That afternoon, since they all had free time, Harry invited his friends down to Hagrid's hut.
Well, the Slytherins who Harry thought were sort of friends didn't have free time, because their schedule was different, and if you counted Ravenclaw House then he didn't really invite many of his friends at all. But the friends who'd ended up in Gryffindor with him were all willing to come – even Hermione, though Harry had to point out to her that since the Potions homework was about their next potion then the logical thing to do would be to complete it closer to the next class.
Hagrid was delighted to see them all, laying out rock cakes for all five first-years and asking about their classes.
Harry related how he thought of all the lessons, eating through the rock cakes on his plate as he did so (which meant everyone's rock cakes, as the others slipped their unwanted cakes onto his plate whenever Hagrid was distracted.) Neville wasn't very happy with Potions, while Dean had said that he'd begun trying to do sketches during History of Magic to stay awake and Ron was generally dissatisfied with how things were going in the wanded classes; Hermione of course couldn't get enough of all the lessons, and asked Hagrid eagerly how much he remembered about the subjects in the rest of the year.
Hagrid's somewhat-embarrassed reply that he hadn't really done very well, and that it had been almost fifty years ago, left Hermione blushing a little and apologizing for her mistake – though the big man was quick to assure her that no harm had been done.
While that conversation was going on, Harry finished the last of the rock cakes, and managed through dint of considerable effort to reach Fang and start stroking him. The massive Irish wolfhound still didn't like the idea of getting any closer to the dragon than he absolutely had to, but after a few minutes of that treatment he seemed to have calmed down a bit.
He also took a quick look at the paper on the table, which had a story about an attempted bank robbery and another about someone in wizard prison saying 'bloody hell, he's a dragon' over and over again. Maybe it was a slow news day.
"So," Hagrid said, after he'd heard all about Harry's misadventure into Ravenclaw tower. "Any of you got any thoughts about what clubs you're gonna do? Didn't really get into any of 'em meself – oh, you've seen 'em yet?"
"I don't think so," Harry replied.
"They don't announce any of the clubs until after our first week," Hermione informed them. "That's when the upper years do Quidditch tryouts, as well. That's so the students all know how much work they have, so they don't take on clubs which take up too much time."
"Okay, seriously, did you eat the school syllabus or something?" Dean asked, without any real malice. "How do you know all this stuff?"
"Some of us read," Hermione replied with a huff.
"Yeah, and Harry reads a lot too," Dean countered. "Heck, Neville's the one who's got Tooth and Fang at the moment. We're all reading."
"I'm not!" Ron announced, sounding proud of the fact. "I'm only reading what I need to."
"Doing the bare minimum isn't going to help you with your grades, Ron," Hermione pointed out. "Don't you agree, Hagrid?"
Hagrid nodded. "Summat in that, right enough."
"Ron's lying, anyway," Harry clarified. "I found something in my collection he likes."
Ron's ears turned red.
There was a whoosh overhead, however, which interrupted the conversation, and Hagrid looked out the window to see what it was.
"That looked like Charlie Weasley to me," he said, sounding confused.
"Charlie?" Ron repeated. "No way it can be Charlie."
He got up to look out of the same window, the one which pointed in the direction of the Black Lake, and stared for a moment.
"Bloody hell, that is Charlie."
He headed for the door, and the others weren't far behind.
"Charlie, what on earth are you doing at Hogwarts?" Ron asked, as they reached the shore of the Black Lake. "Aren't you meant to be in Romania?"
"I was yesterday," Charlie replied, holding the bristles of a sleek-looking broomstick in the water. A faint hiss of steam was rising from the contact point, and a huge plume of white mist showed that it had originally been much more violent.
Up close, Harry had to admit that Charlie looked like the sort of person who could work with dragons. He was short for an adult, stocky, heavily freckled, and looked like he could probably wrestle a much larger dragon than Harry to the ground.
"But – hold on, you mean you've flown all the way here from Romania?" Ron blinked. "Why?"
"Ron, you sent me a letter about one of your housemates being a dragon," Charlie replied, shaking the water off the bristles now that the broom had stopped actually generating steam. "I came as soon as I got permission from my boss."
Still inspecting his broom, Charlie produced a wand with a flick of his wrist and drew all the water off in one smooth motion. "So, how are you getting on, Ronnie? Uncle Fabian's old wand not giving you too much trouble?"
"It kind of is," Ron replied. "The core's nearly poking out. I don't know how you used it for seven years without any trouble."
"So that's how you've got your brother's old wand?" Harry asked, remembering something Ron had said in passing on the train. "I wondered what kind of wand he was using."
Finally satisfied that his broom was cooled down to a safe temperature and dry enough that he could leave it alone, Charlie turned to his brother. "Yes, I got a new wand when I started-"
He stopped.
"...Ron, why didn't you mention that your dragon classmate was here?"
"Oh, um… I thought you'd notice?" Ron said. "This is Harry."
Charlie strode over, looking Harry up and down.
"Pleased to meet you?" Harry offered, putting his paw out, and Charlie shook it. That prompted the others to introduce themselves, shaking Charlie's hand as well.
"Do you have any idea how cool it is that you're a dragon?" Charlie then said. "I've always liked dragons, but normally it's quite hard to see them up close even if your job is working with them – it takes a lot of magic to stun them."
"I haven't actually tested if that's true for me," Harry volunteered. "But when I was being Sorted and I closed my eyes the Sorting Hat couldn't tell I was there for a moment."
"That sounds like magic resistance to me," Charlie replied. "We're always told the only place to cast a spell on a dragon where it's remotely likely to work is the eyes."
He stepped back a bit, and looked at Harry's forepaws. "Those are unusually dextrous… obviously you're able to talk, while most dragons aren't… do you mind if I see your wings?"
Harry spread them, interested to see where this was going – he'd never met a dragon expert before, and after Charlie had come all this way it seemed only polite.
"Wings supported by alar phalanges, differing lengths," Charlie muttered to himself. "No elbow spine, and a long wing insertion along the upper body. Very large for the body size – Ron said you can fly with these?"
"That's right," Harry confirmed. "I'm still training to try and go faster and for longer."
"And you're clearly not developing at the same rate as a normal dragon..." Charlie went on. "Can you breathe fire?"
Harry nodded, and at Charlie's request he demonstrated. It wasn't something he did very often, but what he produced was a jet of quite intense orange-yellow flame that could reach out about six feet if he really pushed it.
"Um… Charlie?" Ron asked, after about twenty minutes.
"Huh?" Charlie asked, looking up from taking measurements of Harry's teeth. Dean was sat down on the grass with a pencil, with sketch drawings of Harry's wing, head, tail and paw already down on the paper, and next to him Hermione was taking notes of her own about the spells Charlie had already used.
(Based on the results of the spells, Harry didn't have dragon pox, scalerot or Mingus' Tongue, his wing membrane was strong enough for sustained flight at high speeds and his fire was hot enough that if sustained it could melt lead. On the other hand, the spell designed to detect a dragon's age had produced a cloud of sparks before announcing that Harry was six weeks old, so he had the feeling that one wasn't really properly designed for dragons like him.)
"Not that I'm not pleased to see you or anything," Ron went on. "But where are you going with all this?"
Harry watched as Ron's handwave took in himself, Charlie, Dean and Hermione – along with Neville, who had sat down to read the paper for something to do.
Charlie took a moment to understand the question, then realized suddenly what Ron was getting at.
"Oh – right," he flushed slightly. "Sorry, I've been all excited about this – but – do you realize how amazing this is for me?"
"Yeah, I think we all realize how amazing it is," Ron agreed. "It looks like you want to do another NEWT, this time in Harry Potter."
Charlie paused.
"Wait, wait, hold on," he said, looking back at Harry (who waved). "So when you said Harry, you meant Harry Potter?"
Dean sniggered. "Did you not work that out yet?"
As the sun was slowly setting in the west, Charlie finally stepped away and went through his thick sheaf of notes. Dean handed him one last sketch, this time of Harry's dentition, and Charlie accepted it with a thanks.
"Let's see..." he said, flicking through. "Wings, tail… musculature structure, and the spines… various descriptions and dietary habits..."
"What are you going to do with that lot?" Ron asked. "It seems like you've got enough to write Harry's biography."
"Oh, that's not what I'm planning," Charlie replied.
He looked faintly embarrassed. "Sorry, I should have mentioned… I couldn't find anyone else who'd done it yet, so what I'd like to do is to describe Harry."
"Describe Harry?" Dean repeated. "I can do it for you. Little dragon, lots of books, and he's black."
"No, I mean a description like in a book," Charlie tried.
"Oh, I think I see," Hermione said. "You mean an official description that spells out how to identify whatever Harry's type of dragon is. Like how the Peruvian Vipertooth is copper-coloured and has venomous fangs."
"Exactly!" the young man told her, pleased with her way of putting it. "With this much information I should be able to publish a monograph – do you mind if I use your sketches, Dean? I'll be sure to credit you."
"Sounds great," Dean agreed. "Can you send us each a copy? It'd be cool to show my mum."
Harry didn't see Charlie's reaction, as he was pulling his robes back on, but it seemed like Charlie must have nodded or something.
"What are you going to call Harry?" Neville asked, looking up from his book – he'd finished the paper and was two thirds of the way through Hagrid's reference volume on the plants of the Forbidden Forest. "You can't just call him the Harry Potter dragon."
"Well, the names can be changed afterwards," Charlie replied, frowning. "The Romanian Longhorn used to be the Rumanian Longhorn, and there was a big argument about whether to rename the Ukranian Ironbelly back in the twenties because of the Soviet Union but they eventually decided against it. So the name I use doesn't have to be permanent."
He flicked through the documents. "I was thinking… the Black-Backed Bookwyrm."
Ron snorted.
"Is that okay?" Charlie added.
"Sure," Harry replied. "I mean… none of the stuff we've discussed is secret or anything, and I found some stuff out myself. I didn't know jinxes bounced off my wings."
"I might actually leave that detail out," Charlie said, after a lot of thought. "I'll just say you're magic resistant like other dragons, and apart from that mostly focus on the differences."
"Are you going to be okay flying back?" Harry asked. "It's quite a long way to Romania."
"I'll probably drop in on Mum and Dad for the evening," Charlie replied. "It'll be a nice surprise for them. Then I'll fly back tomorrow."
He shook Harry's paw. "Thank you so much for letting me do this – it's been the kind of thing I've dreamed about for years."
Harry smiled, glad to have been able to help.
As Charlie was about to leave, though – probably going to head up to the castle to use the Floo that Neville had told Harry about – the young dragon had a sudden idea.
"Do you read Muggle books?" he asked.
"Muggle books?" Charlie repeated. "I… don't think so, no. Not since I tried Muggle Studies – it wasn't for me."
"Can you hold on a few minutes, please?" Harry asked. "I think you might like some of them."
He checked that his wings were properly through the holes in his robes, then took off – flying hard for the castle doors.
Through the doors, up the grand staircase, into Gryffindor tower, loping up seven flights of stairs, a quick "sorry!" to an older boy who nearly got flattened, and Harry skidded to a halt in the First-Year dorm room. He rummaged through the books he'd brought along, wondering which one to pick, then after a bit of hesitation selected Dragonflight.
Setting it aside for a moment, he opened the dorm room window and then climbed out. Snagging the book again, he jumped clear of Gryffindor Tower and spread his wings – feeling the evening sun and the air – then dove right back down to where he'd started.
"Did you just jump out a window?" Charlie asked, blinking.
"I suggested that," Hagrid supplied. "Easy enough with wings, right lad?"
Harry nodded, furling his wings after his three-point landing, and held out the book he'd retrieved from his trunk.
"I think you might like this book," he explained. "There's no magic in it, or at least not the kind of magic wizards have, but the dragons can teleport and speak with their minds… to some people."
"Teleport?" Charlie repeated.
"'e means Apparate," Hagrid told the outdoorsy Wizard. "That's what you mean, right?"
"I don't think I've heard of Apparating before," Harry frowned. "So wizards can do that as well?"
He looked at Charlie's broomstick. "Why did you have to fly here?"
"Apparating is harder the further you're going," Charlie said. "You can do all sorts of nasty things to yourself if you're going too far."
That didn't sound as good as between did to Harry, though he was still curious why Charlie didn't just go in shorter Apparition jumps. Unless it was just that Charlie liked flying?
As he pondered that, Charlie took the book. It took a moment for Harry to let go, until he noticed that he hadn't and concentrated a bit on doing so.
"Sorry," Harry apologized, as he finally released the book. "I-"
"We did talk about that," Charlie remembered. "That hoard behaviour thing. It's really interesting, because I don't think there are any other dragons which actually do that."
"That's Harry for you," Dean chuckled. "Maybe he read about it in a book?"
After that unusual Friday afternoon, the rest of the weekend was more like what Harry had imagined would be normal.
Homework got done, and books got read. Harry visited the Ravenclaw library twice, this time answering proper riddles to get into the Ravenclaw common room, and it felt very satisfying to do so – a bit like a scene from The Hobbit, though fortunately the penalty for getting the riddle wrong was nothing like as severe as in the riddle-game in that book.
The first riddle had asked him what tree held knowledge on every leaf, and after some careful thought he'd decided it was a book because another word for a page was a leaf. Then the second one had been when Christmas came before Halloween, which Harry hadn't managed to get and so he'd skipped that day.
The third riddle was about something which grew without being alive, needed air without lungs, and drowned without a mouth. That one Harry answered quite quickly, realizing it was 'fire' (and Padma Patil had groaned, both because she hadn't got it herself and because obviously asking a dragon about fire had been an easy one).
"I'm not really sure that flying on a broomstick is the same as flying with wings," Harry said, looking back along his own body and inspecting his wings. Dean's sketches from last Friday had been the first time he'd really had a good look at how they were laid out, rather than relying on odd angles and instinct, so he was quite interested in the idea of a proper flying lesson that afternoon… whether or not it would actually work out nicely.
"But you're the only person who's got experience with flying, right?" Hermione asked. "At least, in our year?"
"What am I, chopped liver?" Ron demanded. "Our brooms may be a bit naff, but I've been flying for years!"
Hermione blushed. "Okay, um… good point. But I meant that you grew up in the Muggle world, so do you have any ideas?"
Harry thought about that, looking from Ron to Seamus (who'd also been boasting about his flying ability), then to Parvati, who'd also mentioned a bit of broomstick experience. He didn't think it was worth asking about how far they could fly…
"Can brooms hover?" he asked.
"Oh, yeah, easy," Ron said. "Unless it's really old, then you kind of have to tilt it back a bit 'cause their charms go a bit duff. That usually sorts it, though."
Harry nodded. "And I assume they're faster in a dive… what about getting on them?"
"Just like you'd expect," Ron replied. "Tell them to come up and that's what they do. Then you can make it hover at the right height and get on – though you have to make sure you get the cushioning charm in the right place."
"There's a cushioning charm?" Dean blinked. "What does that do?"
"I read about this," Hermione announced, glad to be back in the position of 'knowledgeable'. "It was invented in 1820 and it provides a magical cushion to make riding a broomstick much more comfortable."
"...yeah, that," Ron confirmed. "But apart from that, you lean back to make it slow down and lean forward to make it speed up. Kind of? It's hard to explain, but it really makes a lot of sense once you start."
As the conversation continued, Harry flicked through the library book about Quidditch that Hermione had been reading. Then he paused.
"Um… Ron?" he began. "Where exactly do Quidditch matches happen?"
"Huh?" Ron replied. "Why?"
"This book says that Quidditch is – or used to – be illegal within a hundred miles of a town," Harry explained. "But I'm not sure that the person who made that law understood what a town was, or maybe that they didn't understand what a mile was."
"...yeah, that sounds crazy," Dean agreed, sniggering.
"There's a pitch on Dartmoor," Parvati supplied. "One in central Wales, one near St. Mary's Loch and the last one's a little southwest of Halkirk. I think there used to be one in the Fens, but it closed ages ago."
At their looks, she winked. "What? I'm not just a pretty face, and besides, my father used to play for the Arrows."
"Really?" Dean asked. "That's pretty impressive. They're a local team, right?"
Ron sniggered. "They're a League team, mate. One of the thirteen teams in the League."
"It's not like it was a full time job," Parvati added. "Teams only play twelve games a year."
"I think we're getting off topic," Harry said. "So the important stuff is… sit on the broom, lean back to stop, and apart from that we'll get told during the lesson?"
Nobody disagreed with that, so he decided it was probably fairly accurate.
"Malfoy keeps saying how he's been flying for years," Ron added. "Bet he's not as good as he thinks he is, though."
He turned to Harry. "Any idea if you'll be allowed to skip the broomstick bit? You're clearly able to fly."
"If Draco has to do it, then so do I," Harry replied, with what he felt to be quite good logic.
Once the day's other lessons were behind them, the Gryffindor and Slytherin First-years congregated on a neatly-mown lawn on the grounds. Harry brought up the rear with Neville, assuring the timid boy that he'd be ready to help out if Neville got in trouble, then lined up with the others by the two rows of broomsticks.
As Ron had said – though not as clearly as Madam Hooch – you had to tell the broom to come "up", and it took almost everyone a few tries. Even Draco didn't get it quite right the first time, lazily drawling the instruction and then looking disappointed when the broom simply twitched and rolled over.
"You have to be firm!" Madam Hooch instructed. "Firm but not shrill, and make your instruction clear! Mr. Malfoy, I don't care if your broom at home is a well-crafted precision instrument, you need to learn how to use any broom not just one!"
Once he'd got his broom to jump up, Harry inspected it – noticing how the twigs were a bit uneven and tattered. All the ones in the class were similarly tired-looking, though if you thought about it maybe that just meant they'd tend to be fairly reliable because the bad ones would have disintegrated a long time ago.
Or maybe not.
Then the next step was how to sit on the broom. The feet had to go to the side of the brush binding or on a bipod, never kicking the handle end of the brush itself, because it was far easier to unseat them that way; the hands had to be turned properly, and the body properly rested on the cushioning charm. Harry's unusual body shape caused him several problems with that bit, and Madam Hooch came over to help him sort himself out.
They'd decided his tail should probably be left to fly free in the wind while his wings could help in the corners and were working on how the cushioning charm should carry his weight – but then Neville suddenly yelped.
"Lean back!" Ron called, as the poor First-year went flying skywards. "Nev, if you hold on too tight it'll only go faster!"
Dropping his broom, Harry jumped skywards to follow his friend. Madam Hooch did so as well, but she'd barely kicked off when Neville slipped and fell.
Gritting his teeth, Harry pulled up-and-over. He reached out to grab Neville's arm and yanked them both out of the dive, making his foreleg ache faintly from the force, and flared his wings with a hollow boom of air to shed velocity.
By the time Madam Hooch reached them, Harry had lowered Neville to the ground as gently as he could manage. He was panting, shocked by his fall, and Harry was sitting down and gingerly spreading his wings to see if he'd damaged them. (He wasn't sure how he'd tell, but it seemed like the right thing to do.)
"Are you all right, Mr. Longbottom?" Madam Hooch asked. "Look at me."
Neville did so, and the flying instructor shone her wand light into his eyes one at a time. "Looks all right… nothing broken?"
The Gryffindor shook his head. He winced, clutching his shoulder for a moment, then let out a slow breath.
"I… t-think it's nothing," he said.
"Well, then, if it still hurts be sure to take it to Madam Pomfrey," Madam Hooch went on. "And you, Mr. Potter!"
Harry winced, hoping that he wasn't about to be told off.
"I'd have preferred you left the job to me, but you have good instincts," she said. "But if you hadn't been in the way I could have used a Slowing Charm to slow Mr. Longbottom down. Keep that in mind in future."
"Yes, Madam Hooch," Harry replied.
She clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't sound so glum! Your instincts are good, and we can train the rest. I expect you'll be a fine Quidditch player if you decide to join the team in a later year."
Fortunately, that was the most excitement that the lesson saw. In fact, after the incident, Madam Hooch took care to start with Neville – using a different and particularly low-powered broom, and walking him through the basics of how to shift your weight to either rise or fall.
After ten minutes or so Neville was doing fine, and then the rest of the class went through the same in groups of three or four. It meant the whole flying lesson overran by nearly an hour, but it also meant that – despite their scare – everyone got at least slightly used to flying.
Harry, however, found himself at an unexpected disadvantage. If he tried to use just the broom he was fairly good, and he already knew he was both strong and manoeuvrable with his wings, but if he combined the two the result tended to go badly.
"Hmm..." Madam Hooch mused, eventually, inspecting the latest dragon-shaped dent in the lawn before repairing it with a wave of her wand. "We'll work on that, Mr. Potter."
"Why can't I just use my wings?" Harry asked. "I know this is a lesson about broomsticks, but it's called a flying lesson."
"I've got an idea," Dean said. "What about if you use a broomstick like… what's it called… reheat, that's it. That thing fighter planes do when they go faster in a straight line."
"I don't think I've ever heard of that," Harry admitted.
"Dad thinks it's cool," Dean explained.
Harry had to admit, it would be good to be able to go faster in a straight line.
So long as that straight line wasn't straight into the ground, that was.
The next evening, after Potions and after Hermione had pulled the rest of their group into a homework session in the library, Neville asked Harry if he'd seen a shiny orb-shaped object with a golden rim.
"I… hmm," Harry mused, thinking about the various things he'd seen around the castle.
He knew he was well-disposed to spot shiny objects, which he assumed was probably a dragon thing getting its chance to show off in the much more shiny environment of Hogwarts rather than Little Whingeing JMI School, but he couldn't remember something offhand that was like that and said so.
"I got it at breakfast a couple of days ago," Neville told him. "It's a Remembrall, it's supposed to help me know if I've forgotten something, but I think I've forgotten it somewhere."
"Yeah, I can see how that's a problem," Harry agreed. "So… does it help you remember what it is you've forgotten?"
"No, just tells me that I've forgotten something," his friend replied. "I think, anyway… I've only ever heard of them before."
"I'll look them up," Hermione volunteered. "It'll probably be in A Hundred Odd Office Oddments."
Madam Pince appeared from behind a shelf as if by magic (which, come to think of it, it probably was). "No unnecessary noise in the library."
"Sorry," Harry said, lowering his voice. "Okay, Neville… let's see. Did you have it in Potions?"
"I…" Neville began, thinking hard, then nodded. "Oh – yes, because I used it to see if I'd forgotten anything I needed for the lesson. And I hadn't."
Harry nodded, thinking back to the Potions lesson.
He hadn't seen it on Neville's desk, but then he'd been concentrating fairly hard anyway and Neville might not have had it out – Professor Snape's second potion for them had been more complex than the first, though he hadn't had a quiz to start the lesson, and the Remembrall might have been more of a distraction than a help.
"Okay, I'll retrace the route," he decided. "I've got all my homework done anyway, except for the Potions."
"Are you sure you're going to call that done?" Hermione asked.
"Well, I did as much as we got told to," Harry replied. "And I didn't write too large."
"But there's so much more you could-"
"Hermione," Ron interrupted her. "Don't worry. Please?"
"If the amount of work I'm doing isn't enough to get a high grade, I'll do more," Harry agreed. "But I've got good marks so far… I'll come back here and tell you how I get on, okay?"
"Right," Dean agreed. "And we'll try and make sure Hermione doesn't overdo it."
As Harry left, he heard Hermione protesting again and Dean pointing out that if she filled her evenings to the brim with homework she wouldn't have any space for clubs or for when it was her turn with Tooth and Fang.
Hiding a smile, he set on his way back down through the halls and staircases of Hogwarts to reach the dungeons.
Several floors later, Harry had little to show for the journey.
He'd met the caretaker's cat, Mrs. Norris, who was sufficiently wary of him to keep a wide berth but sufficiently suspicious to keep an eye on him anyway, been very ineffectually stabbed by the insubstantial lance of Lord Ridley (until Sir Nicholas and a ghost by the name of Harold Rathburne had carried him away in an ethereal armlock, apologizing to him the whole way) and nearly been hit by some awful glitter-bomb that Ron's twin brothers had cooked up to drop on Professor Quirrell.
There was no sign of an orb with a golden rim, however, and Harry had retraced their steps all the way to the Potions lab when he stopped and frowned.
There was Neville's scent, all right, making its way up to the Great Hall for lunch… and there was Neville's scent, weaker but still there, heading down a different corridor.
Tail flicking from side to side with interest, Harry checked the time – it was about halfway through a lesson period – and followed the trail.
Unfortunately for Harry, the trail seemed to go nowhere in particular that he could see. There were a lot of dank smells down in the dungeons of the castle, and it was harder and harder to pick out the faint traces of Neville… until finally he lost it in front of a blank stretch of wall, all jumbled up with all the other scents.
He sighed, blowing out a faint flicker of smoke, and shrugged.
It had been worth a try, though.
Halfway back up into the above-ground section of the castle, a thought struck Harry. He'd been so caught up in tracking down that trail that he'd missed out on what it actually meant, which was that – probably – someone had taken Neville's Remembrall. If it wasn't in Neville's bag, and it wasn't anywhere he could have dropped it, and the only other scent trail was someone leaving the room Neville had been in…
Harry wasn't exactly the main character from that detective book he'd read, but he could work that one out. Which meant the best thing to do was to find a Prefect… but Percy was still proving very difficult to track down.
But now Harry had another idea, and so when he reached the Grand Staircase he crouched before spreading his wings and jumping.
All the floors of the castle went past in a few seconds – a couple of Ravenclaws making their way up past the third floor whooped – and Harry alighted on the guard rail at the top, scrabbling for a moment before pulling himself over onto the top floor of the main castle.
Left turn, right turn, and he was approaching the brass door knocker – which had a couple of first- and second-year Ravenclaws standing around it.
"Afternoon," Terry Boot said. "I didn't get this one."
Harry waved, going briefly to three legs instead of four to do so, then knocked.
"Ah, you again," the door knocker greeted him. "What has roots nobody sees, is taller than trees, up it goes, and yet never grows?"
"I think it's supposed to be a mountain, but mountains grow as well," Harry replied. "They just do it really slowly."
"A fair answer with your working shown," the door-knocker replied, and opened.
"Actually, I'm afraid it's in one of the books I've read," Harry apologized. "Gollum asks it in The Hobbit."
"I suppose you can't win them all," the door knocker said amiably as the Ravenclaws went through, followed by Harry.
Inside, he located the person he'd been after – the Ravenclaw prefect he'd met several times already, who he now knew to be called Penelope. She listened to his explanation without interruption, nodding slowly, then stood.
"Thank you for telling me this," she said. "I'll have to have a word with Percy to make sure he's making enough time in his schedule for the students of his own house – and check on the other Gryffindor prefects as well, or ask Professor McGonagall to do it."
"Do you think you'll be able to get Neville his Remembrall back?" Harry asked, worried.
"I'll take care of it, don't worry," Penelope assured him.
On Saturday morning, Neville had his Remembrall again.
"So, based on what I read, you can sort of ask it questions," Hermione was saying. "So as well as 'have I forgotten something', you can think, 'have I forgotten something to do with my classes'..."
Harry listened with half an ear, chewing through the spare breakfast fork the House-Elves had provided him, then his ear perked up as he noticed the sign-up sheets going up on the walls thanks to Professor Flitwick.
"Looks like we can sign up to the clubs," he said, getting the attention of his friends, and hurried over. A lot of the other students did as well, crowding around, but Harry had managed to get in quick – which was fortunate, as he wasn't really tall enough to see over a crowd.
It looked like there were about two dozen, roughly speaking. Some of them weren't any interest to Harry, like the Gobstones club (which sounded unpleasant) or the Charms club (which looked like it was for the later years), and he didn't even know what Rummy club was… but some of them looked much better. Swimming club sounded vaguely interesting, though Harry hadn't swum except for lessons at school which hadn't gone very well, and the Book club was the one which looked the most appealing of all.
It took a few minutes for Harry to squirm his way over to that sheet and tap it, which added his name with a flourish of an enchanted quill. It was really impressive, just one of the ways magic made things easier, and he saw Ron putting his name down for the Chess club at about the same time. (That sheet was particularly popular.)
Once the scrum had faded a bit, Dean put himself down for the Art club – where he joined a number of unfamiliar names, but also Blaise Zabini. The Slytherin boy seemed to have signed up for about four different clubs, and Harry wasn't sure if that was just enthusiasm or wanting to decide which he'd continue with later, but it tempted him before he ultimately decided to stick to just the one.
Hermione hadn't wanted to do any of them at all, and Ron was trying to convince her to give at least one a go when the Weasley twins came hurrying over.
"Harry!" one of them said.
"Just the person we wanted to see," the other continued.
"Do you think you could help us with something?"
The second one held up a red envelope. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to deal with this?"
"By which we mean eat this."
"Our dear mother gets very uptight about things."
"Even when we've been punished for them already."
Harry felt like he was watching a tennis game.
"How are you doing that?" he asked, as the envelope began to emit curls of smoke.
"Don't have time for that now," said the one not holding the envelope, picking up a pepper grinder and grinding some over the smoking envelope. "You could really help us out."
"Just dispose of this for us."
"It should be a snap."
"I think it's a good idea, Harry," Percy said, surprising Harry. "My brothers have broken the rules, but they deserve detention – not public humiliation."
"We're just thinking of the children," said George, or possibly Fred.
"Don't want them deafened," George, or perhaps Fred, agreed.
Harry opened his mouth to ask, but the letter was starting to curl up at the edges now. George held it out, Harry got slightly confused, and in a moment the letter was going down his throat.
A few tense seconds passed in silence, as the Weasleys waited with bated breath – along with Neville, while Hermione and Dean just looked confused.
There was a faint tickling in Harry's stomach, but nothing that seemed important.
"Phew," George said (Harry had decided to call them both George unless something changed). "Thanks, Harry."
Harry tried to say it was nothing, but what came out was a magically enhanced shout. "DISRESPECTING A-"
His glasses went bouncing away across the floor as he shut his mouth with a snap.
"Mm?" he asked.
"It's a Howler," Ron supplied. "It's a magical letter that shouts at the person who gets it."
"TOLD YOU-" Harry bellowed, then decided to just hold his mouth shut until the conversation was over.
"Mum loves sending them whenever we do something wrong," George supplied. "And normally there's no way out of it, we just let them run. But since you're around..."
"They sound unpleasant," Hermione frowned. "Why doesn't she just tell you off in a normal letter?"
"I bet it's just that it lets off steam," Dean suggested.
George retrieved Harry's glasses, and George took them to hand off to Harry. "There you go. And, um… it should only take a few minutes until it stops."
After the hubbub had died down, Harry went back over to look at the sign up sheets. To his delight, Hermione and Neville had decided to go for the Book Club as well, and the first meeting was on Sunday afternoon.
"Harry," Percy said, getting his attention, and Harry looked around.
"Yes?" he asked, then sighed in relief when Mrs. Weasley's shouts didn't fill the Great Hall.
"I wanted to apologize," Percy told him. "Penelope told me about what happened yesterday, and… well, I was so pleased with the good side of being a Prefect that I forgot about the difficult sides of the job."
Harry nodded, thinking about when Percy had told him how many classes he was taking.
"Maybe you need the same advice as Hermione?" he suggested. "She keeps trying to work as hard as possible and spend all her time on class work, but Dean thinks that's a bad idea this early in the year because then she's got nowhere to go during exam time."
He tried to remember the way Dean had put it. "Something about trying to go everywhere in a high gear meaning you can't get started."
Percy frowned. "Is a gear one of those things Muggle cars have?"
"I know, I didn't really understand it either," Harry admitted. "I know bikes have them, but the school bike I used for cycling proficiency didn't have any gears and I never got used to which way around they are."
Percy nodded. "Well – what I'll try and do is to make sure that when I am doing my school work, I'm always in the library or the common room. And if you do need my help for a proper Prefect thing, just interrupt me."
That lunch, Harry was finally reaching the end of The Seeress of Kell – well into what looked like being a very happy ending, even if it was one bereft of dragons – when Draco Malfoy came over, accompanied by Vincent and Gregory.
"I suppose you think that's big of you, do you?" Draco demanded.
Harry looked down at himself, wondering if he'd gained any weight – he'd certainly been eating better at the castle, or at least better in food terms – then back up at Draco. "Pardon?"
"What's your problem, Malfoy?" Ron asked.
"Shut up, Weasley," Draco instructed. "Potter's been getting a Prefect to do his dirty work."
Harry flared out a wing, separating Ron and Draco before the latter had finished speaking, and looked at his book. "Can it wait? I'm almost finished, there's this knight who Mandorallen is insulting and it's really funny."
Draco seemed slightly bemused, but rallied. "Well, if you'd rather wait, we could make it a formal thing. Wizard's duel, tonight at midnight in the trophy room."
Harry paused. "Hold on a moment."
He turned to Hermione, who had been watching in a kind of vague shock. "Are wizard's duels allowed by the school rules?"
At that, his friend reached into her bag to get out one of the books she carried everywhere.
"What are you, Potter?" Draco demanded. "Chicken? Looking for a way out of the duel?"
"Well, I know going out after curfew isn't allowed," Harry answered, vaguely noticing that a lot more people were listening now. "But if a duel is allowed, then we could have one outside after lunch? I always thought the person who got challenged got to pick where and what."
"I – hold on," Hermione mumbled, as on Harry's other side Ron shifted out from behind the big black wing so he could see. "Um… yes, they're allowed, so long as a teacher's supervising and there's no lethal or potentially lethal spells used."
"That actually sounds all right," Harry said. "What do you think, Draco? We could ask Professor Flitwick to supervise, because he's not either of our Head of House."
"And he's a well-known duelist," Hermione supplied.
"Hold on, hold on," Dean said, from the other side of the table. "A duel?"
The tall First-year blinked. "Like… knights and stuff?"
"I was actually reading about knights having one," Harry related.
"What's this about a duel?" Professor Flitwick asked, surprising everyone. "Mr. Potter, I understand you're involved?"
"Yes, Sir," Harry agreed. "Draco challenged me to one, and I've suggested we have it outside after lunch."
Draco looked venomously at Harry, but it had all become a bit too public for him to back out.
"All right," he agreed. "Who's your second?"
"I'll do it!" Ron said promptly.
"And you, Mr. Malfoy?" Flitwick went on.
"...Crabbe," Draco decided, after some consideration. "You'd better show up, Potter."
"Why didn't you tell Professor Flitwick that he challenged you to a duel after curfew?" Hermione asked. "He's trying to make you break the rules!"
Thinking about it, Harry realized that was probably true.
"Well, he'd have broken the rules as well, if he showed up," Harry replied. "Or, rather, he'd have broken the rules. If it was against the rules I wouldn't have done it."
"Really?" Ron blinked. "Why not?"
"If you're going to break the rules, then you have to have a good reason for it," Harry answered. "I don't like Draco, but with what he's already said I don't really think he's going to like me no matter what I do."
He shrugged his wings. "It's not like I cared what my cousin thought about me."
"Wait, Harry," Dean frowned. "Didn't you tell me before you used to fly up on the school roof to read books?"
"Yeah, but only if Dudley was going to try and steal them off me," Harry replied. "After the time he kicked a library book to bits and blamed me for it I thought it was better to just keep them out of the way."
"Your cousin sounds awful," Neville said, speaking up for the first time that lunch.
"It kind of depends what sort of day he's having," Harry shrugged. "I think a lot of people are like that."
One happy ending to the Malloreon behind him, Harry headed out to the lawn in front of the castle after lunch.
There was quite a crowd, and he felt a bit nervous, but Ron had pointed out that they hadn't actually learned any dangerous spells yet so the most that Draco should be able to do was shoot sparks (and the Stinging Jinx, a very weak spell that Professor Quirrell had explained to them in Defence earlier that week).
Professor Flitwick was waiting, and so were Draco and Vincent, and the little Charms teacher smiled at them both.
"So!" he began. "Is this a recreational duel or a challenge?"
"A challenge, I think," Harry said. "Draco challenged me."
"That's quite all right," the Professor said brightly. "And is the dispute one that can only be solved by a duel, or does one of you want to back down?"
"I don't want to back down," Draco insisted.
"And I'm not quite sure what the issue is," Harry admitted. "But I don't mind having a duel."
"All right!" Professor Flitwick repeated. "Good enough for me. Now, the rules are as follows – no body contact, the duel is over when one side has conceded or when I determine enough time has elapsed, and because this is a duel on school grounds no lethal spells should be cast. The duel will not begin until I say so."
"All right," Harry agreed. "Are there rules about where we go?"
"You are not to leave the school grounds," Professor Flitwick said. "Now, please bow."
Harry bowed, closing his eyes, and Draco shouted something he didn't quite make out.
"Mr. Malfoy!" Professor Flitwick said sharply. "I did not instruct you to begin!"
"What happened?" Harry asked, looking up again. Professor Flitwick had his wand out and pointed at Draco, and the young Slytherin was looking shocked.
"Malfoy cast a spell at you!" Ron provided. "It sounded like the knockback jinx, but it just bounced off your scales!"
"Mr. Malfoy has wilfully broken the rules of the duel," Professor Flitwick went on. "He loses. Congratulations, Mr. Potter."
"What?" Draco demanded. "But he didn't do anything!"
"Which means he's followed instructions a lot better than you have, Mr. Malfoy," Professor Flitwick told him, his customary good cheer returning quickly. "If you wish to argue that Mr. Potter should have to defeat you to claim victory and Mr. Potter agrees, you can of course continue?"
Draco clenched his fist, then his gaze dropped.
"Excellent!" Professor Flitwick said. "And if anyone else would like to take part in a practice duel, please contact me and I can organize pairs."
Harry felt a bit bemused for the rest of the day.
AN:
Charlie Weasley is a dragon geek.
Draco Malfoy is having trouble trying to deal with an amiable dragon.