"Oh, Harry, Professor Ferro told us everything –"

"Yeah, mate. Look, I'm really sorry, you should've said –"

"Well, you didn't give him a chance, Ron! How could he have said –"

"It's not my fault! I was hungry, I wasn't right in the head –"

"You're never right in the head –"

"Sorry guys, has anyone seen Trevor?"

"No, sorry Neville," answered Harry as his friends continued to bicker.

"Oh, ok," sighed Neville, looking downtrodden. "Thanks anyway. See you, Harry."

Harry waved Neville off and turned back to his friends.

"Oh, please Ron, you never listen to anyone –"

"What do you mean I 'never listen'? Who do you think I am –"

"You're not listening now! You just –"

"Well!" Sighed Harry, loudly, trying and failing to get his friends' attention.

"Oh, yeah, Hermione. I bet you just think everybody should be a goody goody two shoes like you –"

"Ron! That is not what I'm saying at all –"

"Night guys!" Shouted Harry, waving his hands wildly, trying to catch their attention.

"Night, Harry!" Chorused the twins, waving back at him.

"Very funny," muttered Harry as he walked past them and up to the dormitory. He sat down on his bed and took a deep breath in, savouring the peace and quiet. He'd just started to take his shoes off when the door burst open.

"Oh, Hermione! Will you just shut –"

"Me?! You're the one who's shouting and making a complete –"

"Oh yeah, straight to the insulting! That is just like you –"

"You two are like an old married couple!" Harry tried to cut in, but ended up speaking to himself.

He sat there as his friends continued to throw insults, trying to think of an effective solution. It was when Ron was creative enough to use the words 'slimy' and 'bat' that Harry thought of something – something truly … Slytherin of him – literally!

Grinning wickedly, Harry stood up on his bed and looked down at his friends. He put his hands on his hips, sucked in a deep breath, and pictured, in his mind, their very own Potions Master. Feeling very evil, he bellowed, "Weasley! Granger! Desist at once!"

"Professor! We –"

"Bloody hell! How –"

Harry fell to the bed, clutching at his stomach, tears streaming down his face as he guffawed at his friends.

Ron and Hermione were franticly searching the room, obviously waiting for Snape to loom out of the shadows.

"I – I wish," wheezed Harry between fits of laughter. "I wish you could see – see your faces!" He rolled onto his stomach and buried his head into his pillow, trying to muffle his laughter.

"That was you?!" The mixture of astonishment and anger in Ron's voice only caused Harry to laugh even harder. "Harry! You little –"

"Harry Potter! You complete and utter arse!" Cried Hermione, throwing herself at him and clamping her hands around the back of his neck. He began to struggle a little, to weak from laughing to do anything other than squirm.

"No! Please! Hermione! That tickles!"

It went silent for a moment, and Harry was able to let out a few hysterical squeaks, but then he realised his mistake a moment too late.

Strong hands grabbed his ankles and pulled him over the edge of the bed. He tried to hold onto something but his arms just flailed uselessly as he fell. He hit the floor with a muffled thud and tried to stand up. A second pair of hands grabbed his shoulders and roughly rolled him onto his back. He looked up through his tears into the two evil grins of his best friends.

"Ok, wait just a minute –" he tried to plead, but his voice was cut off by the screams of laughter that escaped his grinning lips as his friends began to tickle every part of him they could.

Their laughter filled the room and travelled downstairs. It reached a smirking Fred and George, who looked at each other and winked, a confused looking Dean and Seamus, who looked up from their late night chess game just in time to miss Seamus' queen violently pulverising Dean's bishop, and a strained looking Neville, who was groping around one of the leather sofas, desperately trying to capture his mischievous toad – Trevor.

"Please!" Begged Harry, his stomach aching from laughing so much. "Please! Stop!"

He felt their hands retract and heard their bodies thumping down beside him.

Hermione was giggling hysterically and Ron was snorting every now and then.

"Never," gasped Harry, "do that again!"

"As long as you – you never do that voice again! You almost gave me a heart attack!" Scolded Ron, breathing deeply to ease his laughter.

"It was uncanny, Harry," agreed Hermione as she pushed herself up to rest against the foot of Harry's bed.

Harry pushed himself up into a standing position and perched on the edge of his bed. "Hey, it could come in handy," reasoned Harry.

"When?!" Asked Ron, as he, too, lifted himself off the floor. "When would you ever want to imitate that slime covered, hook nosed, grease-ball of a git?

"Professor, Ron!" Insisted Hermione. "He's a slime covered, hook nosed, grease-ball of a Professor!" Hermione grinned as the other two gaped at her.

"Hermione? You feeling alright?" Ron put on a look of mock concern, and Harry began checking her temperature with the back of his hand.

"She feels a bit –"

"Yes, Ron, I'm fine, thank you very much!" All three of them grinned at each other and Hermione walked over to the door, heading for her own dormitory. "And, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed. Goodnight!" She shut the door as Harry and Ron muttered sarcastically.

No sooner had they got their shoes off did the door open again, announcing the arrival of Dean, Seamus, and a tired looking Neville, who was clutching his wriggling breast pocket.

"What the bleedin' hell was going on in here?" Questioned Seamus, crossing over to his own bed.

"Oh, Harry's really ticklish," grinned Ron. Harry nodded sheepishly at his friends, realising again – a moment to late – his mistake. He took a tentative step backwards, hoping against hope that they wouldn't. They wouldn't, would they?

They would!

All too soon they were a laughing pile of flailing limbs, all of them too intent on fighting for their freedom as well as trying to cause as much havoc as possible to notice anything unusual. So it was no surprise when they failed to notice the thick fog that had gathered outside, or the dense black, glowing figure floating at the window, smiling at the scene taking place before it's icy blue eyes.

Harry stumbled alone through the forest. He'd been here many times before, always in his dreams. He kept moving forward, praying that this was not the same dream that had plagued his mind for many nights now. Why couldn't he wake up?

He pinched his arm gently, to afraid to cause himself any real pain. It was useless. He let out a frustrated sigh and kicked out with his right foot at one of the trees. He howled in pain as his big toe clicked out of place and pain shot through his foot. Eyes watering, he hopped on the spot, cursing himself for his stupidity, and also the fact that he was still in the dream.

"C'mon!" Yelled Harry. "I know this is a dream! Let me wake up!"

"A dream, Potter? Are you really that naïve?"

Harry spun around as the cold voice filled his ears. He stared into the dead, red eyes of what had once been Lord Voldermort. The sickly creature was curled up on its throne. Harry felt his stomach clench.

"We really must stop meeting in this way, Potter," taunted Voldemort. Harry noticed Voldemort's fingers clench around the small, twinkling object he had been holding. Harry cursed himself again – every time he'd come face to face with Voldemort in his dreams, he had been holding that thing, and every time Harry forgot to look at what it was.

"What is that?" Harry blurted out, his tongue loose due to the shooting pains in his foot.

"Oh? That doesn't matter now, Potter," Voldemort's cruel smile managed to show all of his yellowing teeth. "You are here now, and there is no one here to save you. Goodbye, Harry Potter!" Harry watched as Voldemort raised his wand, watched the green light gather at the tip.

"No! What is that?" Harry cried, his legs going weak as he crashed to the floor. "What is that? What is that?" He moaned as a bright light began to flood his eyes.

He was going to die.

He was going to die with a broken toe at the weakened hands of Lord Voldemort – what a pathetic way to go!

"Please," he begged. He heard Voldemort's high, cold laughter ringing through the forest. "No! What is that?!"

"Harry!" Harry shot up and felt his covers fly off him. Ron was standing at the end of his bed, a look of confusion dancing across his freckled face. "It's a shoe, you nutcase! What else would it be?"

"A – a shoe?" Mumbled Harry, reaching for his glasses.

"Yeah," nodded Ron, holding up his battered trainer. "I'm here, trying to get dressed, and you're over there screaming 'what is that, what is that?' People would think you'd gone mental!"

Harry felt his face grow hot and he slumped back onto his pillow, running his hands over his eyes.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "Bad dream." Very bad dream, he corrected.

"Oh, you were dreaming? I thought you were just having a joke! Sorry mate! I'd have woken you up if I'd known. What were you dreaming about?" Ron hopped on the spot as he attempted to put his shoe on.

"Nothing," replied Harry, a little too quickly. At Ron's raised eyebrows, he added, "sorry, don't want to talk about it."

"Ok," shrugged Ron, as he bent down to do up his laces.

"What time is it, anyway?" Asked Harry, stretching and stifling a yawn.

"Half nine," grinned Ron. "Not as late as yesterday, eh?"

Harry grinned back and made his way to the bathroom. He bent over one of the golden sinks and splashed some water over his flushed face.

"Where're Seamus, Dean and Neville?" Called Harry as he pressed a towel to his face.

"Breakfast," called Ron. "It was weird, actually. I asked if they wanted to go down to breakfast together, and they said yeah, but then when I said I'd just have to wake you up they all made these weird excuses and left in a hurry."

Harry, who had been brushing his teeth, spat into the sink and looked up at his confused reflection. "They left?" He asked, emerging from the bathroom.

"Yeah, really weird," muttered Ron. "C'mon, get changed," he grinned. "I'm starving!"

"When are you not?" Joked Harry. A few minutes later he was changed and pulling on his shoes. After doing up the left one, he grabbed the right and slipped his foot into it. The moment his big toe touched the end he let out a howl of pain and pulled his foot out, awkwardly cradling it in his hands.

"Who? What? Where?!" Yelled Ron, grabbing his wand and waving it dangerously.

"Don't worry," groaned Harry, pulling his sock off to inspect his throbbing toe. "And you're holding your wand the wrong way round."

"What? Oh," Ron looked down at his wand and stuffed it into his back pocket. "What's wrong?"

"I dunno," shrugged Harry. His toe looked perfectly fine. He poked it with his finger and yelped, regretting his action completely.

"What?" Asked Ron again, sitting beside Harry.

"It's my toe," grimaced Harry. "It kills but there's nothing –" Harry stopped mid-sentence and watched with a mixture of amazement and disgust as his toe went from a rosy pink to a blackish blue mess with the nail cracked halfway down the middle.

"What the –"

"Wicked!" Exclaimed Ron.

"Excuse me?" Cried Harry, staring at Ron.

"Oh sorry mate, not your toe – that's disgusting!" Ron grimaced, "but I think you were using a glamour!"

"I was using a what?"

"Dad talks about them all the time! If a wizard's been injured but they don't want to show it, they can use glamours to cover it up! But I've heard it takes a lot of effort to keep one up yourself. Fred broke Georges nose once, and he tried to cast a glamour, but passed out about five minutes after casting it. Broke his nose too when he fell – mum was really annoyed, thought they'd been fighting." Ron looked questioningly at Harry. "How did you do it?"

"What, break my toe? I don't –" Harry's dream flooded into his head and he almost cried out in shock. He must have gone pale, because his friend then asked, "you ok, mate?"

"Uh, yeah… It's just, in my dream I broke my toe by kicking a tree, and now my toe's broken in real life. Does that mean –"

"That's happened to me!" Ron exclaimed.

"Really?" Relief flooded through Harry.

"Oh yeah! I once had this dream that I fell off my broomstick and cracked my head, then when I woke up my head was throbbing and I had this huge cut right across my forehead! I didn't own a broom at the time or anything - it was really weird… Anyway, ready for breakfast?"

"What?" Cried Harry. "How can I walk down to breakfast when I can't even put my shoe on?"

"Oh, Harry, it'll be fine! Just put your sock back on and I'll help you!" At Harry's uncertain gaze, Ron added, "c'mon, you really think people will notice you haven't got a shoe on when idiots like Crabbe and Goyle have lasted four years in this castle, and it's a miracle they manage to dress themselves every morning! C'mon! You'll be fine!

"Still think this is fine?" Grumbled Harry as he walked into the Great Hall, only to be met by frantic muttering and short outbursts of laughter.

"Well, it could be worse. Somehow?" Ron looked at him apologetically as they made their way to the Gryffindor table and the chatter of the Great Hall started up again.

Harry spotted Hermione just as he heard one of the Slytherins call, "I always knew Potter was mad!"

"C'mon," he growled at Ron, and he limped as fast as he could towards the space next to Hermione. The minute they both sat down, their fellow Gryffindors shifted slightly, as though trying to move away from Harry.

"What's wrong with them?" He muttered, reaching for some toast.

"Harry, you do know you've only got one shoe on, don't you?"

"Oh, gee Hermione, you're right! How on earth did I manage that? I guess I must have –"

"Alright, alright! Point made, Mr. Sarcastic. I just wanted to check!"

"Sorry," mumbled Harry, pulling his foot up. "I broke my toe. Can you fix it?"

"You broke your – oh, Harry!" She cried, as he showed her the bruised mess. "How did you do it? Are you –"

"I'm fine, thanks Hermione, and I don't know how I did it," he lied, blocking out the dream. "Can you fix it?"

"Oh, of course!" She dropped her spoon and dived into her bag, emerging with her wand. "Now, I've read all about simple fixes, but then, there are the more severe ones. Would you say this is simple? There's quite a bit of swelling, but I suppose it's only one bone – but it's quite a thick bone, there's always –"

"Oh, Hermione! Just fix the poor blokes toe!" Cried Ron, spraying the table with flecks of scrambled egg.

"Humph, how rude!" Shot Hermione. She tapped Harry's toe with her wand a little too forcefully, causing him to jump. He then let out a little yelp, which turned a few heads, as his toe clicked back into place. He felt an intense heat as the blood rushed back to it and he touched it tentatively. Aside from the bruising, the pain was thankfully gone.

"Thanks, Hermione," he sighed in relief.

"That's quite alright, Harry," she huffed, glaring at Ron, who was oblivious to the death stare he was receiving.

Ten minutes later, when they had all finished their breakfast, Oliver Wood approached Harry somewhat nervously.

"Harry," he nodded politely.

"Heya Wood," Harry grinned. "This can only mean one thing, right? Quidditch?"

"Uh, yeah," gulped Wood. "Still up for playing, then?"

"Of course!" Replied Harry, surprised. "I'm still on the team, aren't I?"

"Oh, yeah, of course! Well, see you in ten, then." Wood hurried off and disappeared into the small crowd of students exiting the Hall.

"What was that about?" Questioned Harry, as the three of them made their way out of the Hall. "And why are people avoiding me?" Harry looked around in confusion at the small berth people were giving him. "It's like I'm the heir of Slytherin again!"

"Harry!"

"What? It's true!"

"Oh, I have something to tell you," Hermione muttered as she pulled him to the side. Ron followed them and listened intently.

"Hold on, Hermione," Harry held up a hand to stop her. "Accio Qudditch Kit!" He jabbed his wand into the air, pleased to finally have a use for the new spell Ferro had been teaching them. "What is it, Hermione?"

"Well, Harry, people have been saying… No, some people have been talking about… No, I've heard people going on about –"

"What, Hermione?" Prompted Harry, a little impatiently.

"Oh, Harry, people have been saying you've gone a little bit mad!" She finished in a whisper.

"They what?!" Blurted out Harry, while Ron began to laugh.

"Mr. Potter! I see no reason at all as to why you should have reason to shout. Ten points from Gryffindor for disrupting the peace of the castle." Snape slithered over to glare at the three of them.

"I'm sorry, Professor," replied Harry. "I didn't realise talking was prohibited," his voice dripped with mock politeness.

"Talking isn't, Mr. Potter," retaliated Snape, taking a menacing step forwards, causing Harry to stumble backwards slightly. "You just seem to think that you, the Chosen One, the –"

"Professor –" Harry tried to interrupt.

"Don't you dare interrupt me. Ten more points from Gryffindor. You're just like your father! You –"

"No, Professor –" Harry insisted.

"One more word out of you and you will find yourself scrubbing –"

"Professor!" The three of them yelled, but too late.

Harry's Firebolt, Quidditch bag and his shoe all collided with the back of Snape's head. He shot foreward from the force of the spell – Harry still wasn't able to control it very well yet – and Harry dodged out of the way. Hermione simply stared in shock, and Ron had shoved his fist into his mouth in an attempt to muffle his laughter.

Snape looked up, rubbing the back of his head, and locked eyes with Harry. Harry gulped.

"Why you little –"

"Severus!" A voice called from the Great Hall. Harry sighed in relief as Professor Ferro came into view, a grin on his face and his purple eyes sparkling. "They did try to warn you!" He winked at them and mouthed, "run!"

Taking the hint, Harry collected his things and called out a quick, "bye, Professors!" The three of them sprinted outside and halfway down the lawn before they dared stop.

"I love that man!" Exclaimed Ron, causing Hermione to giggle.

"So does Hermione, if you get my meaning," winked Harry, nudging Ron in a knowing way.

"Oh yeah, I get you!" Ron winked back as Hermione turned a violent shade of pink.

"Oh, shut up, both of you! At least people don't think I'm mad!"

"Oh yeah! What's that all about?" Questioned Harry, some of his excitement dying away as he remembered what Hermione had said.

"Oh, it's just something Malfoy's been spreading around," answered Hermione, relived by the change of subject, though her cheeks still glowed pink.

"Malfoy?" Cried Ron.

"That little git!" Responded Harry. "That slimy, snot-nosed, snivelling little –"

"Run!" Yelled Ron.

"What –"

"Harry, if you want to live past the age of 14, I suggest you run. Now!"

"Ron! What do you –" Harry didn't finish his sentence, for he saw Snape stalking towards them, followed by a protesting Ferro, and a look of utter loathing on his pale face. The minute he saw Harry he broke into a sort of jog that made Harry fear for his life.

"Uh, sorry guys! I have to go! Don't want to be late!" He called over his shoulder as he ran for his life – literally, he thought, darkly. He heard Ron and Hermione's shouts in the distance and laughed to himself. Here he was, running – with one shoe missing – from his teacher, while his best friends tried to hold him off, his toe was bruised from a strange dream he'd had involving the so-called dead Lord Voldemort, and the whole school thought he was barking mad! Perhaps he was! All that mattered was that he'd be in the air soon, flying with his team members, and while he was at it, he could think up all the evil ways he could get back at that little blonde rat, Draco Malfoy.