A/N: New chapter again. I'm disappointed in you guys. You're all telling me to update faster, when I have to wait ages for any reviews to come in. Without encouragement, I can't get excited about the story.

Okay, everyone is dying to see some pranks. They are coming! I just need ideas. For example, what can I do to Snape that would really piss him off, but not give him any solid proof that the duo is responsible?

"Okay, let's see… 'The common Sleeping Draught: add two sprigs of nightshade, crushed. Stir into cauldron counter-clockwise, twenty-five times. Add in crushed salamander scales while stirring. Use a pinch of ginger root to neutralize the effects of the beetle eyes…' Blaise? Are you getting any of this?" Harry paused in his reading and put down the heavy tome.

Blaise looked up from her perch on the edge of an emerald green couch in the Slytherin common room. They were alone in the room with the dying fire, as most of their housemates had already gone to sleep. Half her body was slipping out of the cushion, and she held a blank parchment in limp fingers.

"Did you," Blaise yawned widely, "say something?" She blinked owlishly at him, leading Harry to believe that his friend wasn't quite all there.

"Blaise," Harry groaned in irritation, "We really need to get started on this! It's due next potions class!"

Blaise straightened in her chair, stretching, "C'mon, Harry. It's not due for two days! Bloody git, how can Snape assign us a three-foot essay on a potion we got right?" Blaise slammed her fist into the armrest for emphasis.

"Because he's a sadist?" Harry suggested with minimum sarcasm.

Potions had easily become Harry's least favorite subject at Hogwarts. He had known that he and Snape wouldn't get along, but he didn't take into account just how much the man hated him, a feeling that was now mutual. Getting into Slytherin had certainly unhinged the professor, and most of his classmates as well. Unfortunately, a little thing like house unity did nothing to change Snape's attitude toward him. For perhaps the first time in his teaching career, Professor Snape, the greasy, biased head of Slytherin, had taken points off his own house! This did nothing to improve Harry's standing with the other Slytherins.

After Snape gave his opening speech, he ordered the class to begin making a simple Sleeping Draught that, according to him, even a dunderhead could accomplish. Here he looked pointedly at where Blaise and Harry were seated. The lesson passed in a relatively calm manner compared to the first five minutes. Harry found that he was somewhat adept at potions. The cooking skills he'd developed early in life were coming in handy when all he had to do was chop ingredients. Blaise, after nearly slicing off her own finger, was given the task of reading the directions to Harry while he focused on the cauldron. Things were safer that way. Their potion was slowly turning a light shade of blue as time passed. They were one of the many successful pairs on the Slytherin side of the room. The Gryffindors were having a little more trouble. Apparently, patience did not come with the supposed bravery in that house. Hermione Granger had obviously gotten it right, and Snape merely kept silent when he passed her table. He sneered at most of the Gryffindors, but stopped to praise his Slytherins. He wasted an entire ten minutes telling the class how Draco had gotten his potion a perfect, crystalline blue. Harry, whose potion was nearly identical, received a glare of contempt and was told that the color was off by several shades.

Soon Snape came to Neville Longbottom. Harry could already tell that boy was destined to rank right behind himself in Snape's list of least favorite students. His potion had somehow turned a bright, bubble gum pink, and it apparently had the same texture, as they reluctantly found out when it exploded, dousing more than half the students in the sticky goo.

"Foolish boy! I suppose you added the porcupine quills before you took it off the fire?" Snape snarled as Longbottom quivered under the pink slime. He would have fallen off his chair when Snape stalked closer, if not for the potion covering his robes that stuck him to it.

"Potter!"

The abrupt use of his name caused Harry to whip around in his seat, almost knocking over the cauldron.

"Huh?"

"Why didn't you tell him not to add the porcupine quills? Thought it would make you look good if he got it wrong? Five more points from Slytherin!"

The Slytherins gaped at their head of house and the unfair point deduction. The Gryffindors were just as confused at the man's logic. Harry just looked dumbly at the ten-foot distance between himself and Longbottom. How exactly did Snape expect him to watch how the boy did his work from all the way over there? He said as much, and lost another five points.

As the class trooped out of the dungeon when the bell rang, all fully intent on changing out of the their dripping robes, Snape halted them and announced a three-foot paper for any who did not get the potion correct, including Harry and Blaise.

"That's it!" Blaise snapped, throwing down her quill in frustration.

Harry looked at the abused feather in amusement.

"Harry, I can't take this anymore! Let's just take a break, please?" she stuck out her lip and gave her friend the biggest set of puppy eyes her blue eyes could accomplish. It must have worked, for Harry laughed and tossed his textbook onto the table.

"Fine, a small break. So what do we do now?" Harry watched curiously as Blaise sat up excitedly, scrambling for parchment and a new, less crumpled quill.

She flopped into an armchair nearer to his own, and leaned over confidentially. Harry moved closer, listening intently.

"Revenge," she whispered, smiling deviously.

Harry and Blaise stayed up late that night, plotting the best way to make an impression on the school. One thing was for sure, Hogwarts wouldn't know what hit it. If any of the Slytherins had been awake that night, or had bothered to come down to the common room, they would have been highly disturbed, and more than a little scared by the sight of two junior snakes hunched over a sheet or parchment and cackling.

'Hex Your Enemies' came in very handy. They looked up several charms, anything that could be useful. Harry had already found something called the Leg-Locker curse. Not to mention that Jelly-Legs jinx Blaise had discovered. Ooh, and was that an unlocking charm?

'Oh, the possibilities…' Harry thought, jotting down the incantation to that particular spell.

They had to plan this carefully. No one could know it was them when their first prank went off. They didn't want the teachers to get too suspicious this early. The list of hexes and jinxes was growing, taking up more parchment than any of their previous homework. As the night wore on, Blaise's eyes were constantly drooping, and Harry was losing track of which prank they had planned for who. When he mumbled something about stealing Snape's lemon drops, he decided to call it a night.

He bid Blaise farewell and they split up, climbing the stairs to their separate dorms. Harry passed by his dorm mates, observing the layout of the room. Crabbe and Goyle were spread out in their four-posters, their huge forms hanging off the bed. Theodore Nott slept with the hangings pulled shut, in a desperate attempt to block out their snores. Draco Malfoy lay in the middle of his bed, arms folded regally over his silk pajamas, his eyes covered. Harry himself changed into a pair of worn shorts and a t-shirt before settling under the covers. He shook his head bemusedly at Sneak, who was curled around the bedpost, his scales blending perfectly with the ebony wood.

None of his peers had noticed the snake yet, for which Harry was grateful. Though it was hard to when even Harry couldn't keep track of the small creature in the huge castle. Who knew where Sneak went all day? Harry wasn't worried. He always turned up eventually, usually when he was hungry.

As the rest of the school slept on peacefully, Harry was tossing and turning, caught in the throes of a nightmare.

It started out in a place Harry was all too familiar with. The cupboard under the stairs. He was four again, and his uncle had locked him in the cramped space for spilling Dudley's breakfast all over the kitchen floor when his cousin tripped him. He was huddled on his cot in the dark when suddenly, the lock clicked and the door swung out. Little Harry pushed it open cautiously, peering around for his aunt or uncle.

Instead of the hallway of Number 4 Privet Drive, Harry stepped into the Great Hall. Hundreds of students were seated at the house tables, just like at the feast. The room was dark except for the floating candles, giving the faces an eerie glow. In the center of the hall was a rickety stool. On it sat the Sorting Hat. Harry walked forward, his footsteps echoing in the silence. He placed on the hat, waiting for it to speak. Instead, he felt the hat shudder. Harry pulled it off and found himself holding Professor Quirrell's purple turban. It gave another shudder, and Harry heard a faint whispering come from it.

"Harry…"

The lights in the Great Hall dimmed further. Harry could barely make out the head table. The last he saw was a glimpse of Snape's eyes, glittering in the darkness. The turban shook more violently, the whispers getting louder. Harry dropped it in fear, stumbling backwards. He watched it begin spinning, faster and faster. Abruptly it stopped. Harry crept closer, watching for any movement. Without any warning the turban exploded, and Harry was knocked back in a burst of green light. Cold, high laughter was the last thing Harry heard…

Harry shot up in bed, startling Sneak, who hissed and curled up tighter. Harry took a moment to control his breathing. Once his heart rate was back to normal, he turned over and pulled up the covers that had fallen to the floor at some point. He fell back asleep and remembered nothing of his dreams the next morning.

"Quidditch!"

"What-itch?" Blaise asked, blearily looking up from her oatmeal.

"Quid-ditch," Harry reiterated slowly. He smiled brightly and shoved a thick book entitled 'Quidditch Through the Ages' under her nose. He pointed at a picture of a wizard clad in bright orange robes, chasing a tiny winged ball.

"Harry, it's too early to be this perky…" Blaise groaned, pushing away the book in disgust. Unlike Harry, she was useless if she didn't get at least ten hours of sleep. It made her the obvious culprit whenever something happened.

"But, Blaise," Harry whined petulantly, "Today's our first flying lessons! I've been dying to try it! I can't wait! Do you think it will be hard? What if I totally suck at it? What if I fall off while I'm, like fifty feet in the air? What if-"

"Harry!" she barked in annoyance and slammed her spoon down on the table, startling a few of their peers at the outburst, "It'll be fine, I'm sure you're a natural… and if you don't bloody shut up, I am going to knock you off your broom myself!" Blaise screeched, waving her spoon warningly.

Harry sighed, and grabbed a napkin to wipe Blaise's breakfast off his glasses. He settled into his seat, completely ignoring the tantalizing smells coming from the table, and flipped through his book. Flying was the one part of the wizarding world that Harry was most anxious to try. After reading through at least half the text, he was itching to grab a broom. It was a real shame that first years weren't permitted to try out for their house teams.

The game itself looked a lot more complicated than any muggle sport. There were seven players per team. A keeper, three chasers, two beaters, and one seeker. Harry already knew that he would be at the practice trials next year. He just wondered what position he would play…

"C'mon, Blaise! Hurry up!" Harry tugged impatiently on his friend's arm as they and the rest of the Slytherin first years headed toward the quidditch pitch.

The morning was bright and sunny with a light breeze, and according to 'Quidditch Through the Ages', perfect flying conditions. They made their way towards the field, and Harry looked up at the tall scoring rings in excitement. The way he was acting, you'd think they'd just arrived at Disney World.

A dozen students with red and gold ties huddled by the stands impatiently. Harry pulled Blaise toward the crowd before she could object. It was becoming obvious that any time spent was the Gryffindors was a disaster waiting to happen. The opposing houses were already shooting each other murderous looks.

"Hey, Potter!" Harry turned around in surprise. Draco Malfoy was making his way toward them. What could he want?

Malfoy put on a sickening smile that didn't reach his eyes, "Look, we got off on the wrong foot last time, so let's start over. You already know my name, and these are Crabbe and Goyle," he tilted his head in the direction of his two cronies stationed behind him.

Harry nodded. Not taking his eyes off Malfoy, he tugged Blaise forward, "This is my friend, Blaise Zabini."

Malfoy looked her up and down with a smirk on his face, "A pleasure to meet you."

"Yeah," Blaise looked like she was dying to get on a broom already, if only to get far away from him.

"What do you think you're doing, Potter?"

Harry turned around again, and found himself face to face with an irate Ron Weasley.

'Is this going to be some sort of pattern today?' Harry grumbled inwardly, 'Now all we need is for Snape to show up, and my day should be complete…'

"Is there a problem?" Harry asked calmly.

"Of course, you're sucking up to your little snake friends!" Weasley was just asking for it today…

"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm speaking to my house mates."

"You're consorting with Malfoy!" He pointed a shaking finger in the trio's direction, "His entire family is in league with You-Know-Who!"

Malfoy stepped forward and scowled, "You want to say that to my face?" from behind him, Crabbe cracked his knuckles threateningly.

"No need to ask who you are," he sneered, looking over him with distaste, "Red hair, freckles, and a hand-me-down robe… You must be a Weasley."

Ron snarled, his ears matching the familiar Gryffindor red.

"You see, Potter," Malfoy continued, ignoring Weasley, "Some wizarding families are better than others. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there," he held out his hand.

Harry looked between Malfoy's outstretched hand, and Weasley's clenched fists. He glanced back at Blaise, and some kind of understanding passed between them.

"No thanks, Malfoy. I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself."

Malfoy dropped his hand, and his pale cheeks flushed with anger. Weasley gave a whoop and smirked at him.

"And personally," Harry added, rolling his eyes at Weasley's antics, "I think you're both daft."

For once, both Malfoy and Weasley had something in common. They both did a perfect imitation of a goldfish out of water.

"Settle down, class! Settle down!" Madam Hooch, the flying instructor arrived, saving Harry from a decidedly gruesome fate. He could just see the headlines now: 'Boy-Who-Lived Mauled By Angry Peers'

"Alright, everyone, this way!" she strode off, not waiting for the students. They followed her into the middle of the pitch where two rows of rather beat up brooms lay on the ground.

"Now," she addressed the students once they stood next to a broom, "Stick your right hand over the broom and say up!"

Shouts of 'UP!' rang out as they tried to control their brooms. Only a handful managed the desired results. Harry's broom jumped into his hand on the first try, and several feet away, Malfoy's broom did the same. Weasley stood over his broom, glowering as nothing happened. Like his feather in Charms class, it rolled over sleepily and proceeded to ignore him. Blaise glared at her own broom.

"Get up, you stupid twig!" she kicked the Cleansweep angrily.

"Blaise," Harry scolded, "What did the broom ever do to you?"

"Gee, you're right, Harry. I don't know what I was thinking," Blaise smiled sweetly at him. The second his back was turned, she pulled out her wand and jabbed it at the broom, "Okay, I don't like you, and you don't like me. But unless you want to become firewood, I suggest you get your lazy handle up!"

The broom gave a nervous twitch and jumped into her hand. When Harry turned back to Blaise, he found her holding her broom at last, and tucking something back into her robes.

"See, Blaise, I told you."

"Has everyone got a hold of their broom? Good, mount!" Madam Hooch stalked down the aisles, examining the students' seating. She was forced to correct several people, including Longbottom, who was facing the wrong end.

"Now, on my whistle, kick off hard!"

The class kicked off, Harry going the highest. It felt like he was born to do this. Somehow, he just knew that if he leaned forward, the broom would go faster, and it turned without a thought.

Madam Hooch explained the dynamics of flying, and once she was sure they could handle it, allowed them free reign. A few of the Gryffindors took off, playing tag. Some Slytherins raced each other from one end of the pitch to the other. Harry soared above everyone, watching how they flew.

Weasley was hovering above the ground, bickering with Granger, of course. She was still sitting on the ground and seemed reluctant to take to the air. Instead, she had taken out a thick book similar to Harry's and was reading off step-by-step instructions on flying. The only one listening was Longbottom. He clutched his broom tightly, looking as though he was going to tip over any second.

A few feet below Harry was Blaise. She was floating by on her own broom and was… arguing with it? Suddenly, Pansy Parkinson flew over shakily. She started taunting Blaise about something. Harry wondered if he should intervene. That choice was taken from him when Blaise's broom shot forward, nearly unseating Pansy as she shrieked. Blaise halted her broom and patted it almost proudly. Harry shook his head in exasperation. He met the strangest people…

"Potter!" Malfoy stopped his broom in front of Harry.

'Oh, no, not him again…'

"Potter, how about a challenge?"

"What kind of challenge?" Harry asked suspiciously. He knew if Blaise were nearby, she would have told him to just back away slowly; but Harry was a very competitive person, and what Blaise didn't know didn't hurt her, just him when she found out.

"A simple game of chicken. You've heard of it right? I know those filthy muggles do something like it," Malfoy's eyes narrowed at just the mention of them, "All we do is fly straight down. First one to pull out of the dive loses. What do you say?"

Harry scanned the ground for Madam Hooch. She was trying to coax the book out of Granger's arms, a task that was proving difficult. She would be distracted for a while.

"Well, Potter?"

Harry looked at the drop. They were at least fifty feet high.

"You're on."

Malfoy and Harry positioned their brooms.

"On the count of three," Malfoy started, "One…"

'What am I doing?'

"Two…"

'Blaise is going to kill me.'

"Three!"

Both boys plunged. Gryffindors and Slytherins alike stopped whatever they were doing. They watched as the two boys sped straight toward the grass, neither showing any signs of slowing down.

Blaise looked up from praising her broom in shock, 'I'm going to kill him…'

Weasley stared at the scene in confusion. He couldn't decide who he wanted to see hit the ground more.

Granger looked on in horror. What if Gryffindor lost points for not stopping them?

Longbottom was so absorbed in what was happening that he forgot to pay attention to his own broom. He was hit by a gust of wind, and toppled off.

Meanwhile, Seamus Finnigan was feeling very confident. He'd gotten his broom up in the air without any assistance. People made fun of him for his abysmal wand waving, but here was something he could do. He glided around the pitch oblivious to the excitement. Therefore, he was caught off guard when his roommate, Neville appeared out of nowhere, landing in his lap, and causing the broom to overbalance, tossing them both off.

Harry leaned into the handle of his broom, trying to dampen the wind resistance. The field was growing closer by the minute. From the corner of his eye, he could see Malfoy coming even with him. Neither of them looked ready to back down. Twenty more feet… Harry wondered if he could even get the broom to stop at this speed. It would be rather ironic to have come this far only to crash. Fifteen feet… He could stop now, but then he would lose… Ten feet… and if there was one thing Harry couldn't stand, it was losing to a prat like Malfoy…

There were only seconds left. The onlookers held their breath. Harry kept an eye on Malfoy. He seemed to be having an inner debate. His face was screwed up in a mix of anger in fear. He shot a look at Harry that clearly said, 'Are you suicidal?' before pulling out of the dive. Five more feet…

Harry felt a brief moment of triumph before he realized that he was still hurtling toward the ground. His eyes widened and he let instinct take over. Harry leaned back on the tail of the broom, pulling on the handle so hard it threatened to snap… 'C'mon…'

Harry barreled over the field, his toes just brushing the turf. He was gasping for breath having forgotten to breathe. As he landed, he heard a roar of sound.

"Wha-"

That was all Harry got out before he was swarmed. All the students were running over to congratulate him. The Slytherins were cheering more loudly than he thought possible for such a gloomy lot. Even the Gryffindors were amazed. After all, bravery was a Gryffindor trait, and the Boy-Who-Lived was a Slytherin!

"That was amazing, Harry!"

"Brilliant, Potter!"

"Didn't know you Slytherins had it in you!"

"Can I have you're autograph?"

Harry looked dazedly at the pretty Gryffindor that was holding out a pen with a shy smile. Her friend, Lavender Brown, giggled hopelessly.

"Okay, people, show's over!" Blaise pushed the simpering girls out of the way with unveiled disgust. She growled at them when they wouldn't move. Harry gulped at the furious look in Blaise's eyes.

"Uh, hi," he waved a hand weakly.

Blaise stalked forward and whacked him with the tail of her broom.

"Ow!" Harry rubbed his head and glared at her. "What was that for?"

"That was for being an idiot!"

Then she gathered him in a choking hug. Harry was getting confused.

"That was for the look on Malfoy's face. It was priceless!"

A sharp blow from Hooch's whistle interrupted them.

"Alright, nice job, people. Class dismissed. Please place your brooms inside the cupboard by the locker rooms, and head back inside."

Madam Hooch walked off up to the castle, two limping Gryffindors right behind her. Finnigan and Longbottom were helping each other walk. Longbottom had an apologetic look on his face while Finnigan was scowling and holding the remains of a broom that had been snapped in half.

"Let's go, Blaise. Blaise?"

Harry paused and looked back at his friend. She was staring mournfully at her broom and held it tighter.

"Do I have to?" her bottom lip trembled at the thought of giving it up.

One look at Harry and she sighed, walking towards the storage room. As she placed it on the shelf, she gave it one last pat, "It was nice working with you."

REVIEW! Use that little purple button! It's there for a reason!

How were the flying lessons? I'm sorry to say that Harry will not be on the quidditch team this year. I just think it proves Snape right if Dumbledore shows Harry favoritism. They will still be flying, just not in a game.

Need prank ideas! They have to be funny, can't be traced to the source, and cannot have any muggle references that wizards wouldn't understand! Thanks.

Next Chapter: Fluffy and the third-floor corridor
Any ideas or comments would be much appreciated.