If you're reading this, much love. Communication is the key to understanding. There is a chance that those you are talking to and disagreeing with have knowledge you don't; it'd be foolish to ignore them because they don't subscribe to your ideology.
ENJOI
…
Hermione and Kiara returned the day before the start of first term. Hermione was beyond upset they hadn't found Flamel and even more gassed they didn't really even try. The gasket blew off her motorhead when they then told her about being caught by Dumbledore. She forced them, then, after the start of term, to scour the library with her and Ron for weeks, making James and Harry all but forget about the Mirror of Erised, and James's theory about Dumbledore having them find it on purpose.
Kiara was so upset coming back that when they tried to greet her, she screamed and ran from them. Travis and James didn't miss the bruises and her cut lip, though, but were so bogged down with everything, they couldn't do much beside let her have her distance.
James and Fred put the finishing touches on their KitteeKrak, and had enough bottles to drug Mrs. Norris for years to come. With the piles of homework ever increasing and Hermione determined to get to the bottom of the Flamel mystery, they found little time to pull their prank out of theory and put it to practice, so instead, they argued over finding a proper place to store it all.
"Ugh... Dude, why are we doing this?" Brian complained as he pulled down a book from the top shelf of History section.
"Because Hermione has a mean right hook," James grumbled. He pulled book featuring a collection of Potions recipes and began flippantly flipping through it. "And if finding Flamel keeps her happy, then you can keep copying her answers on homework when I'm not around."
"Is this really worth it, to keep us on good terms?" Travis asked, whispering over a cloud of dust. "Bleck, this place is covered in dirt!"
"Tell me about it…"
"Just keep looking, you two," James ordered, pulling a curious article written by none other than… Severus Snape. "I will worry about why I need a happy Hermione, you worry about how I'm going to make her happy."
James walked over to a nearby table, the yellowed scroll of parchment tucked in his hand. James set his books down gently; Pince, the librarian, still glared at him as if he had shouted. He gave her his best, "Tell Filch about it and cry on his shoulder," look, and set out to read Snape's article.
The entire publication was about a theory of a potion, written circa 1977. The professor had explained that he believed that a certain concoction of ingredients put together would be capable of mixing with just a drop of any magical potion, and replicate its effects. Snape had gone into the details of how the potion should be made, and all the ingredients. It's brewing time was long, taking place over the course of weeks, but the ingredients were simple and straight forward, with precise detail in how to prepare them.
They were, in fact, so straight forward, James was sure he'd have little difficulty brewing this potion. And knowing Snape, who's exact nature and precision in terms of everything he did, James sincerely doubted that this potion didn't do what it was advertised to do.
However, at the end of the article, was an official looking stamp from some place called the "Merlinsonian" and a signature from a one Adallius Amerson. Amerson had a rebuttal against Snape's theory, and had written "number of attempts: 1" in the assorted slot.
This struck James as strange. Any proposed scientific theory should never be tested only once. It had variables, controls, and other things to monitor experiments. When a theory didn't work originally, you went back to the drawing board and changed a variable or three. Try again, and again, but not give up until you know for sure that it wouldn't work.
Adallius Amerson had written down at the end of the essay that "Due to the dangerous circumstances involved with the testing of your theorem, Mr. Snape, I must vehemently tell you that I absolutely decline your request for a full scholarship to the Merlinsonian. Your wild and reckless, not to mention wildlyimaginative theory has ruined my entire lab, and under no circumstances will I stand for any more of your Dark Arts rambling in my presence ever again. This potion thesis is rubbish, and now your future as a Potions Master is, as well.
"You're lucky I do not turn you over to the authorities, and acquit you to pay for damages rendered to Merlinsonian property. You will never step foot in this, or any Magical University, I promise you that.
"Signed, Adallius Amerson, Head of the Potions Department, Merlinsonian Institute of Higher Magical Learning"
"So, the Merlinsonian is a college, eh?"
It looked like Snape had a rocky past. But the Dark Arts? There was nothing in Snape's proposal that so much as hinted at evil, much less dark arts. In fact, based on what James had studied of Potions, the ingredients for the potion he was suggesting weren't even volatile. But yet…
"Snape got screwed."
"What was that?"
"Nothing, Trav," James answered as he tapped at the paper thoughtfully. Oh, what a boon it would be to have a stock of Replicaation potion handy... He began to grin, then smile, then just about burst into a full on, chaotic beam. The things he could do with blank canvas potions... he shuddered in delight.
"You boy's ready to give up?" he asked, smile splitting his face in two as he held up the recipe. "I think I have found a better use of our time."
"Give up? Why would we want to do that?" Brian asked sarcastically. "I was ready to give up an hour ago."
"Aight, then let's get out of here."
…
The three Ravenclaws hefted Neville Longbottom up the ladder to Gryffindor Tower. "You should have just stood up to Malfoy, Nev," James complained as he pushed on Neville's bottom.
"Tell me about it," Brian agreed. He and Travis had Neville at the shoulders, pulling him into the common room, to the laughter of the Gryffindors lounging there.
"Laugh it up, you pricks," Travis scolded as they finally succeeded in dragging him up. The two collapsed on the floor as Hermione scurried over to help Neville. "Anybody know the counter curse to the Leg Locker?"
"I do," Hermione answered worriedly as she waved her wand. "What happened?"
"Malfoy happened," James scoffed, leading Neville over to where Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat. "He jumped Neville outside of the library, started bullying him. Tested out his newest curse on ole boy here. He's lucky he was walking away when we came out, otherwise I would have had Travis beat him to a pulp."
"I'd do it, too."
Hermione scolded James and Travis, and then turned her attentions to Neville. "Report him! Tell McGonagall!"
"Never," Neville whimpered, tears drying on his face. He was still shaking. "It's over."
"You need to start standing up to them Snakes, Neville," Harry shook his head and tossed him a Chocolate Frog. "Here, eat this and calm down."
"You're worth twelve of Malfoy," Ron tried to cheer him up.
"Twelve times zero is zero," Travis shook his head and punched Neville on the shoulder. "You're worth twelve times what Malfoy thinks he's worth, pal."
Neville took the frog and blushed at the praise as he nodded in thanks. He ate it greedily and shakily stood up. "Here, I don't collect the cards," he explained as he handed Harry the card. "I'm going to go to bed, I think. Sleep it off."
"You do that, dude," James nodded. Brian clapped Neville on the back before turning to Harry. "Who is it?"
"Dumbledore," Harry answered, turning the card over in his hands.
"Bah, I got ten of him," Ron scoffed.
Harry suddenly gasped. "I knew I read his name somewhere!"
"Who, Dumbledore?" James snorted sarcastically.
"No, Nicolas Flamel! 'Considered by many to be the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the Dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel!'"
"That would explain why something of Flamel's is at Hoggy Warty Hogwarts," Ron snorted. "If he's mates with Dumbledore, than who better to trust with your greatest treasure?"
"Harry," Brian asked strenuously, with a glimmer of mania in his eye. "Are you telling me that the six of us having been tearing the library apart for three weeks when you had Flamel's name in your back pocket?"
"That's exactly what he's saying," Hermione answered, kissing a now thoroughly disgusted James on the cheek and dashing up to the girl's dormitory. "You are a genius and didn't even know it, James! I should have known!"
"Known what?" James spat as he wiped his cheek on his sleeve in disdain. "I could've told you I was a genius! Does this mean I'm on your good side again?"
"Good and so much more, James!" Hermione reappeared a moment later with a large tome in hand. "This was one of the books about alchemy you bought for me for Christmas, James, remember?"
"Yeah..." James trailed off, looking sheepish. He didn't exactly 'buy it,' considering he just had his mother do it for him, but he wasn't going to let that cat out of its bag. "It was in a wizarding book catalog."
"Yeah, and I've been planning on using this-" she held up the large, thick book, "-for some light reading," Hermione continued, flipping the pages and stopping at a certain page depicting various diagrams.
"Light reading?" Ron and Brian chorused, looking aghast.
"Hush," Hermione scolded as she read the book aloud. "According to muggle history, Flamel, the famed French Alchemist, died with his wife Perenelle in fourteen eighteen. His story is just a myth in muggle circles, but he is very much alive. It all started when grave robbers dug up his tomb looking for a 'Sorcerer's Stone.' However, it was empty, and that was where muggle conspiracy began about him. But in magical history… he's the only known creator of the Philosopher's Stone, a magical object that creates a potion of immortality and an endless supply of gold! That must be what Fluffy is guarding… and why Snape wants to get past him."
"Blimey, no wonder Snape's after it," Ron drawled. "Anyone would want to have one!"
James rolled his eyes. "You're still not on about Snape, are you?"
"He cursed Harry at the game, mate," Ron reminded. "And was trying to get past the dog, Harry heard it himself."
"Him cursing Harry and the Stone are two unrelated incidents. Even if it was him cursing, and nor counter cursing, its entirely possible he was pulling a Malfoy, trying to make Harry look bad. And I still think that he was looking after the dog, not the other way around. Hagrid has mentioned in passing that his "dog" had a tooth infection the last time I was down at his hut. Snape himself has mentioned creating tooth infection potions. Sorry, I just don't think it tracks."
Harry groaned and sat back. "You just don't get it! This would be something Snape would do!"
"You're just biased against each other," James responded with a quirked eyebrow. "For whatever reason, he doesn't like us, but he doesn't hate me. You just have to earn his respect."
"Yes he does!" Harry defended. "He literally tried to call you out on your first day!"
"He calls out a lot of people on their first day, according to Fred and George. Also, if he hates me, why am I getting a perfect 'O' in his class? Highest possible grade?"
"Look, this is all supposition," Hermione interrupted, breaking up the impending argument. "But James has a point. All we know is that Snape might be after the Stone. That alone is enough to make us want to investigate, right?"
James rolled his eyes. "I fail to see what there is to investigate. We now know whats likely down there, and its nothing we should be concerning ourselves with."
"And if Snape steals it?" Harry hissed.
"Then Snape steals it, that's his problem," James shrugged with outstretched hands. "Jolly good work on his part. He can get chased down by the Aurors and Dumbledore or run for the rest of his life. I can't believe I of all people am saying this, but dude, we're kids. We ain't Sherlock Holmes or the cast of Law and Order, dude."
Silence fell over the group as Ron and Harry seemed fit to burst with rage at James. James shook his head and looked to Travis and Brian, who shrugged themselves and looked away. Hermione looked torn, as she knew James had a point, but also agreeing with Harry and Ron.
"We can talk about this later," Hermione broke the silence diplomatically. "We need to get Harry ready for his match."
"Isn't that Wood's job?" Travis cracked.
"Wood ain't gonna believe that Snape is after Harry, and with him reffing the match-" Ron started.
"Snape's reffing the match?" James asked, stupefied. "How on-"
"I don't know, but Snape is going to be unfair to Gryffindor at best, and he may be after Harry again..." Hermione trailed off.
James stood up. "What is Dumbledore thinking? We need to-"
"Don't worry," Harry sneered at him. "We can figure it out on our own."
…
Harry, James soon found out, knew how to hold a grudge. It had been a few days, and he still refused to talk to his dissenting Ravenclaw brothers. Ron and Hermione were sympathetic, but stood by the 'Snape is the baddie' theory. James didn't mind too much, as he could now resume business as usual.
"Tonight's the night," Fred whispered in James ear at breakfast the next morning.
No sooner than he had sat down for breakfast, Fred had stood up with purpose, striding over to the Ravenclaw table. His face was dark and his eyes angry, malicious energy sparking from the boiling blue orbs. James wondered intently what he was so gassed about; it looked like he was about to find out.
"Come on," Fred demanded, motioning to George and grabbing James by the arm. "Outside the Hall."
Fred all but dragged James, who waved at Travis and Brian to come along aas they left the Great Hall, passing Filch as he shuffled toward the staff table. James gave him a cursory glance, but nothing more. Rule number six, James thought. Know when to keep your trap shut. Fred didn't even acknowledge Filch's leering, angry glare, he just stormed past him and shoved the tall, heavy Entry doors shut behind him.
"What's up?" George asked
"Mrs. Norris is going down tonight," Fred whispered angrily. "No more detours, no more setbacks. Clear your schedules of whatever you're doing with Harry or your brothers or Dumbledore or whoever the hell you've been dating. We're doing this tonight."
"Jeez, Fred, if I knew you'd be so pissed about me putting you off, I would have done this earlier," James cracked.
Fred didn't smile.
"I don't care about when it gets done, we all have other priorities, I know. But I will not stand for this any longer. Filch needs to pay in fur."
"Ha ha, pay in fur... ahem, anyway, what'd he do now?"
"Last night, Quidditch practice was pretty muddy. Me and George got in the castle through a secret entrance, but the girls went in through here," Fred explained, waving around the Entry Hall. James knew who he meant by "girls." Angelina Johnson, Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet; the Weasley twins were quite… fond of them. "Filch was there, waiting for them. He forced them to go to his office, and punished them for tracking in mud."
"What? That's not fair! The only showers we got are up in the commons!"
"That's exactly what they argued, but Filch just tore them a new one and threw 'em in a month's detention. Katie is still raving, Alicia hasn't stopped crying, and Angie hasn't said a word since."
"That bastard!"
"Exactly. Do you have that special spell practiced?"
James held up his bare arm. "Witch Weekly approved."
"Good. Because tonight's the night."
...
"Okay, I stole Filch's nightly schedule, and he's going to be in the Charms corridor on the fifth floor at eleven thirty. Savvy?"
James nodded. He looked down at the map Fred was referencing and couldn't help but express his disappointment. Fred told him that his "best map" was for twins' eyes only, and that it did not include Potter twins. "So we'll hide behind the two adjacent suits of armor when he passes, the KitteeKrak hidden here," James pointed at the niche in the corridor wall, "And watch Mrs. Norris get high."
"Exactly," Fred nodded. "And then when she's so doped up on enhanced catnip, we'll take her to this classroom on the second floor Arithmancy corridor and get to work on her. Ready?"
"As I'll ever be."
"Good, let's get going."
The group descended from the Gryffindor common room, with George leading Travis and Brian to the Arithmancy corridor while James and Fred, under the invisibility cloak, raced to their positions. Evading prefect patrols along the way, Fred groaned in wanting as Percy and Penelope Clearwater walked past their hiding spot and took a detour into a supply closet, but James held him back. "We're oscar mike on Norris, not Percy."
"Oscar mike?"
"Muggle military phonetics. We three kings use them because it sounds cool."
"Oh. Wait, since when are you three 'kings'?"
"Oh, shut it."
As soon as the two prefects were out of sight, the continued on their way to the fifth floor. The sailing was smooth, and no patrols came by. Fred opened the can of tuna, mixed in the potion, and they jumped behind their suits of armor.
Before long, Filch had shuffled and limped down the corridor, the long haired, scraggly looking feline trotting behind him dutifully. Her yellow orbs beamed like headlights, but she didn't see, smell, or hear the pranksters as she and her master went past. As they neared the can of spiked tuna, however…
"She's eating it!" Fred whispered, giving James a thumbs-up. James nodded at him, and watched as the cat started twitching, her pupils dilating, her eyes becoming heavy, and she flipped on her back, high as a kite, pawing the air frantically.
James grinned evilly as he stepped out from behind the armor. "Now this... is a cat I can get used to."
Fred scooped her up and they made for the empty Arithmancy classroom, forcing to keep their maniacal giggles under wraps, lest anybody hear them from under the security of the cloak.
…
Travis and Brian posted at the doors. George held the meowing and sedated Mrs. Norris down. Fred was preparing the outfit and binding charms. There was books spread out across desks, making it look like they were studying just in case a professor happened to roll on by. The invisibility cloak was folded neatly next to the desk Mrs. Norris, spacey eyed and wide mouthed, having an existential mind trip, barely necessitating her being held down on. James steadied his breath, rolled his shoulders, and prepared for surgery. Or... barbery. Barbery? Hair styling.
No, no, too fancy. Buzz cutting.
There. Buzz cutting. James drew in a deep breath, relaxed his shoulders, and drew his pharoah-headed wand, ready for buzz cutting. He and George shared a nod, and he got to work.
"Brazilius Strippendo," James cast, and, starting from the scruff of her neck, started mowing fur down, leave fresh, pink, smooth cat skin behind...
...
The next morning, the Weasley twins and the PranKings stayed away from each other with feigned nonchalance. James sipped heavily sweetened earl grey and munched on a slice of wheat toast as Brian and Travis hid their perpetually grinning faces behind their DADA books.
"WHODUNIT!?" a roar broke the usual tired chatter of breakfast in the Great Hall. Laughter began to erupt as Mrs. Norris, still intoxicated from the enhanced catnip, bolted into the Great Hall sideways, her back arched and stilt walking as her paws, covered in fantastic imitations of knee high socks, threw her body mechanics through a loop. Her bounding made the flannel skirt and white school blouse her shaved clean body was crammed into flounce suggestively as she all but ran from the distraught, wheezing Argus Filch.
"Who dunnit to Mrs. Norris!?" Filch blustered as he chased his cat. "Smookums, come back to daddy!"
The entire Great Hall was breaking out in laughter, with nobody assisting him as she ran away from him, eyes dilated to the size of saucers and her tongue wagging out of her gaping mouth as she "Mreeeeeeooooooooow'ed" away from him.
Travis and Brian were folded over in laughter as James had to be caught by Morag as he convulsed in amusement. Fred and George stood from their spots at the Gryffindor table and led a round of applause that grew to whoops and cheers that filled the entire Great Hall, even as some of the more compassionate students murmured about animal cruelty.
...
"Whoever gave Quirrell this job is an idiot," James muttered later that morning in Defense Against the Dark Arts. "He's a bumbling idiot, and doesn't know anything."
Quirrell snapped his head up from the chalkboard; he seemed to have heard this comment, as did everybody else. Many of the gathered chuckled silently in agreement, while others murmured in shock. Judging by the way Quirrell was looking about the class, however, he didn't hear who had said it, and with angry, hurt eyes he continued his lecture on the treatment of werewolf bites.
"Too true mate," Tony Goldstein whispered. "All he does is stutter."
"I don't know who is worse in this class," Travis snorted, taking notes. "Quirrell, or Kiara Kennedy when she gets called on."
"Leave the poor girl alone," James reprimanded softly. "She's going through something."
"Clearly not what Quirrell's going through," Su Li quipped into their conversation. "Anybody else notice he's getting thinner and paler? I wonder if he's sick."
"S-s-s-sick of s-s-st-stuttering," James joked, making them all giggle.
Quirrell looked back up again, making them all fall silent and pretend to take notes from the lecture. As soon as he went back to writing on the board, they fell back into their jabs.
"How are we supposed to take this seriously?" Michael Corner asked. "He can't even stand up to a vampire! How are we supposed to look to him to stand up to someone like You-Know-Who?"
"Voldemort-" James said out loud with a lopsided grin, making everyone in class jerk, including Quirrell. "Can't even get killing children right. I think, if anything, Quirrell can take him on."
Silent shock filled the class as Quirrell, now enraged, turned on his heel and pointed his finger at James. With a confidence he had never shown, he stormed towards James Dean, who gulped, thinking he'd finally pushed the inept professor to his limit.
"Potter!" Quirrell raged.
"Sir?" James asked neutrally, but his usually stoic face was now wide eyed and nervous.
"Ten points from Ravenclaw! Do not use that name in this class!"
James held up his hands. "Yeah, yeah, sure."
"And another ten points for being an insolent, disrespectful brat!" Quirrell sputtered as he came nearer.
"I mean, I'm not that bad-"
"Would you talk to Professor Snape like this? McGonagall? Flitwick?" Quirrell's face was red in anger as he got within two desks from James.
"Well, kinda-"
"Then perhaps you should practice your manners here, then!" Quirrell thundered as he raised his hand high, as if he was about to strike his student.
James braced himself to bolt, but Quirrell jerked, his head snapping to the right as the sound of a whisper, barely audible, spoke out. James cocked his head and quirked an eyebrow at his professor, who backed away and stormed back to the front of the class, ignoring the rest of the class as he violently finished his lesson.
…
Quirrell slammed the door to his office in rage after the end of the lesson. Ripping the blasted turban from his head, he stood before the mirror and stared at his graying, thinning visage. His nostrils flared and he struggled to calm down.
"Quirinus," the Dark Lord breathed.
"Yes, My Lord," Quirrell responded through grit teeth.
"It would appear the typical Potter arrogance has not skipped generations. Perhaps... perhaps, if the texts from Rasputin you stole from Moscow has a way that we can... use him."
Quirrell's breathing swallowed as he grinned at himself. "Yes, My Lord, I believe there is something..."
He swept to the hidden Dark Arts manuals written by the Russian madman. He flipped through the pages, skipping past the boils curse, the broomstick tossing curse, and the manipulations of muggles curses. He finally came to a stop, his sallow mouth breaking into a wide, maniacal grin.
"The blood of your enemy, forcibly taken..."
"Sounds... appropriate," Voldemort wheezed. "We'll use him... then...to bring me back... then we will kill... Harry... Potter...
…
Neville, Hermione and Ron joined James, Travis, and Brian the day of the Quidditch match. Harry looked green all morning, but still refused to talk to James, who huffed at his brother and called him a child.
"I am a child, remember?"
"First of all, of course I remember," James shot back, pointing at his head in silent reminder. "And second of all, we both are! You're just acting like a younger one!"
The three Ravenclaws were far more prepared for this match, with two sets of binoculars, their spotting scope, and an experimental Omniocular that Sirius had gotten Travis as an early birthday present. It had the ability to slow down the time of what it was viewing, allowing for greater analysis of what the viewer was seeing, and Desmond and Roger fell out of their chairs when they showed it off.
Passing Hermione a set of binocs and a licorice wand, James nodded to the seat next to him. She smiled in thanks and took it, but looked worried. She turned in her seat to look at Ron, but Ron shushed her.
"I know, Hermione, I know."
"Know what?" James asked.
She leaned in and whispered conspiratorially: "We're going to leg-lock Snape if he tries anything against Harry!"
James turned and stared at her in bewilderment. "To think McGonagall called you the Greatest spell caster of our class."
She huffed. "What's that supposed to mean?!"
"It means that even if you hit him with that spell from all the way down here, all you'll do is lock his legs around his broom! And he probably already knows how to unlock them! Don't worry about Harry, I have already taken care of things to make sure he's safe."
Hermione narrowed her eyes. "What did you do."
James gave a sideways glance and lopsided grin as he nestled back into his seat. "I called in the professionals."
…
"I have evidence to suggest that Professor Severus Snape may, or may not, have been cursing, or counter cursing, Harry's broom last match," James declared to the gathered Professor Dumbledore, James Dean's parents, and uncles. "According to my research, a curse, at the level of which can override the magical anti curse wards put on all manufactured broomsticks in accordance to broomstick safety law section III, subsection 92a, one must maintain eye contact at all times with the broom and flyer. That being said-"
"The countercurser must also maintain constant eye contact," Dumbledore finished for him, smiling. "You really are brilliant when you apply yourself."
"Thank you," James nodded. "Now, myself, my brothers, Ron, and Hermione all witnessed Snape, in our various scopes and binoculars, maintaining eye contact with Harry as his broom rebelled against him in the first Quidditch match. He was mumbling something. I don't read lips so I dunno. What I do know is that if the curse was being cast properly, that it would have thrown Harry off it immediately, leaving me to believe that somebody was, in fact, countercursing it, giving Harry the ability to hold on for his life."
"So what are you suggesting?" Remus asked.
"I'm suggesting that you adults do something, because apparently I'm just a kid who doesn't have the maturity or moral fiber to do something myself."
Lily laughed at her son's stoic sarcasm.
…
"Trust me, I had a conversation with Dumbledore. The adults have this covered, this time."
Hermione quirked an eyebrow and frowned but relented.
Snape spared little time in speeches, like Hooch did, and threw the Quaffle in the sky. The players took off and the game began, with Harry and Cedric Diggory high up in the sky, orbiting the pitch.
"Ouch!" Ron cried, and they all turned to see Draco Malfoy, Vincent Crabbe, and Gregory Goyle guffawing as Crabbe had Neville and Ron's ears twisted in a searing pinch.
"Oh for god's-" James sneered. "Malfoy, tell your pet pig to let go."
"And what if I don't?" Malfoy laughed with an ego filled grin.
James let his expression do the talking, but Malfoy giggled, as Snape called a bogus penalty on Gryffindor. Crabbe let Neville and Ron's ear go, though.
"You know how I think they choose players for the Gryffindor team?" Malfoy prodded.
"I don't particularly care about your thoughts, Drakey boy," Travis muttered.
"I think they give it to people they feel the most sorry for. Like the Weasley's, since they're so poor. Or Wood, since he's so short."
"Oh, now I'd love to hear why they pity my brother," James seethed as Snape gave another trumped up penalty to the Lions.
"Oh, come on!" Hermione cried, having already gone back to watching the match.
"Because you have a crippled whore for a mother."
Malfoy's taunt rang in James's head as his vision went red.
"Perhaps you should be on the team, too, Rockbottom. It'd be perfect. The Weasley's have no money, the Potters have no morals, and you have no brains!"
James's hand twitched, and he clenched it into a fist.
"I'm worth twelve of what you think you're worth, Malfoy," Neville declared, standing. "And Mrs. Potter isn't a whore, she's a wonderful person."
"Is that so?" Malfoy sneered as he stood and got in Neville's face. "If brains were gold, you'd be poorer than Weasley."
"I'm not stupid!" Neville spat, his lips trembling and his chin shaking.
Malfoy laughed at him and made a mocking impression of him. "Why don't you prove it, then, Rockbottom?"
James was no longer in control of his mouth. "Remember what we taught you, Nev."
"Langlock!" Neville cried as he thrust his wand under Malfoy's chin. Malfoy pale eyes widened as he choked on his tongue, which was now glued to the roof of his mouth. Crabbe and Goyle moved to react, but Ron, Brian and Travis leveled their own wands at them, and not knowing what to do without their clueless leader, they raised their hands in surrender.
"Keep your wand on him, Neville," James ordered.
"Go Harry, go!" Hermione cried as she focused on the game.
James stood to Malfoy's face, and with a stoic impression, leveled him with a steely gaze. "I have told you, time and time again, to get your act together and stop being such a bad kid. I'm sick of this, Draco, and its gonna stop. Now, squeal, little ferret."
Malfoy glared at him but didn't make a sound.
"I said squeal!" James seethed and he slugged Malfoy in the stomach.
"Woo! He won! We won!" Hermione cried as she stood and danced in a circle before seeing Neville, Ron, Brian and Travis holding the Slytherins at wand point as James held up a keeled over, moaning Malfoy. "Um."
James smiled sweetly at her. "Don't mind us, we're just... negotiating."
Hermione quirked her eyebrow, but shook her head and went back to dancing in celebration.
James laughed and turned back to Malfoy. "Well, boys, whattaya say we make these lads take a walk and we show them the meaning of consequences?"
Four smiles was all the answer he needed.
…
They caught up with Hermione in Gryffindor tower after giving Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle a decent beating. The snakes had slithered back to their holes with black eyes and busted lips, but otherwise weren't any worse for wear.
"So where is the hero of the hour?" James laughed as he slung an arm around the neck of George Weasley, who was sat next to a cute Gryffindor girl James didn't recognize.
Fred, who had his own arm wrapped around an adoring Hufflepuff girl, shrugged. "Took off after the match, barely even got dressed before he was out the door."
The boy of the hour clambered through the portrait hole then, and was met with cheers and applause. He smiled and waved happily, enjoying the attention, but gave James a distracted look. He let the fervor die down, and then jerked his head from James to the portal, before doing the same towards Ron and Hermione, then Travis and Brian.
"What's up?" James asked as he came up to his twin.
"Not here," Harry looked over his shoulder, searching for eavesdroppers. "Let's get out of here and find an empty classroom or something."
The six of them quickly filed out of the common room and as soon as the door clicked shut on the nearest abandoned classroom, Harry began explaining.
"After the match, I saw Snape take off into the Forbidden Forest. So I jumped on my broom and followed him."
"I... doubt that was an enlightening conversation," Travis muttered.
"Not for Quirrell, it wasn't," Harry shook his head. "I think Snape really is after the Stone, because he kept threatening Quirrell about getting it."
"You heard this? You're sure," James pressed with a raised eyebrow.
"Well," Harry started.
"What did Snape say, exactly?" James pushed.
"He said students weren't supposed to know about the stone, then asked Quirrell if he found out how to get past Fluffy, and when Quirrell tried to play stupid, Snape threatened him by saying he didn't 'want Snape as an enemy.' Then he mentioned something about hocus pocus? I dunno, an owl hooted over that part of the conversation... then he told Quirrell to think about where is loyalties lie."
"So Snape really is after the Stone, then!" Ron griped.
"Not necessarily," Travis argued, holding a finger up. "According to what Harry heard, he could be the one after it, or he could be defending it."
"From Quirrell?" Ron and Hermione chorused, indignant.
"I don't think so. Quirrell doesn't fit the bill of power hungry, rock stealing jerk. But Snape did say 'Students aren't supposed to know about the Stone,' right Hare?"
"Harry," he corrected stiffly. "And yes, he did..."
"He could have meant us," James theorized with a thoughtful look. "But maybe another student could be after it, or even another member of the staff we haven't thought of."
"Malfoy," Harry and Ron chorused.
"Malfoy is too stuck up on his own high horse to even look between the lines of his own words," James disagreed. "But I'm willing to bet it is a Slytherin. Or maybe that Hufflepuff beater who insulted my mother. He looks like the type."
"Damn you and your Hufflepuff racism," Brian snorted.
"Regardless, Snape referenced that Quirrell had a hand in placing magic around the stone, and I think Snape did ask him how to get through it. And how to get past Fluffy."
"So, if Snape really is after the Stone," Travis elaborated slowly, "The only thing, or rather, person, standing between them and it, is Quirrell?"
"It'll be gone by next Tuesday," Ron groaned miserably.