how his classes were going, and whether or not he liked being at Hogwarts. Harry exaggerated to make it seem he was talking to more than just Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle every day. He thought it'd make his dad feel better about him being away. (he was right)

On Monday morning, Draco told Harry flying lessons would begin on Thursday. "We'll be spending it with Gryffindors." Draco added, sounding displeased.

"I already know how to fly a broom." Harry said.

"So do I, and pretty much everyone here, but it's a class meant for mudbloods and unlucky kids who've never rode a broom." Draco said. "Hogwarts would be much better if mudbloods didn't attend it."

"Where would they go, then?" Harry asked.

"Who cares?" Draco said, rolling his eyes. "They're mudbloods, Harry."

"My mum's a mudblood." Harry pointed out.

"So?" Draco shrugged. "You aren't. And, you're descended from the Potter's. Even though the Potter's aren't in the Sacred Twenty-Eight, the family is still awfully pure and ancient. They've married into the Black family, after all, and the Black's didn't just let blood come into their tree unless they thought it was pure enough."

Harry was rather perplexed. "Sacred Twenty-Eight?" He asked.

"The purest twenty-eight families in Great Britain." Draco explained. "Though, the Weasley's are a part of it. Despite being the bloodtraitors they are. Can't love mudbloods too much, since there isn't a single one in their tree, though."

"If you care so much about pure blood, why are you my friend?" Harry asked.

Draco sighed. "Harry, you're a halfblood, part of a wealthy and notable pureblood family. Well, plus, you're the heir to the House of Black." He said.

"I am?" Harry hadn't known he was the heir to anything, except for whatever the Potter family had gathering dust at unknown destinations and in Gringotts vaults.

"Two years ago, the current Lord of the House of Black, Sirius Black, signed you to be his heir. By tradition, these things go the eldest son closest to the main line. I believe after Sirius Black, it's Regulus Black, then myself." Draco explained. "When it happened, my Aunt Bellatrix threw a horrid fit. She's still trying to fight it, she wants it herself."

"I didn't know." Harry said. "I wonder why he hasn't told me."

"He's your godfather, isn't he?" Draco asked. Harry nodded. "Yeah, I thought my Aunt Bellatrix had said so but I couldn't remember it right. Even if he has a son, you're still the heir!"

"So, you're okay with being my friend because I'm the heir to the House of Black." Harry said.

"You're also from an old pureblood line, which has some prominence and power in the Ministry of Magic. It's a fairly common name in Wizarding history. The only stain you've got is the impurity from your mudblood mother." Draco said.

Harry frowned. "Could you call her a muggleborn, please? She is my mum." He didn't quite care what people were called, but he thought his mum deserved respect.

"Fine. Everyone else is still a mudblood." Draco said.

"I'm okay with that." Harry said. "Wait, why don't you think he hasn't told me?"

"I don't know." Draco shrugged. "That's why I ignored the question."

Thursday morning, Harry was sitting at his normal seat at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall. Draco was eating a plate full of eggs and steak, something he insisted was a proper breakfast, while Harry went through a bowl of mixed fruit. Life at Hogwarts was very pleasant; the castle had quickly become a home away from home.

"Some stitches are made from catgut." Harry suddenly declared.

"I'm eating." Draco said.

"Our body absorbs it, see. They're called sutures and sutures are either absorbable or non-absorbable. The non-absorbable sutures are for when the stitches are needed in stressful places, like the stomach or inside the heart. Of course," Harry said. "Sutures aren't needed very often, since we have magic. Whatever surgeries that need to be performed, whatever cuts made are simply healed with the wave of a wand or the application of a salve."

"Catgut." Draco repeated. "Remind me to never get these sutures. What are they for, again?"

"After surgeries, when you're cut open for some medical reason. That's if the Healer performs a hand surgery. Magical surgeries are considered more practical. Not as invasive, I suppose. There's no knives cutting inside, just magic doing its work." Harry said.

"Trivia, what fun." Draco tapped his fork against his plate.

Later that afternoon, they went to a patch of land on the opposite end of the grounds, away from the Forbidden Forest. The other Slytherins were already there; the first year Slytherins seemed to go everywhere together, with the exception of Harry and the three boys he was always with. They came and went in their own group, something Harry liked very much.

The Gryffindors arrived shortly after. Harry noticed Ron Weasley immediately. The boy was very noticeable, much like Draco. They both stuck out like sore thumbs, no matter how big of a crowd they were in.

"School brooms," Draco said distastefully. He was talking about the line of about twenty brooms laying flat on the grass. He shot a look at Ron, seemingly thinking something awfully cruel because he gained a nasty smirk. "I don't think anyone even uses these anymore." He proclaimed.

Harry examined them. "Cleansweeps. Not that bad." He said.

"They belong in the nineteen-forties." Draco said.

"Probably, but it's just to practice." Harry poked one of the brooms with his foot. "I think there's one of these in the shed back home."

"My father promised me a Nimbus 2001 for my birthday." Draco said. "I've got a Nimbus 1700."

"Dad gave me a Nimbus 2000 for my birthday in the summer." Harry said. "He wants me to like Quidditch more, but I don't care that much for it. I like flying though."

"Quidditch is the best sport." Draco said. "Though, I like broom races."

"I've been to a few, my godfather takes me." Harry liked attending races. Sirius would place outrageous bets and, somehow, always win. People were always crashing into something- the ground, the walls, each other- and it was awfully amusing.

"Mother hates them. I've only been to one!" Draco complained. "I've been to the Quidditch World Cup Finals in 1990 and 1986, and my father's already bought tickets to the 1994 finals."

Madam Hooch arrived then. "What are you all doing, just standing around? Get to a broom!"

After everyone had chosen a broom, Harry's thoughts suddenly filled with brooms standing up with his classmates impaled down on them. He wondered if he could achieve what Vlad Dracula had with wood. He'd want them to remain alive, and examining the wood on the broomsticks, he saw internal splinters and bleeding that'd prevent the three-day long agony that they'd deserve (that he wanted).

"Potter!"

Harry jumped and looked up at Madam Hooch. She stared at him. "Didn't you hear me? Put your right hand over your broom and say 'Up'." She said. He realized everyone else had already begun.

He raised his right hand over the broom. "Up." He said. It jumped up into his hand immediately.

Once everyone had gotten their broom up, Madam Hooch went around showing everyone how to ride it without falling off. She corrected grips, including Draco's. The boy looked extremely annoyed after being corrected and Harry had to smile.

Draco saw the smile and scowled. "Shut up, Harry." He snapped.

"I didn't say anything." Harry tilted his head, confused.

"I'll hex you." Draco said.

"You're joking. I've seen your hex work, it's total crap." Harry said.

Before Draco could grow anymore annoyed with him, sadly because Harry found Draco's annoyance funny, Madam Hooch whistled.

"Good, now that's everyone's listening." She sent a look towards him. Harry blinked. "I want everyone to kick off the ground, hard. Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, then come straight back down by leaning forward." Hooch swept her eyes around and nodded. "On my whistle!" Three, two,-"

A Gryffindor, Neville Longbottom, suddenly pushed up into the air before Madam Hooch had even brought the whistle to her lips. Harry watched in amazement as he flew straight up into the air, quicker and quicker, higher and higher. He imagined the boy falling and breaking his neck, or perhaps he'd get high enough when he fell there'd be a great splatter of blood.

"Come back, boy!" Hooch screamed.

Harry saw the very moment the Gryffindor boy looked down and lost his grip, sliding sideways off of his broom. In what seemed like slow motion, he fell. He crashed into the ground, Harry heard the cracking sound of a bone breaking. When he heard the boy groan, he shoved his disappointment down. He had no reason to want the boy dead.

Madam Hooch went straight towards the boy, helping him up and muttering under her breath. He heard her speak, "Broken wrist." Once she had him standing, she turned to the class and said, "None of you move while I take this boy to the Hopsital Wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch'." She turned back to Longbottom, her voice suddenly became softer. "Come on, dear."

Draco managed to hold in his laughter until they were out of earshot.

"Did you see his face?" He sounded absolutely delighted.

"Hurts to break your wrist. Could've been worse. He hadn't gotten far up enough though." Harry said.

"Would've been a shame if he broke something more." Draco snickered.

"Oh, shut up, Malfoy!" Ron snarled.

Draco stepped closer to the ginger Gryffindor. "What are you going to do, bloodtraitor? Touch me and try to rub off your germs?" He said, sneering. "Well, hopefully not too many. You do shower, right? Your family isn't so poor they can afford running water, so you should know how!"

Ron scowled and stepped forward, behind him were two other Gryffindors that looked eager to jump into a fight. "Shut it, Malfoy!"

"I repeat, what are you going to do? Try to rub your poorness on me?" Draco said, folding his arms.

Harry didn't know what exactly happened next. He was fond of Draco as a friend, it was understandable he didn't want to see him hurt. Instinct must've taken out. One moment, he was standing next to Crabbe watching Draco and Ron inch closer and yell at each other. He saw Ron raise his hand, drawing it into a fist, and he went blank- just for a moment. When the world colored again, his own fist had slammed against the side of Ron's head, near his ear.

Then, Ron was on the ground, eyes rolled up in his head and completely still.

"What did you do to him?" Hermione Granger shrieked. Everyone was staring, wide-eyed and horrified.

Harry stared down at Ron. "I don't think I hit him hard enough to kill him." He said, slowly. At most, Ron's brain had squished against one side of his skull and he was simply knocked out. Next time, he thought, he should go for the jaw.

"Kill him?!"

"Merlin!"

He stepped back, before stepping back again and bending down. He checked for a pulse and found one, beating normally. "He's fine." Harry said. "Um, I'll take him to the Hospital Wing." He glanced at Crabbe and Goyle. "Can you help me?" He asked. They both nodded.

As Harry hoisted Ron into Goyle's arms, he saw Draco staring at him- as wide-eyed as the others in the class, but he was stuck stunned and amazed rather than almost fearful.

"You saw Mr. Weasley about to strike Mr. Malfoy, so you decided to hit him." Professor McGonagall sounded as though she had heard a similar story many times before, her eyes screaming disapproval.

Harry glanced at Professor Snape, then back at her. He nodded. "I made sure I hadn't hurt him, you know, badly. I checked for his pulse then I took him to the Hospital Wing. I just reacted without thinking. I didn't want Draco to be hurt." He said, explaining for the fifth time.

"I highly disapprove of you getting into trouble on the second week of the new school year. If you were in my House, you'd have detention until the winter holidays." McGonagall said. "However, I am not. I'll leave your punishment to Professor Snape. I ask only you give Mr. Weasley a proper apology when he wakes."

"Madam Pomfrey said he'll be up by tomorrow, but he'll rest in the Hospital Wing until his headache is gone." Snape told her. "I'll send Potter that way after breakfast. As for his punishment," His eyes, black and cold, stared into Harry's. "Detention with me for the next seven Saturdays."

McGonagall nodded, pleased. "As Deputy Headmistress, I'll write your parents about this incident." She said.

After being dismissed, Harry walked straight towards the Slytherin dormitories. He caught the eyes of Hermione Granger as he was walking, earning a strong glare so he quickly looked away.

Madam Pomfrey, the Healer who worked the Hospital Wing, had scolded him before any professors were called. Neville had already been there, too. Crabbe and Goyle left as soon as Ron was deposited onto a bed. He had hit Ron hard enough to knock him enough, but luckily there was no damage to his brain. "Don't ever hit someone there, ever again! You could kill someone!" She said. Harry decided not to mention that he already knew that. She then ushered him to a seat to wait, called Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall- for him, and for Ron.

Harry worried about what his parents would say.

In the Slytherin dormitories, he was as ignored as he normally was when he entered. Draco was sitting by the fireplace, chewing on his thumbnail with a book open on his lap. Crabbe and Goyle were playing chess, staring at the pieces dully.

When Draco saw him, he shrieked. "Harry!"

Once he was close enough, Draco tugged him onto the seat next to him. Crabbe and Goyle abandoned their game and leaned in close.

"What happened?" Draco asked.

"I have detention with Snape for seven Saturdays, and they're going to write my parents about what I did." Harry said. "Ron will be fine, though."

"How'd you knock him out?" Crabbe grunted.

Harry reached across and placed his hand on the side of Crabbe's head, where he had hit Ron. "You can knock someone out by pretty much hitting them anywhere on the head, but this area especially. Hit hard enough here, and you can kill them. There's other spots, too, but this is the most effective. I hadn't hit very hard, just enough to knock him out." He explained.

"Cool." Goyle said.

"Why'd you hit him?" Draco asked.

"He was going to punch you." Harry said. "I saw him raise his hand."

"Idiot. Crabbe and Goyle are the ones who handle things like that." Draco scolded. The two boys nodded in agreement.

Harry shrugged. "Doesn't matter. I'd do the same for them, if I saw someone try to hit them." He said, truthful. He liked Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle. They were his friends. He hadn't even thought about harming them in any way for the past day!

Crabbe and Goyle looked touched. Draco smirked. "You knocked Weasley out without using a spell!" He cackled delightedly. "I bet there's going to be Hufflepuffs avoiding you!"

"Can you teach me?" Goyle asked, swinging his left arm around in a circle.

Harry smiled. "Sure."

When you hit someone in the head hard enough, you cause their brain to move. It isn't totally solid, it's like jell-o, so it moves and smashes against the side of their skull. As a result, they go unconscious. Or, worst case scenario, they die. It depends where you struck them and how hard. Harry, a eleven year old boy, doesn't have that strong of a punch. He did, however, hit Ron in the side of the head in the point where if he had a strong punch, he would've killed my favorite Weasley. Good thing he's not strong! If Crabbe or Goyle took that punch, who knows what could've happened lmao

Also, whenever I become extremely angry or freaked out, I 'black out' for a second and when I come to, I'm doing something like attacking someone. Once, when my brother tried taking my phone out of my hands, I blacked out and kicked him in the nuts. Harry saw Ron raising to punch Draco, someone who he considers his friend, and he reacted by basic instinct when he sees someone he considers 'his' threatened. Not saying he sees Draco as a possession, but Draco is Harry's friend. So, Ron went to punch Draco. Harry saw him move. Harry reacted, his mind going to what he knows about the human body to strike. Whenever you go blank as I described, you either want to lay as much harm as possible or even kill, so Harry went in for the most!

PLEASE DON'T TRY PUNCHING ANYONE IN THE HEAD. IT WON'T END WELL.

I hadn't originally wanted Harry to attack Ron. In fact, it popped up in my head as I was writing the flying lessons scene. I meant for it to be very simple and just a small conflict, to show Harry's quickness to anger, but I went for something else! Can't wait to write Lily and James' reactions when they get the letter telling them what their son went and did :,) and will Ron forgive Harry, or will he see him as an enemy? What will others think of him now? Look him as strong, or look down at him because he had 'fought' hand-to-hand instead of 'properly' with magic?

WHO DAFAQ KNOWS NOT ME, YET, LOL