Chapter 12
James wrote to apologise for all the stories he used to tell about how all Slytherins were dicks, and how he really should have seen how Alex was becoming more affected by them than Harry was. He sent a fresh stack of sugar quills along with his letter, possibly to alleviate some of the guilt that he was feeling. Harry wrote back that same day, saying that it wasn't that big of a deal, and that the whole thing would probably be over soon.
The first year received another box of sugar quills and cupcakes at breakfast the next morning.
Harry sighed.
It wasn't of any fault of my parents that Alex turned out the way he was. Rather, I should have probably taught Alex about prejudices and other discriminatory beliefs before I taught him anything else.
Alex still wouldn't apologise, close to a week later, despite the numerous letters from home that James said that he and Lily have written to him– about proper behaviour and such. The eldest Potter twin received some consolidation from the fact that Alex moped for close to a week after his pocket money was cut in half, though he doesn't really feel angry or sad about Alex and his Gryffindor ways anymore.
At least, he tells himself that.
Really. It wasn't too big of a deal. His twin was a perfectly smart individual who would get over such little things sooner or later.
Sooner, hopefully, rather than later.
Still, in the meantime, Harry avoided looking over at the Gryffindor table whenever possible. In fact, he avoided mealtimes as much as possible, which worked surprisingly well until he started feeling dizzy whenever he stood up and realised that he hadn't eaten a full meal in a few days.
So he started dropping by the kitchens whenever he remembered, in between writing letters, doing homework, and reading, and tried to ignore how he literally felt like someone detached his arm and didn't bother to return it.
Harry hexed Weasley whenever possible, since the redhead seemed to be the root of all the Slytherin's problems. Harry had managed to turn the Gryffindor's hair into a miniaturised nest of rainbow snakes once– the curse had taken a whole 2 days to wear off since there wasn't exactly a counter curse for it that the teachers could find. Harry had essentially combined three spells together in varying different ways, on non-human test subjects, until he'd found one that worked. Of course, once he'd mastered it, he'd immediately used it, causing mild amounts of hysteria in the History of Magic classroom after the students slowly started waking up after class had ended and Professor Binns' monotone had faded from their ears, only to see a writhing mass of snakes on a certain prat's head.
Sweet sweet revenge. Best served cold with a side of chocolate.
After all, who didn't like chocolate?
Voldemort, probably.
Pansy and Draco had both joined in after witnessing the amusing aftermaths of Harry's pranks, though they hexed Alex as well as Weasley, in retaliation for what Draco called "being a completely brain-dead piece of Flobberworm Mucus" which Pansy roughly translated as "Hurting our friend."
It was unbelievably saccharine sweet. Kind of like those times where a measurement unit is read wrong when executing a recipe and one ends up with 5 cupfuls of sugar instead of 5 capfuls in their bread. Bread that now tastes more or less like pure sugar instead of, you know, bread.
Now he was rambling.
At any rate, Harry was horrifically charmed by the act, though he probably wouldn't ever admit it to anyone except himself.
The Gryffindors hexed them back. Or, at least they attempted to. Still, there were a lot of things that a first year with next to no knowledge of magic couldn't do, and hexing appeared to be one of them. At least, in the Gryffindors' case. Thus, they had to resort to poor pranks using pre-bought joke products from Zonko's, which were all hilariously fun to disengage and reuse, most often on the very Gryffindors that set up the traps in the first place.
Of course, the short-tempered lions had gotten increasingly angry at their botched and foiled attempts at what might loosely constitute as pranks. If they actually worked. Which, they didn't.
Finally realising their lack of manpower (and brainpower) somewhere around the end of the first week, the Gryffindors recruited a few more people from the other two houses. A lanky, dirty-blond Hufflepuff with a near-constant annoyed scowl joined what appeared to be Alex's inner circle of friends, previously only consisting of Weasley. Harry learnt that his name was Zacharias Smith, and that Alex was probably off with the weasel than with him, which was really saying something, seeing as the weasel was... well...
Himself.
At any rate, the worse that Alex's crowd had managed to do in the second week of school was lock the three Slytherins in a classroom after their lesson had ended– and they didn't even use magic for it. At any rate, the Slytherins were only really locked for all of the 10 seconds it took for Pansy to retrieve her wand and cast the Unlocking Charm at the keyhole.
Awfully droll, really.
The Slytherins had retaliated by putting the people responsible into the Hospital Wing. Quite literally. They'd used a Body-Bind Curse on each of them, and then used semi-permanent sticking charms to glue their robes to the floor in a neat line just outside its doors, all while keeping their victims blindfolded so that there was no chance of being identified.
Things picked up in the beginning of the second week of term, with Harry spending a full day with his quill constantly jerking in his hand whenever he wanted to write anything. Of course, it lead to completely illegible notes filled with scribbles spanning the width of his page where it was particularly bad. Though, Draco figured out the hex's counter on the second day, so it really wasn't that terrible.
There was also a notable incident where Alex, Weasley, and Smith were forced to walk around in neon pink robes, courtesy of Pansy, after all their clothing had been turned that same colour. Professor Snape gleefully, as gleeful as he got at any rate, subtracted 20 points from Gryffindor for "Improper attire" the minute he caught sight of them.
Nobody could ever prove that it was actually the three Slytherins who did the deeds since they was always careful to not be seen or heard. It was always the Gryffindors' word against theirs, which amounted to them getting away unscathed by the claws of detention each time.
The regular interactions between the three Slytherins and the two Gryffindors, and one Hufflepuff, provided a constant source of amusement for the rest of the school and, two full weeks after they started the term, Alex, Smith, and the Weasel were given the name "the Almost-Golden Trio" by the friendly Hogwarts rumour mill– the "almost" coming from Smith being a Hufflepuff (yellow black) instead of a Gryffindor (gold red). They were just called the "Golden Trio" for short. Meanwhile, Harry, Pansy, and Draco were christened with the name "Silver Trio", due to them being Slytherins and Slytherins being silver. And green. But the school seemed to be most interested in the silver portion of it.
Pansy huffed. "Why Silver Trio, though? It's so boring and mundane. Why not something completely out of the ordinary, like... Pots, Pans, and Co!" The brunette complained, as soon as she heard the new nicknames for the first time.
Draco raised an eyebrow. "What in the name of Merlin possessed you to think that a name like that could possibly relate to us?"
"But it does. Completely. That's the thing." Pansy laughed. "Potter, Pansy, Draco. Pots, Pans, and Co. It's absolutely amazing and beautiful and everyone should bow down before my absolute brilliance." She finished with an exaggerated curtsy.
Everyone who heard the joke groaned the way people generally do when they hear jokes that are so bad that they actually sound halfway good. Like puns, for instance.
A couple weeks after school began, just before they their fourth week of term started, Flying lessons were announced (rather loudly and often) by a piece of talking parchment pinned to the Slytherin notice board. Harry had christened it "Steve" and took to having short conversations with it from time to time.
It was a rather sunny Wednesday afternoon, the day that these lessons were to begin. Classes had just ended and the newly named Silver Trio walked together towards where said lessons were to take place: a smooth, flat lawn that was just a little ways away from the school's main entrance.
"What was Dumbledore even thinking, pairing us with the Gryffindors for Flying lessons?" Draco grumbled.
"Probably wasn't even thinking at all." Harry sighed, and Pansy made a noise of agreement.
Twin rows of broomsticks spaced neatly and tidily lay on the grass. Their teacher, who introduced herself as Madame Hooch, was already there, hawk-like eyes trained on the small handful of students that had arrived early.
"Stand by a broomstick." She ordered sharply, once they approached. "Don't do anything else without my say so."
Draco scanned his eyes over the brooms briefly and wrinkled up his nose. "There aren't any decent brooms." He proclaimed huffily. "They won't let us bring our own brooms, and yet their supplies are horrifically sub-par and old."
"Well, since I know a lot less than you do about brooms and other practical flying-related things, could you help me choose a semi-decent overpriced twig for the lesson?" Harry asked, watching Pansy scrutinise the twigs on the end of a tired-looking Cleansweep that looked to be held together by a combination of sheer will and Spellotape.
"Already done that." Draco smirked. "Pans, the fourth one down from this side looks pretty good. Harry, come with me."
Saying that, the blond strode towards the end of one row, where there were two brooms next to each other that looked noticeably less scuffed than the rest.
"Pick one."
Harry shrugged and took the broom closest to where he assumed Madame Hooch would be coaching them. Draco took the other.
The Parselmouth glanced at his watch. There were a few more minutes before class was to begin. "Do you fly often?" Harry asked Draco, trying to make light conversation to fill in the time.
"As often as I can." The blond grinned. "Father says that I have a talent for it. What about you?"
A breeze blew Harry's hair into his eyes as he shook his head. "I tried it once, when I was pretty young. Flew for around 10 minutes before I decided that the height limit on it was about as stupid as a fur coat in summer." He shrugged. "Never got back to flying since."
Draco laughed. "If you're any good after these lessons, I'll bully you into trying out for the Slytherin team next year myself. You look like a Seeker."
Harry gave a noncommittal smile. "Alex used to say the same thing. Only, he was sure I'd be a Ravenclaw, and a chaser."
Draco made a scoffing sound. "If you're a Ravenclaw, then I'm a bleeding Hufflepuff. He clearly doesn't know you as well as you know him, despite your insistence." Then, the blond's eyes glanced towards Hogwarts' main entrance before he focused back on Harry again. "Speaking of him, he's just come out of the Entrance Hall. Want to jinx his chosen broom when he gets here?"
Harry shook his head. "Weasel, maybe, or even Smith, but Alex doesn't really deserve it."
Draco sighed loudly. "You're still clinging to the hope that your twin isn't as much of a prat as he actually is, huh?"
"Alex simply took the bedtime stories that father told us a bit too much to heart." Harry defended. "He's a Gryffindor. They're more passionate and emotional than the rest of us; it was only natural. His only error was making friends with the wrong sort of people. If anything, this whole thing's Weasley's fault, for being a terrible influence."
Draco sighed again, just as Madame Hooch loudly blew her ear-splitting whistle loudly to get their attention.
"Hurry up!" She shouted at the crowd of Gryffindors that were noisily and leisurely making their way over. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Hup hup! We don't have all year."
They hurried to do so, and Harry ended up next to a round-cheeked boy whom he recognised from Potions. Neville, his name was, had somehow managed to reduce his cauldron to a melted puddle of metallic goop the class before– which was kind of amazing, even if he actually hadn't meant to do it.
"Stick out your right hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch from the front, "and say 'up!"'
"UP!" The first years shouted.
Harry's broom jumped into his outstretched hand immediately, as did Draco's. Though, after a quick glance around, Harry realised that very few people were actually successful. A few people down, Pansy glared at her broomstick, which had half-risen before falling again, her hand on her hip, while Alex's broom had only managed a small hop before it dropped back onto the ground.
Draco smirked smugly at the weasel, whose broom hadn't so much as twitched. Harry waved at him with the hand that held his own broomstick and got an annoyed growl in return.
After several minutes of that– Weasley's broomstick still hadn't moved, to Harry's delight– Madame Hooch stopped them and showed them how to mount the handles of their broomsticks correctly without slipping off the end. Then, she walked around, correcting their posture and handgrips. Harry and Draco shared a silent giggle when she told Weasley that he'd been doing it wrong for his whole life.
The sunlight warmed Harry's back when he straddled the broom handle, his hands resting gently on worn wood where the varnish had been rubbed away over years of aggressive affection, the exact place that so many others before him had also clasped.
"Now, when I blow my whistle, you're to kick off from the ground, hard." Instructed Madam Hooch. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle– three– two– Come back here, boy! "
Beside Harry, the chubby-cheeked and horrifically clumsy Gryffindor had kicked off before the shrill yell of the whistle had sounded. Up up up he shot, like a rocket launching off into space, or a bullet fired abruptly from a gun. Higher and higher, until he was almost as high as the enormous trees that loomed up from the Forbidden Forest.
The class watched with the sort of interested horror that motivates people to study serial killers, or to slow down to observe the bloody aftermath of a car accident. Neville's face blanched as he tightened his hold on the old, worn broomstick in his hands. And, as the first years watched, wide-eyed, Neville's eyes opened slowly, looking down and then he gasped. As if in slow motion, his hands slipped, and he fell sideways, then–
Down
Down
Down
Then, Harry blinked, and THUMP.
Neville hit the ground with a horrific thud and a whimper, landing in a heap of crushed black robes on the neatly clipped grass lawn. Overhead, his broomstick had slowed, with nobody to guide it along, and lazily drifted away, finding freedom from the clumsy and rambunctious hands of future first years above the treeline of the shadowy Forbidden Forest.
Madame Hooch had hurried over, bending over Neville. Her face was almost as white as his.
"It hurts." The Gryffindor snuffled.
"Broken wrist," Harry heard her mutter. "Come on, boy– it's all right, up you get. Easy does it."
Then, she turned to the rest of the class with a cautionary glare.
"None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You're to leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'quidditch.'"
She left, with a tear-streaked Neville shakily walking beside her, clutching his injured wrist.
As soon as the great wooden doors to the Entrance Hall swung closed behind her, the weasel, a few brooms down from Harry, started laughing. Unlike Pansy's bright, joyous explosion of happiness, or Draco's hastily stifled expression of open mirth, his was cold and harsh– the kind of laugh that didn't incite or ignite any desire for onlookers to join in.
"Did you see his face?!" Ronald scoffed. Then, he made his voice go higher and squeakier, mocking Neville's normal tone. "'Ooooh! It hurts! It hurts so much! The pain! Merlin. How did he even get into Gryffindor in the first place?"
Alex laughed along as well, and Harry inwardly winced when he saw that.
"Oh, look!" The weasel cried gleefully, voice returned to normal. He pitched forward and snatched something up from the grass. It was a glass sphere, delicately made, with soft puffs of cloud-like white smoke hovering inside. "It's that stupid ball that Longbottom always carries around." Saying that, he pocketed it with a smirk. "Too bad for him. Finders keepers."
"It's a Remembrall," Harry corrected lazily, "and you should probably give it back to him."
"Awww. Ickle Harry standing up for the great big lump of fat." The redhead taunted. "Gonna tell on your big bad Head of House?"
"Well," Harry sighed with a roll of his eyes, "if you just listened to what your betters were saying, we wouldn't have to. "
The Weasley's eyes narrowed slightly and he stiffened slightly in anger. "I don't see any of my so-called betters around; I guess I don't need to listen then." He retorted with a sneer.
Harry tutted while shaking his head. "Poor little Weasley. Looks like your mummy and daddy need to get you glasses." With a meaningful look at Draco and Pansy, he fake-sighed again. "We're standing right here, after all."
"Shove off, Harry." Alex said, his posture emanating annoyance and anger on behalf of his so-called friend.
"Finders keepers. Losers weepers." The weasel chanted, tossing the Remembrall into the air and catching it again with both cupped hands. "There's no reason for me to give it back to the big crybaby."
Harry hated bullies. He knew what they were like, what they did– his cousin Dudley was one. The Parselmouth considered it to be one of the worst things that a human could be.
"Tapeworm." Harry muttered, earning a brief confused expression from everyone who heard him.
"Is that supposed to be some sort of horrific insult?" Weasley laughed.
"If 'horrific insult' implies that I think of you as nothing more than a parasitic creature that attaches to a host for the sole purpose of sucking them dry... Then, yes." Harry shot back with a smirk. "Coupled with the fact that tapeworms are some of the fastest reproducing creatures in the world, I think it describes you and your family fairly well."
There was a soft snickering that came simultaneously from the Slytherins and a few Gryffindors who had heard the exchange. Ronald growled.
"C'mon," Harry said, extending a hand, palm up, "give it here."
The redhead scoffed derisively. "What're you going to do about it, Mister Junior Death Eater?"
Now, it was Harry who stiffened.
"That was horrifically bigoted," muttered Draco, "not to mention completely uncalled for." He added angrily.
"I could hex you and take it," Harry said, crossing his arms, "but, I want to spare myself the trouble."
Weasley scoffed again. "As if you could."
As if I hadn't already done that countless numbers of times you disgusting piece of flobberworm mucus.
Abruptly, the Gryffindor snatched his broomstick from the ground and mounted it, kicking off before Harry could reach him to grab the Remembrall away. His broom wobbled dangerously as he flew to quite a distance away, holding the glass ball in one hand and the handle of the broomstick with the other.
Harry's inner Slytherin put his head in his hands at Weasley's sheer stupidity. Why are you trying for a mid air confrontation if you can't even fly your own broom well?!
"Since you're such a freaking saint, come get it." The redhead yelled, almost at the beginnings of the Forbidden Forest. He'd risen a lot higher than even what Neville reached– a lot higher than what would be considered "safe" in the eyes of any sane person.
Bloody Gryffindors.
Harry sighed and extended his hand in front of him, palm down.
"Up."
When his broomstick obediently shot into his hand, he stood it up beside him, twigs resting on the ground. Putting his right arm around it to hold it in place, Harry reached into the pocket of his robe and pulled out his wand.
"Oi, weasel," The Parselmouth called, putting one hand around his mouth to amplify the sound of his voice, "don't complain that I didn't warn you!
"Rictusempra!"
The ticking charm shot from the tip of Harry's wand in a silver puff of shimmering smoke and zipped towards the precariously hovering Weasley. As the onlookers watched, it collided with the Gryffindor and the redhead let out a high-pitched shriek of laughter, reminiscent of the scream of nails scraping down a chalkboard, and flailed to avoid the sensation of hundreds of tickling hands. He doubled up, stretched, and contorted himself into a plethora of uncomfortable-looking poses, heaving with laughter.
Perfect.
Harry smirked and straddled his own broomstick, pushing off as hard as he could against the grassy surface of the field. The wind made whistling sounds as it streamed past his ears and through his hair, and he could feel the heavy material of his coat flapping around behind his body as he flew. Taking a small moment to be thankful for his bad eyesight– his glasses protected his eyes from the stinging that the strong wind would've caused– the Slytherin zoomed up towards Weasley, just as the Gryffindor wobbled again, causing himself to teeter off to one side and lose his balance.
The weasel let go of the Remembrall as he frantically reached for his broomstick in an attempt to right himself. Harry, who was flying straight towards Weasley as fast as his broom could go, yanked his broom up even higher, almost shooting directly upwards, before going into a steep nosedive as he realised that the heavy glass ball was dropping too fast for him to catch that way.
The wind, mixed with the screams of a few people watching, howled past his ears as he plummeted downwards. Harry stretched his hand forward, towards the Remembrall, as they both shot straight downwards. The space between the tips of his fingers and the heavy glass ball grew closer and closer as they fell.
Just a little bit more...
Almost...
Right... there...
His one hand closed around the cool surface of the glass sphere just as he used his other to forcefully yank his broom up from his dive and stop midair, bare inches from crashing into the earth. There was a light scattering of claps from the Slytherins and Gryffindors watching as Harry gently lowered his broom slowly, until his feet rested firmly on the grass of the field again, feeling a tad bit wobbly at the knees.
There was another loud thud as Weasley lost the battle with gravity and fell back to the earth in a lanky heap of black robes and elbows.
"Well that's going to hurt." Pansy commented idly with a smirk, breaking the still silence that had descended on the first years.
Then, there was a great hurrying from a large number of Gryffindors as they finished processing what had happened and started stampeding towards the Weasel to inquire about his wellbeing.
"I'm bullying you into trying out for the quidditch team." Draco chuckled, watching the chaos unfold. The Silver Trio had retreated back to a short, safe distance away. "Was that seriously only the second time you've flown?"
Harry nodded, a little breathless from the adrenalin that coursed through his body.
"Brilliant." The blond breathed.
"House Cup, here we come." Pansy added with a grin.
The massive doors to the entrance hall swung open and a dark figure that Harry couldn't quite clearly see strode outside, walking quickly and purposefully towards the group of first years out on the grass.
Tracey hurried up to them. "It was an amazing dive you pulled yourself out of!" She enthused, her pigtails bouncing as she spoke. "I honestly thought that you were going to crash!" Beside her, Daphne nodded as well, a grin on her face.
Harry smiled sheepishly with a shrug.
"Harold Potter." Intoned a voice behind Harry. Said Slytherin froze briefly before pivoting around.
Bloody Merlin no.
"Uh." Harry blinked, trying to look innocent. "Yes, Professor Snape?"
"10 points from Gryffindor for unnecessary endangerment of others." Snape said, speaking to the redhead lying on the ground. "Someone escort him to the Hospital Wing." The Potions professor commanded, raising his voice to be heard above the din. Instantly, the first years were silent. Then, he turned to Harry. "Potter, come with me." The Slytherin Head of House monotoned with a face perfectly devoid of expression before turning and striding back to the main entrance of Hogwarts without checking to see whether Harry was following or not.
The Parselmouth hastily grabbed his messenger bag before running after the Potions professor. They walked through long corridors and the twisting turns of the dungeons– all in perfect silence, save for their footsteps echoing along the rough stone floors. Although Harry tried not to be, he felt a twisting nervousness grip at him more and more with each silent moment that passed, especially since he had to walk quite a bit faster than he was used to to keep up with his professor's long strides.
They reached the end of a long corridor and stopped in front of a dark wooden door that had a floating figure settled on top. Peeves, if Harry remembered properly, was setting up a chalkboard eraser that was practically pure white with accumulated chalk particles, balancing it precariously on the top of the door so that the slightest movement, like the opening of the door, would jar it enough for it to fall perfectly on whichever unsuspecting victim was trying to enter the room.
"Go, Peeves. Now." Professor Snape said with a glare.
The poltergeist's eyes darted up for a second before he returned to his balancing. "Shan't." Peeves said resolutely with a childish jut of his lip.
"The Baron will not be pleased." The professor continued with a disdainful look. "Now, I'm going to say this again. Go."
With a loud and wet raspberry and an explosion of colourful and creative curse words, Peeves zoomed away down the corridor with the eraser in hand, knocking several suits of armour to the ground in the process.
Professor Snape sighed and withdrew his wand, silently casting a long series of nonverbal spells at a dark wooden door before opening it.
"Come in."
Harry hesitantly followed the Potions professor into a surprisingly spacious room, filled with numerous bubbling cauldrons. Snape waved his wand again and two emerald green chairs levitated themselves from a stack in the corner to swoop into the centre of the room.
"Sit."
Harry gingerly perched on the foremost part of the seat cushion on the chair that was closest to himself and Professor Snape took the other with a ostentatious swish of robes. After another minute of silence, the teacher sighed in a disappointed tone.
"I don't think I need to go into the extent which you could have injured yourself with that exceedingly stupid stunt of yours, Harold?"
Harry huffed internally at the deliberate use of his full name but didn't comment upon it.
"I know, Professor, and I had taken it into account before I provoked Weasley."
"In addition, I'm sure you understand how it would reflect on the house if anything you hadn't taken into account had happened?"
Harry nodded again. "But, nothing did happen; therefore, you have nothing to punish me for." He added with a smug grin, just bordering the line between cheeky and downright rude.
Professor Snape sardonically raised an eyebrow whilst still maintaining an otherwise perfectly emotionless expression. His nail tapped absentmindedly at the wooden armrest of his chair. "Actually, Potter. You will report to the quidditch field this evening at seven o' clock sharp wearing clothing that you deem suitable for strenuous activity."
Harry frowned. "What for, sir?"
"I trust that you will not be late. Don't bring anybody along." Professor Snape said, neatly avoiding Harry's question. "This is my office, and we are a corridor away from the Potions classroom, if you need a reference point to help you find your way out of the dungeons. You may see yourself out."
Slightly peeved at not being answered, Harry gathered up his bag that was resting on his lap and walked towards the exit huffily.
"Ten points to Slytherin for excellent use of the tickling charm as well as for... decent flying." Professor Snape suddenly said again, just as Harry had extended a hand to open the door.
The green-eyed boy felt a smile stretch across his face as stepped into the stone slabs of the corridor outside.
"Thank you, sir."
0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0
"What do you think you'll have to do?" Pansy asked, after Harry had finished filling his friends in on what had happened at dinnertime.
"Dunno." Harry shrugged. He took a small sip of his pumpkin juice and refilled his glass before continuing. "Maybe I have to weed the quidditch field?"
They all shrugged. None of them knew anyone who'd gotten into trouble this early on in the term, so they didn't know what a punishment would entitle.
Harry's eyes roamed around the Great Hall and he stood up abruptly. "I'll be back. Five minutes, max." Saying that, he walked towards the Gryffindor table, towards the round-cheeked boy that he'd just caught sight of out of the corner of his eye.
The Gryffindors around Harry quieted as he approached their table, evidently interested in whatever would happen.
"Longbottom, wasn't it?" The Slytherin said, with a tilt of his head.
The first year nodded quickly; he still looked a bit pale from earlier.
Harry reached into his pocket and proffered the Remembrall from earlier that day.
"Here."
Neville took it with a disbelieving look. Immediately as his fingers touched it, the white puffs of smoke inside the Remembrall turned scarlet and started to glow. Then, as if just remembering his manners, he turned and smiled at the Slytherin. "Thank you."
Harry laughed. "Good luck finding whatever it was that you've forgotten." Saying that, he pivoted on his heel and back to the Slytherin table, aware on eyes on his back the whole time.
"You're not serving a detention, right?" Pansy asked when Harry sat down again. He paused before replying.
"You're right. Professor Snape didn't say anything about it being one, so I'm guessing that it isn't." The Parselmouth frowned. "I wish he was more specific."
"Cheer up." Draco said with a shrug. "It's no good worrying about something out of your control. 'Sides, Severus' my godfather. I could probably try get him to change his mind if he tries to give you more."
Harry's eyes widened. "Why didn't you tell me this before?"
Draco shrugged again. "What difference would it make, whether I told you it or not?"
"You could have asked him for extra tutoring or something of that sort on behalf of me!" Harry exclaimed. Then, he stopped with a pensive look. "You can do that right?"
"He used to tutor me, so he should agree, yes." Draco answered with a smile, cutting himself a piece of steak.
"Brilliant. Squeeze me in there too, if you can. Though, I might have to drop out when you get onto more advanced potions." Pansy laughed.
Draco laughed along as well. "At any rate, it's half past six now, so we should probably get going for Harry's appointment."
"Oh!" The dark-haired Slytherin exclaimed. "Professor Snape specified that I have to go alone. You two go ahead and finish eating– I'll be back... Whenever I'm back, I guess."
Pansy looked a bit disappointed and Draco nodded understandingly.
"Alright," the blond said, "but don't wake me up if you're back late."
"And be sure to tell us about whatever happens!" Pansy chimed in.
0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0
Harry thanked Merlin that Eris had forced him into his thick winter jacket as soon as he felt the icy cold night air hit his cheeks. He stepped out of the heated Entrance Hall and into the evening's dimmed light, carefully closing the doors behind him. According to the Marauder's Map, the quidditch fields were quite close to the school. Harry just hoped that he could actually find it– he'd decided to leave the Map in his trunk after he'd gotten changed so he wouldn't lose it.
The eldest Potter child had never actually understood the merits of quidditch. Sure, Alex had always loved the sport, and James had constantly claimed that "centuries worth of quidditch-loving ancestors' blood ran through their veins" or something of that sort, but Harry had never understood why anybody would willingly subject themselves to near-death situations for the sole reason of catching a ball. It just seemed too Gryffindor-ish for his liking.
Though, Harry still had countless happy memories associated with quidditch. Whenever he had the time to spare, James tried to teach Alex tricks and tips, while Harry was allowed to sit in the cool shade of a tree near them and read for hours and hours about whatever topics interested him at that time. Then, when the father son duo had finished, they'd all trek back to the house with Alex chattering excitedly all the while, and Lily would be persuaded to leave her writing desk so the whole family could sit down at their dining room table to a delicious meal together.
Good times.
The green-eyed Slytherin had reached the quidditch field while he was reminiscing, and looked up to see that there was another figure standing there, illuminated by the numerous lights that were set up in the bleachers.
Harry had assumed that it someone else who had gotten into trouble and hurried forward to tap the person on the shoulder, having to stand on tiptoes to do so due to their enormous height. When they turned around, the Parselmouth recognised him to be a popular fifth year Slytherin, whose family was quite prominent in the pureblood society.
"Hello." Harry said hesitantly– the other boy was quite a bit larger then he was, both in length and in width. "Um. How're you finding the evening?"
Thankfully, the fifth year brightened at the familiar form of greeting . "Hello." He replied. "I'm finding it well, though a bit chilly. What about you?"
"The same. Were you also told to come here by Professor Snape at seven?" Harry queried again tentatively.
"Yup. 'M Marcus, Marcus Flint. You're that Potter kid, aren't you?"
"Harry, yes." The first year said, checking his watch. It was seven exactly. "Do you know where Professor Snape i–"
"Potter, Flint."
Harry almost squeaked, not anticipating the Potions professor's sudden arrival. How is it that he can sneak up on everyone like that?!
"Professor." Marcus said with a nod of his head.
You saw him coming and you didn't warn me!
Harry sighed, turning around to face the Potions professor. "Sir."
Professor Snape smirked, evidently amused by how he'd managed to scare the green-eyed first year. "I see that you've met. Nevertheless, I shall introduce you both, whether you've already done so or not. Harold Potter, Marcus Flint– Slytherin quidditch captain. Marcus Flint, Harold Potter– Slytherin seeker. Train him well, Flint. We don't plan on losing the House Cup this year."
With that, the professor turned to go back to the school.
"Wait! Sir!" Harry exclaimed, half taking a step forward in an attempt to chase after the hook-nosed teacher before he realised what he was doing. "I don't play quidditch! I don't even like quidditch!"
Professor Snape turned back to face Harry. "Well, I suppose you do now, don't you? I'll see to it that you'll receive a fitting broomstick." He said with a smirk. "Unless, you would rather have detentions for the rest of your schooling life for almost killing your classmate?"
Harry huffed. Now that he thought about it, it would be impossible to prove that he had the whole situation under control– his age hindering his story the most. As much as he hated admitting it, Snape was right.
Sensing that he'd won, the professor smirked and turned to Marcus. "Work with Potter today, but be back in your dorms before curfew." Then, he strode back to the school in an ostentatious sword of robes.
Prick.
"So, Harold... or Harry," Marcus started, "how good are you that Professor Snape didn't even take a 'no'?"
"Harry. I did a dive after a falling Remembrall."
"What sort of dive?"
"From around the top of the trees in the Forbidden Forest to... Less than a foot above the ground, I'm fairly certain." Harry answered.
Marcus let out a low whistle. "That's... What? 60 feet?"
Harry shrugged. "No idea. I'm bad at estimation."
The fifth year grinned. "Anyway, that's absolutely brilliant. You're just the right build for a seeker too– we'll just need to get you a good broom and we should flatten Gryffindor just like last year. Come on, follow me." Saying that Marcus, turned and started walking towards a small wooden building off to the side that Harry hadn't noticed before.
Sensing that it would be better to just observe rather than ask any more questions, Harry hurried after him.
"This is the broomshed." The older Slytherin explained as he opened the door and entered, Harry following. The air inside smelt of varnish mingled, though it was mingled with a fresh wooden scent that Harry didn't quite recognise. "We keep our broomsticks and quidditch things in here. It's always unlocked– the school brooms have special enchantments on them to stop them from going missing. You'll have to do the same for your own broom if you don't want it disappearing on you. We also have quidditch things in here, though the uniforms themselves are the player's responsibility."
Retrieving a wooden crate from a nearby shelf, Marcus handed it to Harry. "Make yourself useful and carry this." Saying that, he took his wand out and touched it to two newer-looking school broomsticks, seeming to unstick them from where they'd been placed.
They carried those things out onto the quidditch field and Marcus instructed Harry to drop them onto the grass.
"Alright," The fifth year said, "it's getting a bit late, and I have a Charms essay to start writing, so I'm just going to be seeing where you're at, skill-wise. You're going to join the regular practices after today, alright? Three times a week."
Looks like I don't really get too much of a choice. Though, I would have joined next year at any rate, with Draco. So, it isn't too bad.
Harry sighed and resigned himself to his fate. "Alright, Flint, though I reserve the right to freely miss practices as long as I catch the snitch at the end of matches."
Marcus smirked. "Of course. Do you know the positions and rules?"
The first year raised a sardonic eyebrow. "You're kidding, right? I read the handbook when I was five."
"Humour me." Marcus said with a laugh. "I need to confirm what you know and what you don't so we don't miss anything."
"Alright, that's fair. Four positions: one seeker, three chasers, one keeper, two beaters. Seeker catches the snitch, earns 150 points for whatever team they're on. The chasers pass the quaffle between them towards the three goals, which the keeper guards." A chilly breeze blew through the pitch and Harry shivered. "If they score, it's 10 points each– the keeper's supposed to stop them from doing so. The beaters hit the two bludgers towards the opposing team, with the sole purpose of quite literally knocking them off their game. There are over 700 ways to commit a quidditch foul, all of which were committed during the 1473 Quidditch World Cup. Correct?"
The Slytherin quidditch captain looked impressed as he nodded. Harry, although shivering from the chill of the night air, grinned smugly.
"Decent." The stocky fifth year admitted, not looking bothered by the cold in the slightest. "Now, mount your broom– I'll let loose a couple of snitches to see how many you can catch, alright?" Saying that, he tossed a broom in Harry's direction.
Harry almost didn't managed to catch it, both because he wasn't expecting the throw and also because it was thrown quite hard. The first year's first instinct when faced with an object hurtling rapidly towards himself had been to throw up his arms to protect his face, which lead to quite a lot of his air being knocked out of his small frame as the handle collided harshly with his unprotected stomach. He staggered back a step, narrowly avoiding the embarrassment of falling over, and the broom fell onto the ground bereft of a hand to catch it. Harry glared at Marcus as he lightly rubbed at his stomach where the broom had hit and then winced when he came to a particularly painful spot near his ribs that throbbed at his touch. A stripe of pulsing pain stretched across his belly. There'd probably be a painful-looking purple-blue bruise the next day.
Flint at least had the presence of mind to look apologetic. "Are you ok?"
Harry gingerly straightened up and, when he wasn't immediately assaulted with a barrage of pain, he arched his back in a careful, cat-like stretch and concluded that, yes, he could live without going to the Hospital Wing, though it was probably better to stop by there to get a salve for the bruising.
"You don't know your own strength. Of course I'm not alright, I've just had a broom smack me across my stomach." Harry grumbled as he stretched his arm up over his fallen broomstick. "Up."
When the worn handle of the broomstick jumped into his hand like before, he straddled the handle whilst adjusting his handgrip, wincing slightly as the bruised stripe across his stomach throbbed in protest. Seeing the Slytherin captain's concerned expression, Harry huffed. "I'll live. Now, I'd like to get to my dorm before midnight, so could we hurry this up?"
Marcus shrugged, still looking concerned. "Alright, whatever you say."
They practiced, beginning with three snitches and gradually adding to that number when Harry caught them until the first year had to search for a dozen snitches at once. As soon as he'd started chasing after one dim glint of gold, Harry's eyes would land on another, which lead to a lot of sharp turns and steep dives as he twisted his broom in a multitude of directions trying to catch the multitude of fluttering shapes. The moon gradually rose higher and higher as the first year rolled and curved, dancing an intricate dance across the skies, and its silvery light shone a delicate beam onto the slightly damp surface of the grass and the two figures standing on it.
Then, at last, after both of them had yawned more than their two hands could count, Harry caught the last snitch that had been let loose and they unanimously decided to call it a day and go back to their dorms. Though his fingers were white from clutching the broom handle and icy from the winds and cold, Harry's cheeks were warm. Warm enough that they felt like they were radiating heat into the chill of the night winds. To Harry, It felt that if he were to look into the mirror, his face would be the same colour as the red on the Gryffindor banners that hung in the Great Hall, flushed with happiness, and that his eyes would be bright with the boundless energy that seemed to lie within every child.
The two Slytherins grinned together, their prior emotional inhibitions lost with the discovery of a shared interest. Harry clutched his borrowed broomstick to his side, breathing deeply from exertion. His muscles ached, and the first year was sure that the next day would bring more pain with every move he made but, right that moment, it was a pleasant and satisfying ache that brought warmth to each tired step he took.
"Pass the broom." Marcus said with a smile, gathering up the quidditch paraphernalia that lay scattered around the field.. "I'll put these away. Get going back to your dorm, and don't let Filch catch you."
The green-eyed boy threw the broomstick to Marcus before the older Slytherin could change his mind. "Thanks! And, goodnight!" Harry called as he started a slow walk back to the main entrance, muscles weakly protesting all the while.
Six wrong turns later (Merlin, how on earth did he keep forgetting the way?!), Harry staggered into the Slytherin common room. The adrenalin from flying was wearing off a whole lot faster than he'd have hoped, and the weak protests from his muscles had turned into full-on screaming somewhere between the third and forth time he'd gotten lost. Ignoring the bemused glance from the solitary boy still awake and scribbling at his piece of parchment, Harry limped to his dorm, not sure which leg to favour since they seemed equally sore.
"Greetingssssssss." Eris hissed as soon the Parselmouth opened the door.
"Hello, Princesssss." Harry smiled with a small wave of his hand, wincing slightly when even that tiny action caused the muscles in his upper arm to strain painfully.
Draco was lying propped up against a mountain of green and silver cushions on his bed, engrossed with the book he was reading. At second glance, Harry chuckled when he realised that his own bed looked suspiciously bare of pillows, the fluffy mounds having been absorbed into Draco's giant mountainous monstrosity.
"You'll have to give them back, Blondie." Harry greeted with a tired smile.
Draco looked up lazily. "Your pillows are mine now, Little Snake. You forfeited your rights to them when you made me stay up to wait for you."
Draco waited for me.
A warm feeling settled somewhere in the middle of Harry's ribcage at the realisation.
"I'm going to go shower now, though I expect them to be back on my bed when I get back." Harry threatened half-heatedly, limping over to his trunk to snag a towel and a change of clothes before awkwardly hobbling to the bathrooms.
There were a few more pillows than Harry remembered there being on his bed when he made his way back to the dorm surrounded by a halo of residual heat from his hot shower. Though, the majority of them still remained behind Draco's back. Harry shrugged inwardly. He could sleep with just one large pillow– Alex used to have a habit of stealing his anyway, so he'd learnt to cope with only one. 'Sides, he could summon a house elf and request one, though Harry thought that he'd feel guilty in the morning about disturbing the poor creature that late at night if he did.
The first year shuffled towards his bed and toed off his slippers. With a low groan, Harry flopped belly-first into his duvet and made a louder, more pained sound when that action strained yet more of his tired muscles.
Tomorrow's going to be an absolute joy, I can already tell.
Harry thought heard Draco laugh lowly, though that could also have been the sound of him turning another page in his book, or the soft sounds of Eris moving about in her vivarium. Really, all the sounds seemed to be mixing together now. How odd. When had he closed his eyes?
The beds at Hogwarts were so incredibly comfortable. The sheets were as soft as fur on Flopsy's underbelly and cool like a chilled drink in the middle of a summer heat wave.
Mm. Comfortable.
There was another sound. A soft chh as Draco turned another page of his book carefully, delicately. Harry wanted to yawn but, at the same time, it felt like that action would require too much effort on his part. Far too much effort.
Yes, just lying there doing absolutely nothing would be best. Harry felt like he could lie there forever, just listening to the small sounds of the going-ons in the room. It was a bit uncomfortable, lying on his stomach. The position made his cheek press uncomfortably against the duvet on the bed. Harry usually preferred to sleep on his side, though moving– even moving his head into a more comfortable position– felt like too much effort at that point, so he did absolutely nothing.
The last thing Harry remembered before the realm of sleep claimed him for its own was a soft, low sound from Draco's part of the room, though he was too tired to concentrate on the meaning or origin of the sounds, not even bothering to distinguish if they were words or not, just lying there and letting delicate tones itself wash over his ears as he fell deep into the world of dreams.
Draco glanced away from where his dorm mate had fallen asleep without even making any movement to cover himself with the duvet.
Harry was evidently tired. Any fool could tell that. So, interrogations as to what had occurred would have to wait until breakfast. It was only logical.
Though, as it stood, Harry was likely to catch a cold before then. The recent bout of cold weather had permeated the normally warm Slytherin dorms and the air now had a distinct chill that it hadn't had two nights ago.
Draco huffed. It would be useless to try extract the duvet from unded Harry. Though the other first year was positively tiny, He was still heavier than what Draco had the strength to lift at that time of night.
After a few seconds of debating with himself, the blond sighed and slid out from under his duvet, padding softly on bare feet towards his trunk at the end of his own bed. Inside, he hauled out one of the enormous blankets that his parents had packed, for "just in case" and staggered over towards Harry's bed with the massive bundle of cloth in his arms almost completely blocking his vision.
When he got there, he dumped it unceremoniously over the sleeping figure. Apart from a slight mumble, Harry didn't make any other sound, and didn't even move. Draco messily spread the blanket over the dark-haired figure, forcefully tucking in areas that looked like they needed it.
Just as he finished, Harry shifted and made a small mewing sound as he buried his face in the new, warm blanket, the very picture of contentment.
Draco smiled. It was a soft smile, one that barely stretched the corners of his lips. Even to a seasoned politician skilled at interpreting body language, it would have been easy to miss due to the fact that it was so slight. Though, it was there.
"Goodnight, Harry."
A/N: I'm still alive! Schoolwork's just been extremely hectic, but everything should calm down after a couple more weeks of term (I really really hope). I go to a private school (though I'm not by any means wealthy), and the work they give us is absolutely lethal. I'm uploading an extra-long chapter as an apology, this is actually more than 1000 words longer than the Diagon Alley chapter, my longest prior to this. (This chapter's about 9000 words, if anyone's curious.)
Good news: there's a reason for Alex's personality changing this quickly, though I'm going to point out that he wasn't as close to Harry as Harry was to him. (Didn't stick with Harry during the Ministry Parties, didn't get him a birthday present, left Harry at the emporium when Alex had finished choosing his owl, left Harry alone as soon as another potential friend– weasel– arrived, etc.) This story's written from Harry's perspective, and he's honestly a little blind when it comes to how his little brother's been treating him all these years. *Sigh* Poor little Precious. (I actually planned this.) (I promise)
Thank you all so much for all the support, even though I hadn't uploaded in so long. This fic is currently at 160 follows and 84 favourites– and the numbers constantly rise. You're all my inspiration and my reason for writing, every single one of you. Thank you.
As always, I've included a few questions for your consideration. And, I say again that they're not mandatory, though they help me tailor the story to better suit the readers.
1) Any suggestions for more antagonists or female antagonists? Jo used Pansy in the books but... Well... That isn't exactly possible in this situation.
2) Hate nicknames! For Harry, Draco, Pansy, Zach, Ron, and Alex. (Like how Draco called Harry "scarhead" in the books, but Alex has the scar in this fic)
3) Anything you particularly want to see happen? Or, anything you want to see more of?