Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Harry Potter and the Dream Come True

Chapter Twenty One – Of Quaffles and Secret Chambers

Friday morning dawned brightly as always, arriving with it another predictably terrible day. At breakfast, Angelina spent a good five minutes yelling at Harry for getting detention and thus being forced to blow off the Quidditch tryouts, until Professor McGonagoll showed up and in turn yelled at Angelina for yelling at Harry. All in all, a horrible start to a horrible day.

"Don't worry about it, Harry," Fred advised as he and George passed him on their way to Potions. "Things'll get better."

"They always do!" George chirped, and the redheads sped away before Harry could question them.

"How do they know things will improve?" Hermione asked no one in particular as they made their way to Charms. "Or are they just guessing?"

Harry snorted, but Ron actually considered her words. "Well… you remember at the Quidditch World Cup? Fred and George bet their life savings on Ireland winning, but Krum getting the snitch. I mean, how likely was that to happen? But it did, didn't it?"

Hermione laughed. "What, are you saying they're Seers or something?"

"Who knows?" Ron replied mysteriously. Harry laughed at his tone of voice.

"Remember that Trelawney is also a Seer. Do you really want to group your own flesh and blood with a nutcase like her?" said Harry. Ron paused, as if considering the matter, before laughing and taking back his previous statement.

"Even I wouldn't be that cruel. No one deserves to be likened to Trelawney."

"Yeah," Harry said darkly. "Or worse, Umbridge."

The previous night, Ron had informed Hermione of Umbridge's detentions with the blood quill, and she'd been outraged, to say the least. She, like Ron, had immediately advised going to either Dumbledore or Sirius and James, but Harry had persuaded her to let him make his own decisions. He could take care of himself, after all.

"Don't worry about it, Harry," Hermione said sympathetically. "Only one more detention and you're done with her. Although you won't be if you make any more controversial comments in class."

"I get the idea," Harry groaned, entering the Charms class and taking a seat at the back. "You only remind me of the fact every single day. Come on, Flitwick is starting the lesson."

The lesson focused around multiplying objects, or creating duplicates of them. Of course, it was extremely difficult to duplicate or multiply anything complex, but by the end of the class most everyone had duplicated their rock nearly perfectly.

"This spell is usually used to duplicate written documents, as it isn't very useful for much else. I, for example, use this when creating your tests. It would be very time-consuming to write out every single exam paper, but with the Duplicato spell, it is possible to simply take the original and multiply it."

"What a useless spell," Ron opined as they strolled out of the class five minutes later.

"Not necessarily," Hermione said thoughtfully. "In fact, I imagine it's quite useful in many professions."

"Yeah," Harry said with a grin, "like during examinations. You could steal the answer key, duplicate it, and hand it in as your completed exam."

"I'm sure someone would realize what you'd done, Harry," Hermione said acidly, not approving of even the notion of cheating.

"Lighten up, Hermione," Ron said. "He was just joking."

"Hmph."

"It's the Gryffindor team tryouts tonight, if I'm not mistaken? Poor dear, and you probably wanted to attend them, too. Maybe next time you'll think before mouthing off in my class, Potter."

Harry did his best to tune out the aggravating voice of Dolores Umbridge. It was his final detention with the witch, and he certainly didn't want to antagonize her into giving him more. He turned back to his parchment, and continued scribbling out "I must not tell lies." His hand was now permanently scarred, and according to Decimare, he would bear the scars for years to come. Harry was absolutely livid at this, but he knew if he complained it would only give Umbridge satisfaction, knowing she'd gotten under his skin. Infuriating woman!

He found, however, that as long as he pretended he was working, he could in fact see a distant view of the Quidditch Pitch from the window in front of his desk. Unfortunately, he couldn't distinguish who was flying, and the growing dark made it even harder to see the pitch, so Harry eventually gave it up as a bad job. He did wish Ron the best of luck, however, and hoped he wasn't the first flyer Harry had seen. The figure had crashed into the ground two minutes into the tryout, after all.

Three hours later Harry was released from Umbridge's clutches for what would hopefully be the last time. Realizing he hadn't seen James and Sirius in ages – okay, a week, but still! – Harry headed up to the fourth floor, gave the password to a portrait of a witch eating a bloatwurst, and stepped inside Sirius and James's quarters.

The sitting room connecting their bedrooms was lit by a roaring fire, and James and Sirius lay sprawled over the two overstuffed couches, discussing something that Harry didn't pick up on.

"Hi!" he greeted enthusiastically, and was rather confused when the duo nearly fell off their couches in shock. "Er… sorry 'bout that…"

"Harry!" James exclaimed, giving his son a huge hug. "I haven't seen you in, like, forever! Why didn't you visit?" he demanded, eyes wide. Harry snorted.

"You have my class schedule, father, you could have visited me! You're the responsible adult!"

Sirius gave a bark-like laugh. "So what've you been up to?"

Harry's eyes narrowed. "More importantly, what have you been up to? What was up with last night?"

James's eyes widened comically, and he rounded on Sirius with a suspicious glare. "Yes, Padfoot, what was up with last night?"

Sirius winced. "Ahh… I don't know what you're talking about…"

"I was walking back to the common room when I find Sirius hanging from the ceiling, toting around this huge black box!"

"You did, did you?" James asked, eyeing Sirius, who was backing away slowly in case he should suddenly need to make a quick exit. James frowned. "I, personally, Harry, have no idea what Sirius was doing last night. Maybe he can tell us?"

Sirius attempted a winning smile. "I was just going for a little stroll, that's all! So, Harry," he said quickly, trying to change the subject. "How was detention?" His attempt was successful, because Harry immediately began ranting out his frustration and anger towards Umbridge, although not mentioning the blood quill.

"…and then she taunts me about missing Quidditch tryouts! Can you believe that? Stupid old hag…"

Sirius and James exchanged a glance. Sirius turned to Harry. "It seems to me, young Harry, that it is time to step up the passive resistance we discussed on Tuesday."

"What do you mean?"

"It's like this, Harry," James explained. "Dumbledore, whether he likes it or not, has to support Umbridge, because she is his employee. Any rules you break with her, he will have to approve of the punishments she gives you. If he doesn't, the Ministry will bear down on him and try to take over Hogwarts even more than they're doing now."

"So it's hopeless? We should just roll over and let Umbridge walk all over us?" Harry asked desperately.

"Of course not!" Sirius exclaimed. "You'll just have to work out another way to resist her, some way that she won't know about, but will definitely work to undermine her authority."

"An undercover organization, for example," James suggested, "like when we formed the Marauders back in our day. The things we did certainly weren't legal, running around with werewolves and all… speaking of which…"

Harry picked up on his father's train of thought. "Yes, I have been practicing my animagus transformation, and it's coming along pretty well in my opinion."

"Well, let's see!" Sirius urged, and the next half-hour was spent improving Harry's technique. By the end of it he still hadn't achieved full form, but he could shrink to the correct size for a falcon, had the feathers down pat, and the talons were coming.

"Well done!" James encouraged as they said goodnight. "You're progressing quite fast! Where are you practicing, anyway?"

"Er…" What was he supposed to say? I've been practicing by the lakeside in full view of everyone! Or was he supposed to say that he was cleaning out the dreaded Chamber of Secrets so he could practice there? He doubted either answer would impress them. In fact, if he told them of the Chamber, they'd probably peg him as the next Dark Lord and lock him up so he wouldn't kill anyone.

"Where you practiced your transformation!" That was a pretty safe answer.

"No kidding? You know, the Shrieking Shack is a great place, Harry, but make sure you don't go there too often – you never know what could be lurking there," said Sirius.

"Sure thing," Harry agreed readily, as he hadn't gone anywhere near the Shrieking Shack, and wasn't intending to any time in the near future. "And don't think you've fooled me, Sirius. I know you're up to something with that black box of yours, whether you admit it or not."

"Speaking of banana splits, Harry, you should probably go back to the common room before someone catches you here. You really aren't supposed to be in here, to tell you the truth."

Harry gaped at his father. "We weren't talking about banana splits, Dad!"

James looked confused. "Who said anything about banana splits?"

"I like bananas," Sirius added helpfully.

Harry sighed. "Whatever. Keep your secrets. I'll see you soon, then." Turning, he trudged out of the room, frankly starting to wonder about his father's mental state. Honestly, the man was completely batty sometimes.

Back in the sitting room, James rounded on Sirius furiously. "I thought we specifically agreed not to start construction earlier than 2 in the morning! Any random student could be wandering around at 10:00 p.m.! What were you thinking?"

Sirius glowered. "I was just scoping out the area, Prongs, I didn't intend to mess up the levitation and adherence spells."

James snickered, exasperation momentarily forgotten. "What I would have given to see you hanging upside down from the ceiling. Wait, back on topic! We have to be discreet, Padfoot! No one can know what we're doing, not even Dumbledore! You did at least stun the portraits before you started?"

Sirius appeared insulted. "Do you think me stupid? Wait, don't answer that. Of course I did! Dumbledore won't be spying on us out of any portraits while I'm in charge! The plan will go perfectly, Prongs, don't worry. I've already got a few set up; we can test them tomorrow."

James sighed. "Well, at least Harry doesn't seem to suspect anything. He probably just thinks we're preparing for a prank or something. Same with Ron, hopefully. Remember, no one can know!"

"I know! Hey, you don't see me criticizing your work, Prongs! How's the forest progressing, anyway?"

James smiled mysteriously. "I've made contact, and things are going just fine. I'll tell you when we reach an agreement. Until then, we focus on the castle."

Sirius gave a fake salute. "Affirmative. Operation Sentinel will be a success!"

Hogwarts was quieter than Harry had ever seen before. The halls, usually teeming with exuberant students making their way to classes, were silent as a tomb, even their shadows lending a neglected feeling to the air. Harry shivered as he descended a long stone staircase leading to a concealed corridor on the second floor. He was beginning to regret his plan to clean out the Chamber this evening – the castle almost seemed to be discouraging it.

.:It is very quiet tonight:. Decimare reflected, his hiss echoing off the empty walls. .:I don't know why, as it shouldn't be unusual for this time of night, but I don't like it:.

"You can say that again," Harry muttered, peering suspiciously around the corner before turning it. He felt as if he were being followed… or watched… but that was a silly notion. I'm just being paranoid, he told himself, wincing as he jumped when a door slammed some floors above him. Ah, who am I kidding? I'm freaked out, no doubt about it. The sooner I get into the Chamber, the better.

"Okay, what was that all about?" Harry demanded as he scrambled down the rusty ladder into the Chamber of Secrets. "Why did the vault door call me the Snake Lord?"

.:You slaughtered the guardian of this Chamber, and you are therefore now its master, and you will continue being this until another takes control of it:.

Harry stared incredulously at the snake. "And you were planning on telling me this when?"

The snake apparently deigned him unworthy of a response, for he ignored his master completely and instead transformed into his sword form. He surveyed the chamber with apparent distaste. .:You've got a lot of work to do if you wish to make this place hospitable, Master:.

Harry surveyed the Chamber. Although the basilisk's corpse was gone, him having vanished it on his previous trip, it's stench still poisoned the air, making it difficult to breath without choking. The vast stone floor had clearly seen better days, as had the endless serpentine columns reaching up into the blackness. And the rusty ladder at the entrance would definitely have to be replaced.

"The first issue to tackle is probably the foul smell," Harry decided, wrinkling his nose. "And a thorough cleaning wouldn't go amiss either. I don't suppose I could invite Aunt Petunia down here for a weekend to fix the place up?"

.:Aunt Petunia?:.

Harry sighed. "Never mind, just a cleanliness-obsessed relative of mine. Now, Ginny – yes, the redhead – used the Scourgify spell on the Hogwarts Express to clean up the compartment, so I'm assuming I can use the same spell here, right?"

.:That's correct, but it will take you a long amount of time and energy to clean this entire chamber:.

Harry sighed. "Well, do you have a better method?"

Decimare grinned slyly. .:Naturally. Unfortunately for you, it is a mild form of Dark Arts, as it can be used to take out even the worst of bloodstains, so I guess it can't help you…:.

Harry knew what Decimare was doing. He was trying to convince Harry that the Dark Arts weren't evil, they just depended on the intentions of the caster. The debate of good/evil vs. intentions had been raging in Harry's mind all week, and it seemed it was time for Harry to make a decision, a decision that would probably affect the way he viewed magic for the rest of his life.

"I… I don't like the idea of using the Dark Arts, Decimare, but… what you say makes sense. Spells aren't good or evil, it is only their masters whom are good or evil. Magic is only a tool, it is the wielder who decides what to do with the tools he has."

Decimare beamed proudly at the boy. .:I couldn't have said it better myself, master:.

"Thanks," Harry replied with a grin. "Well, what are you waiting for? Teach me everything you know, oh exalted one!"

The Abstergeo Cruor spell, while effortless to master, required a great amount of focus from the caster for it to work effectively. It only cleaned one specific object at a time, and while that specific object could be the entire floor of the Chamber, Harry had to focus unconditionally on the floor being completely spotless for it to have any effect. Thanks to Decimare's little meditation exercises over the summer, however, Harry soon became proficient with the focus needed to cast the spell, and therefore had the main body of the Chamber cleaned by 2 am.

"Aunt Petunia would love this spell," Harry remarked mindlessly as he cleaned the last column at the far side of the chamber. Finished, Harry retreated to the base of Slytherin's statue to survey his work. To his delight, the Chamber looked newly built, aside from the ceiling, which Harry couldn't clean, as the darkness prevented him from seeing it.

.:We can fix that:. Decimare said. .:It's quite simple. You recall the Duplicato spell you learned in Charms class?:.

"Er… sure, but what use is it?"

Decimare rolled his miniscule eyes in irritation. .:What is currently lighting this Chamber?:.

"Er… those strange, glowing green balls with some sort of everlasting flame in them, I'd say:.

.:So you have glowing green balls, and a Duplicato spell at your disposal. Master, surely you aren't this asinine!:.

Oh. "Well, if you're going to be so rude about it," Harry muttered, raising his wand towards the nearest ball and yelling "Duplicato!" Nothing happened. "Okay, let's try again. Duplicato!" This time the spell seemed to work, as the familiar yellow light flashed and a duplicate of the glowing ball appeared on the floor in front of Harry.

"Cool!" he marveled, amazed the spell actually had a practical use. Following Decimare's instructions, Harry created thirty balls, which he gathered in a circle around him. "Now what?"

Decimare rolled his eyes. .:Well, since you need them on the ceiling, may I suggest a combination of levitation and adhesive charms?:.

Once all the balls were attached to the edges of the ceiling, the roof of the Chamber of Secrets finally revealed itself to Harry, who simply stared, awestruck. Gazing down at him was a larger than life relief carving of a basilisk, stretching out over the entirety of the vaulted ceiling, emerald eyes the size of dinner plates gleaming at some unseen foe.

.:Master Salazar…:. Decimare hissed in reverence. .:You have truly outdone yourself with this:.

"No kidding," Harry breathed, observing how the zeniths of the serpentine columns flowed seamlessly into the design of the ceiling as if they were living extensions of a larger entity. "How did he do this?"

.:I haven't the faintest idea:. Decimare responded honestly. .:However he did it, I think it's safe to say that if being an evil Dark Lord didn't work out, he could easily get a job as an architect or interior designer:.

They stared at each other, before they simultaneously broke out into laughter. Perhaps it was their awe, perhaps it was their fatigue, but they found it immensely amusing, and that was all that mattered.

'Ugh,' Harry sighed as he climbed into his dormitory bed two hours later. 'Another 4 am bedtime. This is getting to be too much of a habit for my liking, Decimare.'

.:Indeed, considering you have training in one hour:.

'No way!'

.:Of course not, master:. Decimare hissed reprovingly. .:I told you you cannot improve until you can create an artificial opponent to battle, and you haven't yet mastered that skill. So until then I will badger you until you buckle down and learn it:.

"You're all heart," Harry muttered, eyes closing.

.:I don't have a heart:. the snake informed him primly. .:I am a stone carving with no organs or tissue of any sort. In fact… never mind:.

For Harry had fallen asleep midspeech, snoring softly into his pillow. Decimare looked almost… fondly at his master, hissing softly .:Good night, Master. Sleep well:.

Then he tacked on as an afterthought: .:And if you continue being this blockheaded about magic, I shall roll you up in those sheets and dangle you over the fireplace until you grow some sense:.

"But Hermione, it's the weekend!" Ron protested, but the brunette didn't budge.

"We have approximately six essays due for Monday, Ronald Weasley," Hermione retorted, eyes blazing. "And unlike me, you haven't even started them yet! Yet you still wish to go play Quidditch!"

"Of course I do!" Ron shouted. "I made the team, didn't I? I've got to practice if I want to keep my position! I thought you'd understand, but no, you're too obsessed with your stupid little books to pay any attention-" He cut off midsentence as Harry stepped into the common room, green eyes cloudy from lack of sleep, yawning tiredly.

"Hey guys," he greeted, collapsing onto the couch across from the arguing pair.

Ron beamed, previous argument completely forgotten. "Guess what? I MADE IT!"

Harry blinked wearily. "…huh?"

"Ron made the Gryffindor Quidditch team as Keeper," Hermione translated. "Angelina announced it last night after tryouts. Speaking of which, I don't suppose you'll tell us where you were during Ron's celebration party?"

Harry was alert enough by now to neatly sidestep the question. "Oh, you know, hanging with Dad and Sirius. I'd never considered there'd be a party; I'm so sorry! Congratulations, mate!" he exclaimed, pulling Ron into a manly hug, which Hermione laughed at.

"Say, Harry, would you mind coming to practice a bit early with me so I could, you know, get in tune with the… er…" Ron stumbled.

"Quaffle?" Harry suggested dryly. "Yeah, sure, why not? Sounds like fun… although…" he trailed off at the furious expression on Hermione's face.

"Homework!" Hermione prompted impatiently.

A look of comprehension dawned on Harry's face. "Oh yeah, homework!" Pitiful as it was, with all of the week's excitement, Harry had completely forgotten about his ever-increasing workload. Polishing off his essays was clearly the intelligent thing to do, but the day was bright and sunny, and he hadn't been flying in over a week…

"Sorry, Hermione, but I'll have to pass for now. Quidditch calls, you understand. I'll do it on Sunday, no worries!" If Hermione was impressed by his reasons, the way she stalked off, muttering angrily under her breath, certainly didn't show it.

"Geez, what's wrong with her?" Ron said.

Harry snickered. "She's just trying to get us to pass this year. That's not a crime, Ron."

"Well, it should be," he muttered darkly.

As it turned out, Ron was a fairly decent Keeper, seizing nearly every Quaffle Harry flung at him. Then again, Harry was a Seeker, not a Chaser, so his skills with the Quaffle weren't above par, yet he still reckoned that Ron had performed reasonably well. By the time the rest of the team appeared on the pitch, the duo had had a good warm up, and both boys – well, Harry, at least – were looking forward to practice.

"Everyone in the air," Angelina barked. "I want to see everyone complete 50 laps of the stadium by the time I return with the Quidditch balls. Well, what are you waiting for? Get going!"

Not waiting for the rest of the team, Harry, already mounted, kicked off and soared away into the fresh morning air, restraining himself from laughing at the sheer exhilaration of it. If he thought flying on a broom was rapturous, wait until he gained his animagus form and could fly for real! The thought made Harry's eyes light up, and he immediately resolved to practice the transformation twice as hard.

Fred and George zoomed up on either side of Harry, joining him as he continued his revolutions of the pitch. To Harry's surprise, when the rest of the team moved closer to them, Fred and George pulled ahead, nodding for Harry to join them. Immensely curious, Harry followed their lead, soon pulling far ahead from the rest of the pack.

"So, Harry," Fred began. It was difficult to hear him through the roaring wind their speed created, but it wasn't impossible, as the three were fairly close together.

"We, along with two gentlemen you are in acquaintance with," George continued.

"Messers Padfoot and Prongs, to be exact,"

"Have a proposition to make you,"

"Which you will accept, if you have any troublemaking genes within you at all."

Harry gave them a curious look, momentarily ducking to avoid Angelina as she soared past them, eyeing the trio suspiciously. "Well, what is it?"

The twins grinned, obviously pleased.

"The four of us have devised a plan to take Umbridge down a notch," Fred explained.

"Nothing big, mind you, just a little something to help her realize she doesn't rule Hogwarts," George clarified.

"Giving you detention for telling the truth!" Fred exclaimed.

"Completely unacceptable," George agreed. "Which is why we've decided to act, and we are inviting you, along with Ron and Hermione, if you like-"

"- to help get a little revenge," Fred finished.

"Revenge? Count me in!" Harry exclaimed, delighted. "What do you need my help with, then?"

Fred's eyes twinkled mysteriously. "Meet us in the Honeydukes passage at midnight tonight. At that time, all will be revealed."

"Do not disappoint us, young Harry." George told him sternly, before they simultaneously cracked a grin and zoomed off to join the rest of the team, who were gathering in the center of the pitch at Angelina's orders. Still contemplating the twins offer, Harry followed the redheads, wondering what they were up to. If they were in league with Sirius and James… Harry suddenly feared greatly for Umbridge's life, or more importantly, sanity. Then again, it was Umbridge. Bring on the punishment!

"Harry!" Angelina exclaimed, and Harry realized he'd zoned out during her speech. Wincing, he flew to his spot in the circle they'd formed, mentally berating himself. Keep zoning out like this and she'll kick you off the team!

.:Highly unlikely:. Decimare snorted. .:You're possibly the best Seeker Hogwarts has ever had:.

"That's better," Angelina approved, tossing a Quaffle from hand to hand. Her dark, braided hair glinted warmly in the sunlight. "Now, as this is our first practice, we're going to start with a little passing exercise, just to warm up." Having said this, she turned and chucked the ball at Harry, who, caught off guard, barely managed to grab it.

Revenge for making her wait for me, I suppose.

Harry reverse-passed the Quaffle to Alicia, who passed it to Katie, who passed it to Ron, who dropped it. As Ron retrieved the Quaffle with a red face, Harry suddenly noticed the jeers and taunts coming from the Slytherin section of the stands. Sure enough, there sat the Slytherin Quidditch team, looking highly amused at Ron's mistake. No wonder Angelina had been acting so snappish – she didn't want to make a fool of herself and her team in front of their enemies.

Ron sheepishly passed the Quaffle to Fred, and around the circle it continued until it reached Ron again, who lunged for it and just missed. Face now flaming in embarrassment, he shot a look at the Slytherins, who were yelling taunts at him with no sense of propriety.

"Just ignore them," Harry told his friend firmly. "They're just words, they don't mean anything. Save your anger for the pitch. They won't be laughing when we beat them into the ground."

Angelina nodded approvingly. "That's exactly the attitude I want, Harry. Pretend they aren't here."

It was hard, though, imagining they weren't there. Harry, having had to live with their mockery for years, fared fairly well, but Ron grew steadily redder as the practice progressed. When Malfoy called out a particularly nasty jibe about the Weasleys' father, however, things got rather out of hand.

Malfoy, who'd been leaning over the edge of the balcony as he shouted, suddenly toppled forward over the railing, as if pushed by an unseen hand. Down he plummeted, screaming shrilly, falling too quickly for anyone to have a hope of catching him. Suddenly, James appeared at the edge of the pitch, waving his wand towards Malfoy, who's descent slowed and slowed until he tumbled gently to the ground with a muffled "Oomph".

Harry was relieved that Malfoy hadn't been killed, but still rather wished the boy had broken a bone or two. He certainly deserved it. James, meanwhile, was helping a shaking Malfoy to his feet, whose face was pale and hands were shaking in terror.

"Are you alright?" he asked the terrified boy kindly, his eyes twinkling for some reason.

"I… I almost died…" Malfoy gasped, still shaky from the near-death experience.

"Well, perhaps you shouldn't be so rude to the Gryffindors. Then things like this may not happen," James told him with a grin.

The Gryffindor Quidditch team gaped. Was he admitting he'd pushed Malfoy off the balcony? No, not Dad, Harry realized, but Sirius is nowhere to be seen, and he doesn't have Dad's common sense. The man's mysterious absence from James' side couldn't be coincidence.

Malfoy was appalled. "Are you threatening me?" he demanded.

"Of course not," James replied innocently.

"I'll have you thrown out of the school for this!" Malfoy bellowed.

"What would they throw me out for? I just saved the life of Snape's star pupil. They should give me a medal!"

Malfoy was turning steadily redder and redder, but clearly realized he had no evidence to support his suspicions. He finally gave a roar of frustration and marched away towards the exit, muttering furiously. James followed a few moments later, whistling a cheerful tune that had the Weasley twins grinning cheekily.

"I… I guess practice is over…" Angelina stammered.

Harry immediately grabbed his broom and raced after his father, who was almost at the exit to the stadium. "Dad! Wait!"

James turned around, triumph in every inch of his face. "Enjoy the show?"

"Enjoy the show!" Harry bellowed. "You could have killed him! I know he's a scumbag, Dad, but he could have died!"

James seemed taken aback by Harry's words. "Harry, it was just a prank! That boy has been torturing you for four years! His father is a Death Eater, and we have reliable evidence he'll become one as well! He tortures kittens and children for fun!"

"That was still way out of line! Sure, he deserves everything he gets, but what if your little prank went wrong?" Harry demanded.

"It wouldn't have," James deflected with a carefree wave of his hand. "Ever since I got here, I've been learning all about your past. That platinum blond brat has tormented you far too much, and I have every right as your father to teach him a lesson. We've been planning this for the past week, Harry, and we covered every safety precaution there was. Voldemort himself couldn't have brought harm to Malfoy with all the charms we placed."

"We?" Harry demanded, but the anger gnawing at his insidew was starting to retreat. It was just intended as a prank, and Malfoy couldn't have been harmed at all, so it was all right in Harry's books. Besides, Malfoy had done tons of terrible things – he'd nearly sacked Hagrid! – perhaps maybe this experience would give him a hint to stop tormenting the Gryffindors.

"Hi!" Sirius exclaimed brightly, appearing beside James. "Er… Prongs told you it was just a joke, right? You aren't going to flip out at us?"

"No," Harry reassured him. "Just… tell me next time you try to kill him. I nearly had a heart attack."

"Will do," Sirius chirped.

The trio lapsed into a more-or-less comfortable silence.

"Incidentally," Harry spoke up suddenly. "What were Fred and George going on about? Revenge against Umbridge, or something?"

"Meet us in the passage at midnight and you'll see," James said, winking, before he and Sirius disappeared into the bleachers.

"So, did it go well?" Hermione inquired as Harry and Ron entered the common room an hour later. "You two seem extremely pleased about something."

Ron immediately burst out into laughter, probably lost in memories. Harry grinned. "Malfoy fell off the bleachers and nearly died."

"And that's amusing?" she demanded righteously, fists moving to plant themselves firmly on her hips.

"Dad saved him," Harry quickly added, deciding not to tell her it was Sirius who'd pushed Malfoy in the first place. "He's fine, just shaken up. He'll hopefully think twice before crossing the Gryffindors again."

"What?"

"He and the Slytherin team were taunting us through the whole practice. Ron nearly exploded."

The brunette sent Ron a sympathetic look. "It didn't go well, then?"

Harry glanced over at Ron, who had stopped laughing and was now recalling the horrendous practice. "It… well, it was…" Harry said, glancing uncertainly at his friend.

"Completely miserable," Ron moaned.

Hermione gave him an encouraging smile. "Well, it was only your first practice-"

"Who said it was me that made it miserable?" Ron shouted, storming off up the staircase to the dormitories. Hermione winced.

"Was he… you know, terrible?"

"No!" Harry said loyally. "Well… yes, actually, but like you said, it's only his first practice. He'll get better, or why would Angelina have picked him for the team?"

"I suppose so," Hermione said dubiously. "Well, good night Harry."

"Night," he replied, sinking back into the overstuffed armchair, when a thought suddenly struck him. "No, Hermione, wait!" The brunette turned back to him, confused. "You don't like Umbridge, right?"

She snorted, a very un-Hermione-like thing for her to do. "You could say that, yes."

"Right! Well, Fred, George, Sirius, and my Dad are planning some sort of prank on her tonight at midnight. Are you interested in coming? Ron too, of course."

She tilted her head in thought. "Well, I expect we'd be breaking quite a few rules on this little venture…"

"She made me cut open my own hand, Hermione!"

She sighed. "Oh, fine! You go get Ron, and we'll see what those four have got planned. How much would you like to bet it's something terribly dangerous?"

Harry grinned. "I wouldn't bet against that, Hermione, I'd lose. I'll see you in five minutes."

"Bring your invisibility cloak!" she called after his retreating form. Harry merely waved in response, already planning out elaborate revenges on Professor Umbridge.

This should be fun.