– CHAPTER TWENTY –
The More Things Change...
Harry was still waiting to hear from the Weasley twins about contacting Charlie to remove Hagrid's baby dragon. It had been a week since the letter was sent, and Harry knew the egg would be hatching soon.
This time, however, he had absolutely no desire to go wandering in the Forbidden Forest to chase dead unicorns. There were more dangerous things he could be doing with his time, like re-arranging his sock drawer.
He spent the next week hanging out with both Padma and Susan; it was weird, he'd spent seven years as Parvati's year-mate, but he knew already knew more about Padma from just his recent short contact. Susan was difficult at first, as she had an armour-plating of shyness around her, which took some serious effort to breaking. However, once he'd managed to crack through, he found her to have a base sense of humour and an evil laugh, a result from living with the head of the DMLE. This sense of humour managed to intimidate Neville a little, as he appeared to be nervous, and unsure as to whether he was allowed to laugh, whenever he was in the same class as the others. Seems like being apart from the Weasel has sapped what self-confidence he had. Harry decided that he'd try and build that up.
Harry was enjoying lunch in the Great Hall, with Padma on his left, Hermione on his right, and Neville sat in front of him at the Gryffindor table. They were talking about the differences between Arithmancy and Mathematics; well, Hermione and Padma were talking about that, Neville was ducking sprouts being thrown at him by Ron and Harry has using his wand to fire them back, considerably harder. Ron and Seamus, both covered in tattered shreds of green vegetable, looked deeply offended when Harry pointed out that, with the green on their robes, they looked almost Slytherin.
"Slytherin?" The redhead sputtered. "I can't be a Slytherin, I'm good!"
"God, you annoy the life out of me, Weasley!" Harry snapped suddenly. "You told me that all Slytherin's are evil, slimy and can't be trusted. Why, 'cause they're prejudiced?"
Ron nodded. "That's exactly right! They're evil!"
Harry laughed sardonically. "Don't you get it? You're prejudiced against them!"
"What? I'm not prejudiced! I just hate Slytherins!"
Absolutely thicker than a brick sandwich. Hermione chuckled to herself. He makes two short planks look like a computer.
"I don't hate Slytherins." Harry said firmly, gathering the attention of practically everyone in the hall. "The be frank, my only prejudice is prejudiced people. People who think that First-generation witches and wizards shouldn't be allowed to study magic? Don't like them. People who use the word..." Harry paused for a moment, collecting himself, "'Mudblood', they should all get a hard kick in the butt. People who think they're better than others, simply because of bloodlines? Don't like them."
"You're describing Slytherins!" Ron crowed, convinced that his argument had just been won.
"I haven't finished." Harry said sharply. "You are labelling everyone in Slytherin as dark and evil. Are they?" Harry turned to the Slytherin table. "Are you all dark and evil?"
Nobody uttered a syllable.
"My dislikes are individualised. I don't like Malfoy, 'cause he's an arrogant, bigoted git. It has nothing to do with the fact he's a Slytherin. It's just his... personality." Harry suppressed a snigger, before turning to face Ron. "Stick him in Ravenclaw, I still wouldn't like him. I don't like you, 'cause you're an arrogant, bigoted git." He suddenly clicked his fingers together. "You know, apart from hair colour, you two are very similar."
Hermione, Susan, Neville and Padma started giggling.
"What?" Malfoy shouted. "I'm nothing like him! He's poor!"
"I'm nothing like him!" Ron shouted at the same time. "He's evil!"
"He's eleven!" Harry retorted. "What's he gonna do? Crucio me?"
"Probably." Ron replied.
"Well, if I turn up to breakfast suffering from the Cruciatus, then we'll agree that he's evil. If I'm okay, then I think we can give him the benefit of the doubt. Now, sit down, idiot!" Harry sneered softly. "You know, it's better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to open your mouth and actually prove it." Harry turned back to his table, suddenly aware that every eye in the Great Hall was firmly fixed on him. "Sorry." He muttered, before sitting down.
"Mr. Potter." Dumbledore's sharp voice filled the hall. "Please continue. Your point of view, that of a Muggleborn student with less than a year's experience of the Wizarding world, is refreshing. I would like to hear more."
Harry leaned in close to Hermione. "He wants me to get on my soapbox?" He stood up. "What would you like to know, sir?"
"Your opinions on the Wizarding world in general, Mr. Potter." Dumbledore said, leaning back in his golden throne.
Harry took a moment to collect his thoughts. Okay, a chance for a good rant. God, I love it! He looked around the Great Hall, noticing everyone staring at him. He started to make his way to the stage, intent on stopping just in front of it.
"One of the very first things I heard when I entered the Wizarding world is that there are evil witches and wizards. And that there wasn't a witch or wizard who'd gone bad that wasn't from Slytherin."
As expected, there was a cry of protest from the Slytherin table. Harry just raised a hand. "Let me carry on, please." He said in a firm voice, which was instantly obeyed.
"Now, personally, I don't see how that's possible. Why would an ancient artefact like the Sorting Hat build a house of evil? That doesn't make any sense. So, while I was in Diagon Alley, I looked up the four founders. Slytherin wasn't evil."
"Yes, he was!" A voice shouted from the Gryffindor table. Harry instantly knew who it was.
"Shut up, Weasley!" Harry shouted back, not even bothering to look. "If he was evil, why would he help three good witches and wizards set up a school? That's not typically the work of an evil genius. Why would three good witches and wizards spend time with an evil wizard?
"So, I looked him up. Slytherin didn't believe that Muggleborns shouldn't be taught magic. What he believed was that the separation between the magical and Muggle worlds should be absolute."
Dumbledore coughed slightly. Harry turned to look at him. "Sir?"
"No, please, carry on." Dumbledore said quickly. "This is fascinating. Although, I wouldn't mind looking at some of these books myself."
Harry nodded, then turned back to the students. "There are about four hundred students in this school at the moment. Probably a hundred to a hundred and fifty are Muggleborns." Harry glanced at Dumbledore, who nodded.
"One hundred and twenty-three." He said quietly.
"One hundred and twenty-three." Harry repeated, turning back to the audience. "That means that there are 246 Muggles who know about the magical world. That doesn't include siblings or grandparents. Then, there are the half-blooded students, who again have Muggle relatives who know about Hogwarts. If any of those people went to the papers and told them about the magical world, the Statute of Secrecy would be absolutely wiped out. They'd be no way to Obliviate everyone. The whole Muggle world would know about us, but they wouldn't understand us. Their lack of understanding would lead to fear, and that fear would fuel violence against us. We're outnumbered 2000-1. We'd be slaughtered, man, woman and child, before we could even think about hiding or fighting.
"Now, Slytherin didn't hate Muggles, he just knew that they spent an inordinate amount of time coming up with increasingly painful ways of killing wizards. That's what Slytherin feared. He believed that Muggleborn students should be taken away from their families so that the magical world remains secret." Harry cleared his throat, wishing desperately for a glass of water. A House-Elf popped in front of him with a glass, then vanished again.
"I can understand Slytherin's point. Personally, I don't agree with it, but I can understand it." He took a long swig of water. "One thing Slytherin prized above everything else was cunning. He was ambitious and cunning. Those are the traits of Slytherin house. Not evil."
"You're wrong!" Weasley shouted. Harry ignored him.
"During my reading, and keeping in mind that 'all dark witches and wizards are evil', I looked up some of the worst criminals in the last fifty years. I found the worst four. Lord Voldemort," pause for flinching, "was a Slytherin."
"Hah! I told you!" Weasley shouted. Fred and George, growing seriously annoyed with their brother, cast a Silencio on him.
"Thanks, guys." Harry said, grinning at the twins. "Bellatrix LeStrange," Harry noticed Neville stiffen slightly, "was a Ravenclaw. She was Voldemort's chief enforcer. She came from the home of the intelligent, yet followed Voldemort." Harry took another drink. "Bartemus Crouch Junior, another high-ranking Death Eater, came from Hufflepuff house. And finally, Sirius Black, the traitor to the Potter family, came from Gryffindor." I hope you never hear this speech, Padfoot. Harry thought wistfully.
"So, if all evil witches and wizards came from Slytherin, what happened with those three? Can anyone tell me? No, of course you can't. Slytherin prizes ambition; Voldemort's ambitious. Ravenclaw prizes intelligence; LeStrange used her intellect to decide that she believed in Voldemort's cause. Hufflepuff prizes loyalty: Crouch was loyal to Voldemort, even going to his death in Azkaban, never wavering in his support for his Lord. Gryffindor prizes courage; Black sold out my parents to Voldemort, even though everybody knows he was the Secret-Keeper." Harry decided to personalise things a little. He stepped towards the Slytherin table. "Mr. Flint. Marcus. May I call you Marcus? Let me ask you a couple of questions."
The burly sixth-year looked a little nervous at being in the spotlight, but nodded.
"What do you plan to do when you leave Hogwarts, Mr. Flint?" Harry asked politely.
Flint looked thoughtful for a moment. Either that, or he's constipated. Harry thought softly. Flint cleared his throat. "I wanna play Quidditch."
"Quidditch?" Harry asked, sounding politely confused. "But, you're a Slytherin. Shouldn't you be planning murders? After all, as a Slytherin, you're automatically evil."
Flint looked confused. It reminded Harry of watching a rusty tractor trying to plough a concrete field.
"Don't worry. Which Quidditch team would you like to play for?"
Flint grinned. "Appleby Arrows."
"Are they any good?" Harry asked. "I don't really follow professional Quidditch."
Looking a little wistful, Flint replied. "They used to be top of the league. Slipped to midway down the table."
Harry nodded. "I assume that you'd like to play for them, and get them back to the top of the table?"
Flint nodded, grinning.
"But... you can't do that. It's not evil enough. And as a Slytherin, you simply must be evil. Perhaps you should plot eliminating the other teams' players." Harry turned away, not giving the confused Flint a chance to answer, before heading back to the centre of the room. "So, it doesn't sound to me like he's evil. It sounds like he's ambitious.
"Percy Weasley." Harry stood in front of the Gryffindor table. "What do you want to do when you leave Hogwarts?"
Percy stood up, pompously puffing out his chest. "I want to work at the Ministry."
Harry nodded, inwardly rolling his eyes. "I see. You're currently a prefect, so I assume you'd like an important position. Possibly even being the Minister of Magic someday?" Percy nodded once, looking a little wistful himself.
"So, you're also ambitious. You and Mr. Flint both want to become the best in your chosen fields. Yet Mr. Flint will have a harder task, simply because he's a Slytherin."
Harry leaned against the stage. "Personally, I kinda like the idea of becoming a spell creator. Maybe invent a shield that can block the unforgivable curses. And that's an ambitious project in itself." He pointed to Flint, Percy and himself. "All three of us have ambitious goals.
"However, one of my main complaints about the Wizarding world is the issue of blood."
Malfoy stood up. "There's nothing wrong with being a pureblood!" He snapped.
"I never said there was, Malfoy. But, there're things you need to consider."
Malfoy scoffed, before glaring at Harry. "And what's that, oh great Potter?"
Ignoring the Malfoy scion's silly tone, Harry carried on. "If you keep following the pureblood traditions, you'll find inbreeding starts to occur. There's not many so-called 'pureblood' families left. Also, look at the number of children that are being born. Malfoy's an only child. Pansy is an only child. The Patils are twins, but they have no brothers and sisters. One of the few exceptions of this are the Weasleys, with seven children. The number of purebloods is decreasing. At the moment, it's necessary to start marrying second- and third-cousins. Soon, it'll be first-cousins, then brothers and sisters.
"Without an infusion of fresh blood, through the Muggleborn witches and wizards, the pureblood families will simply be gone within the next two centuries. Bearing in mind the life-span of witches and wizards, I believe that some of us will even see it.
"Your blood doesn't matter. The only thing blood has to do with anything is keeping you alive. It doesn't matter if you're a thirtieth-generation pureblood, or a first-generation. We are all magical beings, and that is all that should matter."
Harry started to stride back to his seat. "Here endeth the lesson." He sat next to Hermione, who was smiling warmly at him, before grabbing a sandwich.
Dumbledore stood up, gaining the attention of everyone in the hall. Slowly, he began to clap, quickly followed by the rest of the faculty. Even Snape. Soon, all the students were clapping, except for Malfoy and Ron Weasley. Harry ducked down in his seat, blushing a bright red.
"You did very well." Hermione whispered, rubbing his back slightly.
The following morning, Harry was sat at the Ravenclaw table, waiting for Hermione and Padma to join him. A very soft cough next to him brought Harry's attention to Susan Bones. "May I join you?" She asked shyly.
Harry nodded, gesturing to the bench next to him. Susan tentatively sat down. Next to her, Tonks practically threw herself onto the bench, nearly spilling everyone currently sitting to the floor.
"Wotcher, Harry." She said, reaching for a bowl of cereal.
"Morning, Tonks. Would you care to join us for breakfast?" Harry asked sarcastically.
Tonks blushed slightly, looking at him with a sheepish grin. "Wouldn't mind."
Hermione and Padma approached, Padma taking her usual place across the table, while Hermione sat next to him. "Good morning, Hermione!" Harry said joyously. "May I say you look lovely this morning?"
Hermione blushed. "You may, Mr. Potter." She said pompously.
Padma, Susan and Tonks exchanged a quick glance. While on Valentine's Day, Harry had said he wasn't looking for marriage at the moment, it was clear to all three of them that when he was looking, Hermione would be on the very top of a very short list. All three stifled giggles, which Harry, completely oblivious to any female except Hermione, didn't notice.
Another throat-clearing grasped Harry's attention. He saw Neville Longbottom, blushing slightly.
"Longbottom." Harry said neutrally. "Something I can do for you?"
Neville just coughed slightly. "I was wondering if I might join you, Mr. Potter."
"Are you here on arse Weasley's orders, Longbottom?" Harry asked casually, ignoring Padma's (very ladylike) snort at the name given to Ron.
"No." Neville said, blushing even more. "I had to listen to his rant last night about how you were trying to corrupt everyone. Said Slytherin's are evil."
"Oh, we are." Another voice said from behind Padma. Harry glanced up to see Blaise Zabini stood there, his hands held casually behind his back.
"Zambini, right?" Harry asked. He quickly turned to Neville. "Sit down, man. You're making the place look untidy."
Neville sat next to Tonks, blushing at the beautiful Metamorph. Harry stared at Blaise.
"That's 'Zabini', Mr. Potter." He gestured to the bench next to Padma. "May I join you?"
Harry looked at Padma, who gave him a quick nod, before blushing slightly. Harry gave a slight wave, before Blaise sat down.
"So... you gonna try and turn us evil?" Harry asked, reaching for a platter of bacon.
Blaise arched an eyebrow, maintaining an expressionless face. "Yes. Is that a problem?"
Harry shrugged. "No, not really. Live fast, die young, and leave a beautiful corpse. All good with me." He stared at Blaise, admiring the way Blaise didn't squirm like most people. "Any reason you chose today to sit with us?"
"Yes." Blaise replied.
God, he's like Spock. Couldn't ask for a more emotionless person if you tried. "Do you feel like sharing the reason with us, or just letting us bask in your presence."
Blaise looked thoughtful for a moment. "I'll allow you to bask. It's good for the skin."
Hermione snorted, giggling at Blaise's deadpan air.
"I like you." Harry said, grinning at the Slytherin. "Come the revolution, I'll deal with you last. So, I imagine I annoyed a lot of the Slytherins yesterday."
"You did."
"Was Malfoy crying and whinging like a little bitch?" Harry asked, looking like a child who'd just found out Christmas was to become a daily event. "Was he ranting to everyone about how disrespectful I am to purebloods?"
"He was." Blaise said. "He said that your comments were an insults to all purebloods, and that you should be put down like the little half-blooded mongrel that you are." Again, all this was said in a deadpan voice.
"Ah, I'm just devastated." Harry replied, still grinning. He looked at Padma. "What about you, Pad'? Were you insulted by my comments? After all, if I'm insulting purebloods, might as well try and collect the full set."
"I cried all night." Padma intoned, looking serious. "I felt absolutely violated, you evil little beast." She couldn't maintain the expression, and started giggling.
Hermione glanced over at the doors, groaning slightly, before tapping Harry on his arm. "Incoming."
Harry looked up to see a pair of grinning red-haired maniacs rushing towards him. He moaned, before letting his head drop onto the table. "Should have just stayed in bed." He muttered.
"Ah, little Harrikins!" The twins said in unison, slumping onto the bench next to Hermione, winking at her. "We have news!"
Harry looked up, a look of genuine horror on his face. "And what news do you bring, Hell's Carrots?"
Fred reaching into his pocket, pulling out a slightly burnt piece of parchment. "We have a letter from Charlie."
Tonks perked up. "Charlie? Your brother?"
George looked at her for a moment, eyeing her up and down. "Yes. You know Charlie?"
Tonks nodded quickly. "Yep. He was a couple of years ahead of me. Nice guy." She sighed, her face and hair turning red.
Fred and George sniggered, before turning serious. "You should read this, Harry."
Harry took the note, quickly assimilating the information. He turned to the group of individuals, before passing the note to Hermione. She read it, and quickly looked up, nodding at Harry once she'd guessed his intentions.
"So... who here feels like getting into some real trouble?"
The removal of Norbert from Hogwarts went smoothly, all thanks to Hermione's tremendous planning. She'd listed all the things that could possibly go wrong, 151 items... damn, that girl was smart! And thought up enough plans to counteract every single one.
At the end of the planning session, Harry could feel himself going cross-eyed. It was certainly a better plan than 'let's just hike the damned box to the top of the Astronomy Tower'. So, it had all gone swimmingly.
Of course, Harry spent another week consoling a bawling Hagrid. It turned out Hagrid was not the best drunk in the world. Since losing his 'baby', he had to be constantly reassured that yes, he had friends who cared about him, and no, he wasn't a monster for getting rid of said 'baby'.
"Hey, Hermione." Harry said as he entered the Ravenclaw common room. She was sitting on the love seat in front of the fire, the light from the flames making her look like her head was surrounded by chocolate flames.
"Hi." Hermione responded absently, reading through a book with far too many pages.
"What'cha reading?" He asked, slumping next to her.
Hermione tilted the book slightly, so she could carry on reading while Harry read the title. "Alchemy: The Truth." Harry snorted. "Party on."
"I'm trying to find out more information about that stone." Hermione replied, glaring lightly at Harry. "I still can't figure out why Professor Dumbledore brought it to Hogwarts. I thought if we found out more about it, we'd have some clue."
We've discussed this. Harry thought absently. "It's too much of a coincidence that it's here, now. I don't trust coincidences."
Hermione nodded. "We could go and ask him." She offered.
"Oh, I could see it now." Harry snorted. "'Headmaster, why have you brought the Philosopher's Stone, a highly-powerful and dangerous magical artefact, into a school full of nosy children the same year that Harry Potter starts here?' Yeah, that'd go down well."
Hermione giggled. "Maybe... maybe a little more tact would work on that plan."
"Tact?" Harry managed to look and sound offended. "I'll have you know, Miss Granger, I'm full of tact and diplomacy."
"Only 'cause you never use it." Hermione retorted, wriggling away as Harry's hands went to her sides.
After the fight, which Harry won due to Hermione's unconditional surrender at Harry's far-too-talented fingers, she'd put the book away, and pulled out some homework. After an hour, she noticed Harry's occasional-but-speeding-up sighs.
"Harry, you okay?"
"Honestly? I'm bored."
Hermione wrinkled her nose cutely. "That's nice." She wrote another sentence on her essay, already on her third roll of parchment (for a 12 inch Potions essay; Snape was not going to be happy).
"I mean, I've done my homework. I've had a brief but silly fight with a Snap-Dragon in the greenhouse to decide who gets to keep my tie. There's no Quidditch practice for the next four days. I've not seen any books in the library that make me tingle." He leaned back on the couch, and closed his eyes. "So, yeah, I'm bored."
"I'm glad you're working hard."
"You aren't listening to a word I say, are you?"
"Moonstone, ground finely."
"Did I mention that my nose is on fire? And I have fifteen wild nifflers down my trousers?"
Hermione bit the end of her quill, then carried on writing. "Swish and flick."
"They're drawing obscene caricatures on my inner thigh. You feature heavily in them. Which is interesting, because I'm not sure the human spine can flex like that."
"Win-gar-dium, make the 'gar' nice and long."
"I've decided that, once you hit 16, I'm going to tattoo 'Property of Harry Potter' on your right buttock."
"Check Hogwarts: A History, I'm sure it's in there."
Harry rolled his eyes, and crossed his legs, one resting on his knee. He started rolling the top of his sock up and down, forming a ring around his leg. A sudden itch on the underside of his foot made him glance around quickly before pulling his shoe and sock off, scratching the itch. Looking down, he saw his abandoned sock in a ball on the floor, rolled up firmly and compactly.
Philosophically, a thought is said to be a pattern matching exercise, trying to match current events to previous experiences. Biologically, a thought is a chemical process inside the frontal lobe of the cerebral cortex. In terms of Hogwarts, though, Harry had just had a testicle-pinger of an idea; a new sport that would shake the foundations of the Wizarding World for centuries to come; Sock Quidditch.
"Hermione, if you need me, I'll be in the library. If you don't need me? Probably still be in the library." Realising that the dramatic phrasing had wheedled down to a whine, Harry shrugged, and disappeared. Hermione, finished with her paragraph, looked up, noticing the empty chair next to her.
"Harry?"
After an hour in the library with 'Quidditch through the Ages', a quill, parchment and Pince with a weird look on her face, Harry was ambling down the fifth floor corridor, just past the Charms classroom, where the twins had commandeered a collapsed tunnel as their own personal common room.
"Gentlemen, and I use that term very loosely, are you in there?"
"Ickle Harrikins!"
"What can we do for you?"
Harry wandered down the darkened passage, and sat down in front of the twins, who appeared to be messing around with a tube and a pile of grey powder.
"I need help, boys. Weasley help."
"No worries, Harry-"
"-How can we help?"
"I need you to have a word with your Quidditch team. I've got a suggestion, and I get a feeling that Ollie isn't going to listen to me, especially if he hears 'Harry wants to suggest something to you'. How long did it take for him to come out of the locker room after our game?"
"About an hour. He seemed kinda nervous, and unhappy about sitting on his broom."
"How curious..." Harry cleared his throat. "Anyway, I've had an idea, and I'd like the opinion of Hogwarts' premier mad scientists and miscreants to help me out."
"We're in!"
"Er, guys, you don't even know what I'm asking."
"True. Still, we're in."
Harry smiled as he held up his parchment, and pointed out what he'd written. "What do you think about this?"
Harry had one more thing he had to do before his plans came to fruition. Even though he'd decided to not rescue Sirius yet, he'd still make sure that the man had adequate resources while he was locked into Azkaban. As such, he'd been down to the kitchens, got a basket full of food, and snuck away to Hogsmeade to pick up a small parcel.
Back in his dorm, he wrote a note, before pulling out a pebble he'd picked up on the walk back. With a moment of concentration, he tapped his wand, "Portus", and dropped it onto the back.
"Activate!" With the command, the basket vanished into a trail of light. "Hang in there, Sirius." He said softly. "We'll get things sorted soon."
In the retirement home for the criminally insane, a large black dog was sitting on his haunches, licking something he couldn't reach when human. (A/N: Come on... we all know Sirius would do that.) He heard a spinning sound, and had to stamp down the urge to bark loudly. No point in hiding as an Animagus if I'm gonna let the bloody Dementors know about it. He thought idly, as a picnic basket materialised in his cell. Without thinking, he changed back to Sirius, plucking the note off the top.
Dear Padfoot,
Happy Birthday! I know I said that things were going to get better. He's a start for you. Enclosed in this package are some new clothes, some good food, and even a small birthday cake.
I trust that you listened to my last note. Sirius will be getting too weak to last. Padfoot needs to take control.
By the way, I'm having problems with my crossword. Can you help?
Stripeclaw
Sirius opened the parcel, ignoring the new clothes, heading straight for the cake. Chocolate! He bit down, feeling the chocolatey goodness melt on his tongue. It's still warm... my god! It took seconds for the cake to be demolished, before he started on the rest. After he was finished, he looked up out of his window, seeing the Dog Star shining brightly. Thank you, Stripeclaw. I hope someday I can repay you for this.
"Good evening, Ladies and Gentlemen!" Lee Jordan sat at a small table, a piece of parchment in front of him. "Welcome to the exhibition game of Sock Quidditch, created by Harry Potter of Ravenclaw. A brief description of our new sport, before I announce tonight's game.
"There are six Quidditch games played per season here at Hogwarts, each House playing three games, and the winner of the Cup is decided purely on points scored. The average game lasts 73 minutes, and the average winning score is 230 points. House Quidditch players have an average school career of 4 years, and roughly 6 players go from each graduating year in to professional Quidditch." He put the parchment down, and looked at the assembled audience of about 100 people, a collection of Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor. "However, for hardcore Quidditch fans, 6 games a season isn't enough, so we need more.
"Now, let me explain the differences between the two sports. In Sock Quidditch... Oh, and to Harry, I'm sorry, but I'm going to end up calling it Squidditch." Everyone suddenly swallowed a laugh as a high-speed black sock ball hit Lee directly in the face. "Anyway, Sock Quidditch," he pronounced the words clearly, "features the same team structure; 3 Chasers, 2 Beaters, 1 Keeper and 1 Seeker. The Quaffle is used to score goals, each goal being worth 1 point. There is only a single goal, which is a one-metre square, and Chasers aren't allowed in that coloured semi-circle in front of the goal. The Beaters don't use bats but tubes, which attract the two Bludgers, and then fire them out; if the Beater hits the Chaser, they'll have to drop the Quaffle, and will not be able to pick it up again until somebody else has touched it. The game is played on foot, and, in case any Slytherins have managed to sneak in here on the sly, this is a non-contact sport. The game plays until the snitch is tagged. The seekers for the team have to hit the snitch with a colour-change spell, the colour indicating which side has won. No wands are permitted in the game, except for the seekers, who are using special wands that can only fire colour-change spells."
Lee looked at his parchment, then smiled. "Sounds confusing, folks, but trust me when I say, watch the game, and then you'll understand. Tonight's game is an exhibition game, and a grudge match between the Captains. Firstly, the Lion's Pride: Captain and Keeper Oliver Wood! Chasers Katie Bell, Alicia Spinnet and Angelina Johnson! Beaters Fred and George Weasley! And Seeker, Cormac McLaggen!" The Gryffindor Quidditch team came out of the crowd, and formed up around Oliver, all dressed in red t-shirts. "And their opponents, Potter's Secret Seven!" Jordan flinched as another sock hit him in the face. "Damn it, Harry!" He shook his head. "Sorry, their opponents, Norfolk Enchants: Captain and Seeker Harry Potter! Chasers Padma Patil, Susan Bones and Neville Longbottom! Beaters Hermione Granger and Nym-" A sudden growl echoed across the pitch. "Beaters Hermione Granger and Tonks! And Keeper Blaise Zabini!" The six first years trooped out with Tonks, who, at her disguised 5'2", was about the same size, all dressed in white t-shirts, ready to face their older, faster and considerably stronger competitors.
"Granger? You've got the buck-tooth bookworm on a Quidditch team?" Ron Weasley elbowed his way to the front of the crowd. "And a Slytherin?"
Harry was about to launch in to a tirade about Ron's prejudice, his rampant stupidity, his disgusting eating habits and anything else he could think of (and, to be honest, there was plenty), when all four Beaters raised their tubes and shots practice Bludgers at Ron, the Weasley boys hitting him in the face, the girls hitting him a little lower down.
"Anyway, our referee for the evening is Professor Flitwick, who very kindly agreed to spend his time away from the seedy underworld of Hogwarts' staff gossip to assist Harry and Hermione with enchanting the equipment for this evening. On a technical note, the plan this evening was to use actual socks. Unfortunately, Professor Dumbledore objected to us using his Christmas presents for a sporting event, so we're using something called Squashed-" Frantic whispering was suddenly heard. "Sorry, Squash balls as Bludgers and the Snitch, and a red ball called a 'basketball' for the Quaffle. Now, ladies and gentlemen, will you all please stand for the Hogwarts school song!" Four Beater's tubes were suddenly pointed at Lee Jordan, who decided that cowardice was better than being hit in the face with a hard rubber ball or four. "Then again, we all know the school song. Places, please."
The two teams went to their ends, with Harry and Oliver meeting in the middle for the pre-game handshake. "Ready, Potter?"
"Oh, yeah." Harry held his hand out, and smiled as Wood gripped his hand hard. Harry, not to miss out on an opportunity to distract and irritate his opponent, rubbed his thumb over Oliver's knuckles, mumbling to himself. "Such lovely soft hands..."
Wood jerked his hand away and shuffled backwards towards his own goal, before one of the Weasleys approached him. Harry smiled as he overheard "...just trying to distract you. Focus, Ollie!"
The whistle blew, and suddenly the Quaffle bounced off the floor high in to the air, where Angelina, utilising her extra four inches of height, snatched it out of the air, throwing it in a long, loping pass to Katie, who started to run forward, the Quaffle tucked securely under her arm. A dead-eye shot from Hermione made her drop the ball, and she could only watch Padma, moving with the speed of a striking cobra, scooped up the loose ball, and started to run down the pitch, dribbling the ball, basketball style.
This was Norfolk Enchants' strategy; two Muggle-raised students who had both been forced to play basketball in junior school in PhysEd classes, and were used to using the ball like Michael Jordan. A bounce pass across to Susan, immediately bounced over to Neville, and Longbottom's head-down sprint towards the goal ended up with a powerful shot, that Wood just managed to stop.
Luckily for the Lion's Pride, Katie Bell was Muggleborn, and was able to appreciate how sneaky Harry was; if either of the Weasleys hit the Quaffle while it was being dribbled, it wouldn't count as a drop, but she had played both Basketball and Netball in school, and therefore stormed past Susan, taking the dribbled ball out of her hand, and passing it to Angelina, who tucked it under her arm, running forward, Alicia barely a meter behind her.
Tonks managed to clip the Quaffle with her Bludger, but Alicia scooped up the loose ball, launching a spear of a shot that sailed past Blaise.
"One-nil to the Lion's Pride!" Lee Jordan sounded jubilant that Gryffindor had taken an early lead, especially against a Ravenclaw captain and a Slytherin Keeper. "Zabini's beaten with a rocket shot from Spinnet."
Harry, standing next to Blaise, clapped him quickly on the shoulder. "Don't worry. Lucky shot."
"Easy to say when they've got Wood at their end."
"Let's see them do that again." He ran through the list of tactics he'd assembled with his team through their training sessions, and smiled to himself. "Pinball!"
Blaise nodded, and launched the ball towards Susan, who immediately shot it to Neville, who ran maybe two paces before firing it at Padma. The rapid fire passing meant that the three younger chasers didn't make much distance up the field, but it was difficult for the Lions' Chasers to get anywhere near the Quaffle. Harry saw his moment; his Chasers were ready, their Chasers were out of position, and both Hermione and Tonks had the Bludgers. "Break!"
His three Chasers shot forward, the lightening-fast running that 11 and 12-year-olds are capable of. Neville faked a shot, drawing Oliver out of position, and bounced it to Padma, who scored a gentle, underarm shot. She curtsied to Oliver, and then ran back, giggling.
"One-all, and a smooth move there by the Enchants. How will the Pride deal with this?"
"Time out!"
"Time out called by the Lion's Pride!" Flitwick blew his whistle while bouncing up and down, clearly having far too much fun for a school night.
Oliver was surrounded by his team-mates, who were already sweating, unused to the physical running that this version entailed. "Okay, ideas, anyone?"
George Weasley was leaning on his tube, looking pensive. "No. We can't use the Bludgers to distract them, and their passing is pretty accurate." He snorted. "They've not played real Quidditch, so they're able to adapt better."
"Okay. Angelina, take the ball. Run at them. Alicia, you'll be in front of her, screening her from view. Katie, you go behind, ready to scoop up the loose ball. Cormac, any sign of the snitch?"
McLaggen just shook his head. He was the least in shape of all the players, and was already panting, red in the face and looking hopeful that medical attention was lined up at the after-game party. Or, at least, a nice bottle of oxygen.
"Right then, let's show these kids some Gryffindor pride!"
The team broke, and Wood launched the ball straight to Angelina, and the three of them began a close-knit charge down the pitch.
Harry had expected this tactic, was one he had practiced himself, and had developed the perfect counter for.
"Claws! Punch and slide!"
Hermione nodded, scooping up a loose Bludger, firing it at the Quaffle. While the ball was dropping, Padma slid, feet first, underneath Angelina's arm, catching the Quaffle, before passing it to Susan, who, with Neville in support, was offered a free pitch, with only one Weasley guarding it. A quick pass to Neville, only a fraction of a second before the Bludger would've hit, left Neville one-on-one against Wood, who, this time, did not manage to make the save.
"Two-one to the Enchants, and it looks like Potter is more than able to match Wood, tactic for tactic. Come on, Gryffindor!" Lee Jordan looked puzzled for a moment, and then realised what was wrong; McGonagall wasn't berating him for showing favouritism. Cool!
The crowd, by the point, were starting to get more vocal, as they realised that, while it wasn't regular Quidditch, it was fast, it was fun, and it was something you could cheer about. Except for Ron, who looked outraged as this... Sacrilege!
"Puffs! Artillery!"
Susan was already charging down the pitch, behind Angelina, who looked baffled at the fact that she wasn't being closely marked. Tonks shot the first Bludger at Johnson, who dodged, straight in to the path of the second Bludger that Hermione had passed to Tonks. Susan scooped up the dropped ball and shot, which Wood caught. A long high pass, over the heads of everyone, landed the ball in Katie's waiting arms, and she shot, scoring passed a surprised Zabini.
"Two-all, a magnificent breakaway from the Lions, and now we're seeing some tactical acumen from both captains."
The sudden blast of a white spell distracted everyone for a moment as Harry was trying to nail the Snitch, which had finally come out of hiding. The Snitch, moving extremely quickly, dodged the spell, and then vanished up towards the ceiling. In the momentary distract, Angelina managed to intercept a pass, and scored against Blaise, leaving them 3-2 in front. The game progressed for another ten minutes, leaving the score at 6-3 for the Lion's Pride, with another impromptu session of both Seekers taking pot-shots at the Snitch.
"Time out!"
Flitwick blew his whistle. "Time out for the Enchants."
"You know, I helped with the charming of that damn thing, and I'm still surprised at how fast it moves. How we doing out there?"
Hermione was breathing hard, unused to the physical activity. Even so, her aim with her Bludgers was scarily precise. "I'm knackered. I'm not built for running, I'm built for reading."
Neville, red in the face, nodded. While he was a slightly podgy boy, the baby fat was covering a layer of slab-like muscle, honed through years of wrestling plant-pots in to submission. "It's impossible to get a ball past Wood. Got the grace of a cat with the eyes of a hawk."
"Harry, get the Snitch. With all due respect, you guys can't compete with kids a few years older than you for much longer." Tonks, her hair white to match her team, hefted her Beater tube. "Plus, the Weasleys are getting better at blocking the Bludgers. It's going to get away from us without the Snitch."
"Time!"
The players all got back in to position, and Tonks was proven correct; the stamina and longer legs of the older players soon started to show how conditioning won matches, as the Lions were winning 9-5 when the Snitch was spotted. Harry saw it before McLaggen and shot three spells at it, watching as the Snitch danced out of the way. It shot towards the Enchants' goal, and Harry chased after it, tripping over, ironically, Tonks, before he landed painfully on the floor. From his prone position, he nailed the snitch, which had just ducked a red spell from McLaggen.
Flitwick blew his whistle, and then fell off the platform he was standing from, the excitement too much for him.
"And that's it! It's over! Norfolk Enchants wins 20-9!" Lee Jordan blew out a breath. "Well, folks, I don't know what you were expecting today, but I don't think that was it."
Harry wandered over to the announcer's table, rubbing his bruised elbow gently. "That, ladies and gentlemen, was Sock Quidditch. What we'd like to do is arrange an informal league, open to all houses, all years. All you need is 7 people, from any house, and we can play. Since this isn't a school-sponsored event, I'd like to get an Underground Quidditch League set up. We'd need at least 6 teams for that, but I'd like more; in a school with about 400 people, we should be able to rustle up at least 10 or so. Are you in?"
A cheer erupted from the crowd, and two new teams signed up then and there; Cedric Diggory's 'Beware of the Badgers', and Eddie Carmichael's 'The Talons'. The rest of the crowd promised to talk to their housemates as they left, leaving the two teams, Lee Jordan and Flitwick left in the room.
"Well played, Lions. Oliver? Good game, man. And I'm sorry if I make you nervous."
Oliver laughed. "It's okay. I have to say, it's a good way of distracting people; trying to ignore same-sex come-ons from an 11-year-old do kind of catch your attention." He shrugged. "You played well. Guess we'll just have to wait for a league game for use to get our revenge."
Harry laughed and nodded, and they all left, heading back to their common rooms. It had been a good day.
Author's Note: That's pretty much all for First year. Apart from the whole, you know, fighting Voldemort/Quirrell for the Philosopher's Stone. But, we're getting to that. If anyone's confused by the rename, I looked through, and found far too many "Harry Potter Second Chance" story titles. So, since I nicked Quantum Leap for his time-travel experience, I thought I'd use that name.
Second Note: It was my brother's idea for Sock Quidditch. Blame him. His screen-name's MagnaMorbius. He's also my Beta...