Disclaimer: This story is 100% alternate universe and most, if not all, of the characters in this story are out of character as well. Also I don't own anything by J.K. Rowling and I am not trying to steal her characters, plots, or moments within the books that she has written. This is my own story and I also claim to not copy off of anyone else's work either in the process.

What Happened Previously: Harry goes through his first day of school but was unhappy. Ron mentioned quidditch but told Harry he most likely wouldn't make the team, McGonagall was strict because he was late, Snape was an ass just because he hates the Boy-Who-Lived, and Flitwick was completely mental with his obsessive-compulsive nature.

Chapter 4: The Reluctant Seeker

"Harry Potter! Follow me." Professor McGonagall yelled towards the small class of first years during their flying lesson. The old witch had seen Potter fly up towards the sky fast like a lightning bolt, and if that wasn't enough, the boy had caught the remembrall that was stolen from Neville Longbottom before it hit the ground.

Harry was not thrilled about getting asked by a professor to follow her but did as he was told. If anything, he was surprised that it took him this long to get in trouble considering how much of a little asshole he was being. He had cursed in front most of the professors thus far, with the exception of Professor Trelawney, Professor Quirrell, and Professor Binns, but still, no-one had heard him. The weird thing though was if Harry said anything normal, or if he gave someone a compliment, then everyone could hear him correctly. He still had no idea why people never heard his insults, but there was nothing he could do right now.

As Harry started to leave the grassy area, he could hear Draco Malfoy and his two ogre friends snickering behind him. Why was Harry the one being punished? Draco-fuckbrain-Malfoy was the one who stole the remembrall, got on his broom, and then threw the damn thing! Harry was guessing that Professor McGonagall only saw him on the broom goofing off, and they were going to go to Dumbledore's office so he could get punished.

Actually, this could be fun. Harry hadn't been able to insult Dumbledore yet and thought it would be incredibly funny to lay down swear word after swear word at the old wizard. Perhaps in his old age, the Headmaster would pass out from the abundance of "fucks" that would come his way. That is, if he could hear them at all.

Turns out Harry and McGonagall didn't go see Dumbledore at all. The pair arrived at the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, and McGonagall asked to see someone named "wood". Normally someone with the maturity as Harry would look past this sexual innuendo and just act professionally, but then again this wasn't a normal or professional story either! Harry burst out laughing when he heard that McGonagall wanted "wood" and couldn't stop laughing for several minutes.

"Mr. Potter, is there something funny here?" McGonagall asked.

"(laughs) Yes, professor. You said (laughs) you wanted to see "wood" and I lost it. Oh man. Wow. Man, that was a good joke."

"I wasn't trying to be funny, Potter. I really did want to see Wood because …"

"OH, I'm sure you wanted to see "wood" you old fruit! What kind of sick perverted person goes into a class, demands "wood" in front of another professor, and then comes back to me expecting some kind of professionalism? There's no way I'm letting that go. That was so goddamn funny I can barely contain myself." Harry said through the laughs that came out.

"Mr. Potter, I asked for Wood because his last name is Wood! I want you to meet the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team: Oliver Wood."

"Pleasure to meet you, Potter." Oliver said towards Harry.

"Oh. So "wood" is a person. Well damn. Yeah sure great to meet you, woody"

"Actually it's not ... " Oliver tried to say but Harry ignored him.

"Professor, I thought I was in trouble! Why did you lead me on like this?"

"Wood. I am pleased to tell you that your search for a replacement team member is over. I have found you a Seeker!" McGonagall exclaimed to the older student.

"Really? Well, that's incredible, professor. Is he any good?"

"Um hello? I'm right here you assholes!" Harry exclaimed.

"Hmm? Oh, my apologies, Potter. So are you any good?" Oliver said to the boy.

"Any good at what? What are you talking about?"

"Why Seeking of course? Are you any good at Seeking?" Wood asked Harry.

"How the hell should I know? What is Seeking anyways? I've only …" Harry started to say but was cut off by Professor McGonagall.

"Oh he is amazing, Wood. I saw him catch a remembrall out of the air before it hit the ground. One of the other boys threw it so far that almost no one would have been able to get it! Well, except for Potter of course. I've never seen a student so young with so much skill."

"Really! Well, I guess I'll have to give you an audition, Potter. Meet me after lunch at the quidditch pitch and we will see how fast you are."

"Do I even get a choice in the matter?" Harry asked as he sighed. The older student shook his head. "Whatever. I might as well go along with it."

"That's the spirit! Oh, and if you have a broom, make sure to bring it with you." Wood informed the younger student.

"I don't have a broom, wood splinter. Where would I even get a broom around here anyway?"

"Actually, Potter, my name is not …"

"Whatever, woodpile. Just keep your stupid comments to yourself and realize that I'm new to this world. Your arrogance in assuming that I know anything about brooms, or that I even have one, is making you look like a huge asshole."

"You actually have a broom, Potter? That's great! I'll see you later on the pitch!"

"SURE THING! See you there, woodchip!" Harry said with an abundance of sarcasm that almost seemed genuine to McGonagall and Wood.

"That's not my name either. My name is …"

"OKAY! See you there!" Harry said sarcastically again.

Oliver then took his leave and went back inside the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Harry wondered what the defense professor was like, and how many insults he could fling on the timid man too. Quirrell looked so puny and defenseless that anyone could knock him unconscious simply by giving that wimp a hug. Harry thought it was going to be great tomorrow when he finally got to meet that purple turban headed fuck. Come to think of it, why was he wearing a turban in the first place? Wasn't it pretty hot to wear that damn thing right now since it was still in September? Also why a purple turban? There were so many weird things going on with Quirrell that Harry's head started to spin.

After getting sent back to flying class by Professor McGonagall, to which Madam Hooch gave Harry twenty points to Gryffindor for saving Neville's remembrall, Harry joined his classmates for lunch in the Great Hall. The Boy-Who-Lived was about to start digging into his plate of food when his two annoying friends showed up. Apparently, they were off speaking to Madam Hooch, and then finally caught up with him.

"Hello, Harry!"

"Oh god, why can't you just leave me alone, Hermione?"

The young girl was about to say something nice back to the Boy-Who-Lived, but the Weasley child thought it was necessary to interrupt.

"Hello, Harry. You flew amazingly today in class! I wish I was as good as you!" Ron exclaimed.

"Ron is seriously starting to annoy me. At first, he seemed friendly, but now he seems like one of those hero worshipers that just kiss the god damn ground I walk on as if I was Merlin. Maybe he really did lose some brain cells when Hermione knocked him out with that massive textbook?" Harry thought.

"Come on, Ron, you know that's a bunch of bullshit. I rode a broom for the first time about an hour ago, and now I'm being hailed as a godsend of flight. I'm sure you're a lot more skilled with a broom than I am. Maybe you were just having a bad day."

"Oh. Um. No, not really, Harry. My brothers use me as target practice whenever I fall off my broom."

"How many times do you fall off your broom, Ron?"

"A lot, Harry. Sometimes I think I'm a squib."

"Oh quit being dramatic, Ron. I'm sure you'll get the hang of flying eventually." Hermione stated to the redheaded boy.

"Yeah right. If the broom smacks me in the face when I try to summon it, then it's a pretty clear indication that I'm not built to fly."

"Well, you can't be as bad as Hermione. She couldn't even get her broom off the ground. I hope this doesn't make her terrible in other aspects when she's older!" Harry laughed to himself at that last comment.

Just as he was expecting, Hermione didn't hear what he said. Good. Harry wanted to insult that girl on a constant basis now. Even if Harry didn't have this confusing ability to insult everyone without consequences, he would still make Hermione's life a living hell. That's how much the boy was bordering on the line between annoyed and hatred for the girl.

"No, I really am terrible, Harry. I have to be a squib. It's the only explanation." Ron said. His dialogue brought Harry back to the present.

"Wait, hold on. What's a squib, Ron?" Harry genuinely asked. Maybe this was another insult he could throw onto others on a whim. The boy couldn't wait to hear what the word was.

"Oh, I can answer that! A squib is someone who …" Hermione started to say but Harry had had enough that day and wasn't going to hold back his insults at the bushy girl any longer.

"Did I fucking ask you, Hermione? No? I asked Ron because he is the one who said it, and also because I'm tired of you showing off all the time. Do me, and everyone else a favor, by shutting your whore-ish mouth for five seconds and let someone else answer the god damn question. Not everything demands your attention, and you sticking your nose in everything is detrimental to everyone's learning. Just butt out, let someone else try for once, and be quiet!" Harry said to the girl with a ton of irritation in his voice.

"You know something, Harry? You're right. I do go above and beyond sometimes, and I'm sorry. I know I'm a bit hard to handle, and I will try to work on this problem in the future."

"And another thing! I …" Harry started to say but was pleasantly surprised by Hermione's mature response. "Okay. I umm … Apology accepted, Hermione. Please try to work on this, okay?"

"Sure thing, Harry." The girl had a smile on her face that seemed genuine as well.

Harry did feel slightly bad for ranting hard on her, but he had to get his anger off of his chest. The boy actually cared if he hurt his friend's feelings or not. Then suddenly he then started to wonder if maybe, just maybe, someone was starting to hear his insults for the first time. It seemed for just a moment that his vulgar language had consequences. Maybe he had gone too far by calling Professor Snape a giant dickweed, or Ron and bumbling doofus. With a sigh, Harry turned his attention back to his redheaded friend.

"Okay. Now that that's out of the way, Ron, can you please inform me as to what a squib is?"

"Sure thing, Harry. A squib is …" Ron tried to say.

"Actually I can answer that, Harry. A squib is someone who was born into a magical family but has no magic within them. Unlike muggles, they can see everything we do, but will never be able to perform magic." Hermione interjected.

"Yeah. What she said." Ron commented. He didn't seem bothered that Hermione interrupted him at all, but Harry absolutely was.

"GOD DAMMIT, HERMIONE! WHAT DID WE JUST FUCKING TALK ABOUT?!" Harry shouted in absolute confusion at the top of his lungs.

"You're welcome, Harry."

"GRRRRRRRR!" Harry growled towards Hermione. As soon as Harry finished his heartfelt talk with Hermione, he wanted to abandon any plans to prank her. But now, Harry's revenge was back on with full force. That bitch was going down.

A moment later, Neville Longbottom returned from the Hospital Wing and looked a lot better. He decided to sit by himself and was far away from Harry, Ron and Hermione. Sure his arm was in a sling, but Neville almost looked as if he hadn't been in an accident at all. Harry was so pissed off at Hermione, that he had no choice but to get up from his seat and start walking over to him.

"Where are you going, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"Go fuck yourself, Hermione!"

"Okay! See you later then!"

"GRRRRRRRAAGGGGGHHHH!" Harry screeched at the top of his lungs. He knew that no one could hear him, but the boy didn't care whatsoever. Two seconds later, Harry approached Neville and sat down on the opposite side of him.

"Oh … um … hello Harry. What do you want?" Neville asked.

"Neville, I need your help. We may not know each other very well, but I am going completely bonkers thanks to that Hermione bitch. Can you please help me pull a prank on her? I will not take no for an answer. Hell, I will even pay you if you're uneasy about it!"

"Sure. I can help you."

"Wait really? You're going to help me just like that? You don't even know what I want to do to her! I may want to shave her head, or turn her skin green for all you know."

"It's okay. I'm getting annoyed by her also."

"Well good. I'm glad I'm not alone here." Harry said. A moment later, Harry had an epiphany of discovery that he may have overlooked. Did Neville actually hear one of his insults? He must have considering he cursed Hermione, and Neville wanted to go along with his plan to humiliate her. To test the waters, Harry got the boy's attention.

"Hey, Neville?"

"Yeah, Harry?"

"Go fuck yourself! You're a pompous bitch. I wish you were dead."

"Aw thanks, Harry. I think you're a good guy too."

"Of course. Why did I expect anything different?" Harry muttered.

"What was that, Harry?"

"Nothing, Neville. Nothing at all." Harry said while sighing heavily. He was really hoping that someone could finally hear him.

"Oh … okay then. So what kind of prank did you have in mind?"

"Well, actually I wanted to ask you for some help because I have no idea what to do. It's probably best I don't think of the plan anyway. Everything I would come up with may result in Hermione Granger's death."

"Me? Well … um … what can I do to help? I'm no one special. I think I must be a squib because I can't even perform magic well."

"You know, that's the second time someone called themselves a squib around me today."

"Really? Who was the first one?"

"Ron Weasley."

"Oh. Well … I can see that. He thinks he's great at magic, but he … um … sucks."

Harry laughed at Neville's attempt to insult Ronald-The Idiot-Weasley. The line delivery may have fallen flat on its face, but Harry did appreciate the fact that someone out there was almost as cynical as he was.

"You know, Neville? You're alright in my book. So do you have any ideas on what to do to Hermione?"

"Well the only thing I'm good at is Herbology, so maybe we can do something with plants?"

"Plants huh? Hmm. That may work. Is there any kind of plant that stands out to you?"

"Maybe. There's a variation on the venus flytrap that's bred right here in the greenhouse. The only difference is that this plant can cause death in a different way. The plant is nicknamed the "heart attacker" and scares people so badly that it can cause someone to have a heart attack from the sudden shock of fear."

"Hmm. Well, I like the idea, Neville, but I don't want to kill her. She may have an actual heart attack and die. Got any other ideas?"

"Well … maybe we can …" Neville tried to say but the bell rang and the students had to go to their next classes.

"Sorry Neville, I gotta go. I'll talk to you about this later."

"Sure thing, Harry. Thanks for saving my remembrall by the way."

Harry only nodded and started heading over to the quidditch pitch. Thankfully Ron and Hermione had another class to go to that he didn't have. Whatever it was, the Boy-Who-Lived didn't know. All to soon, Harry arrived at the pitch and noticed Oliver Wood in the exact center of the field. A small rumbling trunk was right behind the older student, and Harry was curious as to what was inside.

"Hello, Harry. Ready to get started?"

"Fine, whatever, woodworker. Just let me try out."

"Where's your broom, Harry? I can't let you audition without one."

"I don't have a fucking broom you imbecile. I told you that already! Let me borrow yours and I'll fucking audition for you. Okay?"

"Well that's okay you can borrow mine!"

"Yeah that's just what I said, asshole. Let's get this show on the road please!"

"Hold on there, Potter. Don't you want to know the rules of the game, or what the other positions are?"

"No."

"Great! Now quidditch is easy enough to understand. There are seven players: three Chasers, two Beaters, one Keeper, and the Seeker. That's you." Oliver started to explain.

"Woah, hold on. I never said I wanted to be a seeker. McGonagall did. I want to try out for something else you fucking woodchuck."

Oliver didn't seem to hear him. The older student started to unlock the rumbling trunk instead.

"Hey did you hear me? I said I didn't want to be a Seeker, woodworm!"

"There are three kinds of balls." Wood said while tossing him a big ball with indents around it. "This one is called the quaffle. The goal of the Chasers is to get the quaffle through one of those three hoops." The older boy then pointed to the three big hoops that were at both ends of the field.

"The Keeper, that's me, defends the hoops. You with me so far?"

"Yes, woodhead."

"Excellent." Oliver then handed a small bat to Harry and asked him to step back. As soon as Oliver released one of the rumbling balls from its chains, it shot into the air while making sounds that were reminiscent of a demon from hell. As it came back down, the older boy asked Harry to ready himself and prepare to hit the ball.

As soon as Harry connected the nasty ball with the bat, the ball hit Oliver square in the head and knocked him unconscious. Thankfully by magic, the strange ball chained itself up and closed the trunk with a snap. Feeling uncertain as to what to do next, Harry dropped the bat and ran from the stadium. Consequences be damned. The boy didn't care that he almost killed another student. He just didn't want to get caught. Running back to the Gryffindor Common Room was all he cared about at that moment, and eventually, he made it.

Harry didn't leave the common room for the rest of the night. Not even to eat. Thankfully, Ron brought him some food. Eventually, word got around that Oliver Wood suffered a massive head injury and was going to spend the night in the Hospital Wing. Harry laughed at the news of the other boy's misfortune. He really was a little asshole, but that didn't bother him. No one could hear his insults, and he was getting tired of it. Sometime later, the night was upon the students, and everyone went to bed. Well, everyone except Ron Weasley. He had put his homework off for too long and had to write three essays in one night. Harry felt no sympathy for him at all. That's what happened when you procrastinated until the last possible moment.