Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter either. It belongs to its creator J.K. Rowling and probably Warner Bros. too. I'm not too sure about that. This piece of literature is simply the work of a humble fan.

:Author Notes:

This will be leaning more toward alternate reality. It will have the same characters just a different spin on things. If you're not a fan or strong cursing or maybe even violence and bloodshed then there is a good chance that this story isn't for you.

"Those who fear the darkness have never seen what the light can do." Magic, The Gathering

-

Potter

Chapter Eight: In the Darkness is the Light

By: Water Mage

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Harry was small in this dream. Smaller than he was now. He was eight years old and it was the day after his eight birthday. Instead of being in school like most kids his age, at this time of day. Harry was tied up in a dark room, hands and feet bound to the four corners of a rank smelling mattress. The wallpaper covering the walls was old and peeling in places. Sweat dribbled down the young Harry's brow like tiny rivulets. Harry licked his upper lip, tongue wiping away the sweat that collected at the corner. With narrowed eyes, Harry scanned the room. There was nothing in it. No windows. No bathrooms. Only one door that led out to the corridor and a surveillance camera nailed cattycornered.

Without so much as a squeak the door opened. In walked a beautiful woman. She would have been unearthly beautiful, but the sneer fixed unto her face marred her good looks. A tight red dress covered her model-esque body. Her breasts looked as if they were about to pop out from the dress any moment, it was that tight. Flicking back her curly, blond hair, she walked toward Harry hips swinging. An odd smile covered her face. Inwardly, Harry shivered. The smile was directed at him. And he didn't like it at all.

"Hello, Harry," she said, wearing that chilling smile. Her voice held the lilting tone of a French accent. It was light and made her seem almost… nice. But Harry wasn't fooled.

Harry was silent. His lips thinned in a line and his eyes narrowed only the slightest bit. This was the only emotion he let show on his face. The woman, Ravissante Tueur, was as beautiful as she was deadly. Right on, she had let Harry know that her name Ravissante Tueur, Lovely Killer, was not just a cool nickname.

Ravissante smiled at Harry's stone cold defense. "You are such an… amusing child." She chuckled at Harry's unmoving expression. She sat down on the bed, a playful pout fixed unto her face. "Aww, don't be like that, Harry. You haven't even begun to feel the pain," Ravissante traced a long nailed finger across his neck. "that I can give you. You father better pay up the ransom or things will get real painful in here."

Harry blinked away a tear. Without even thinking about it, he spoke without realizing. "My father won't give you nothing. You're crazy."

Something flickered in her eyes, and the next thing Harry knew his throat was held in a painful hold. Ravissante Tueur held his throat in a chokehold, cutting off air supply. Strangled sounds left his mouth, as Harry's lungs burned, and eyes watered as tears trailed down his face. Pleadingly, he looked to Ravissante, vision blurring and head swimming, as white spots appeared behind his eyelids. The blond woman's face was a mask of coldness as her hand ever so slowly tightened around his throat. Then without warning she let go. Great gasps were then heard in the room, as Harry's lungs worked in overtime to recollect air. Suddenly, Ravissante moved quicker than humanly possible. Harry could only blink, watching as her arm sailed through the air. Her dark red nails slashed his throat in a smooth arc. A scream of pain ripped from his mouth, as blood surged forward from the cut.

Instantly, the door opened and a tall man rushed in. He was pale, and his dark hair made his pale blue eyes stand out sharply. Grabbing Ravissante by the hair, he yanked her quickly away from Harry. He glared at her angrily as he cursed her darkly in Spanish.

"Ravissante, what do you think you are doing!" he snapped. "The boss said not to harm him!"

Ravissante, if she was sorry certainly didn't show it. She just gracefully got to her feet, smoothing down her dress. "Alecto, do not patronize me. You might be the boss's boy toy, but you are not in charge of me." Her eyes then flashed darkly. "I would take to remember that fact, Alecto." His name came out more like a purr. Her tongue rolled each syllable with a caress.

Alecto sneered at her. "While you were in here playing, Michelangelo says that the cameras caught someone sneaking onto the grounds. A guard on the East Side was found knocked out."

"My father comes," Harry said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

The wound on his throat hadn't stopped bleeding, but the blood flow was slowing down. The collar of his polo shirt was drenched with spilled blood. With the amount of blood collected on the shirt and drying on Harry's throat, one would think the wound was fatal. It wasn't however. Ravissante was too good for that. There were numerous ways to cut a person's throat without killing them. It would be painful but it wouldn't be life threatening.

"I suppose that Michelangelo wants us to check it out," she stated. "I am a trained assassin. Michelangelo needs to learn that my resume doesn't say grunt work."

Alecto sighed. "Ravissante, control yourself. If you want to get paid, I suggest doing exactly what Michelangelo tells you. If he says jump, you better fucking say, how high."

"Whatever," muttered Ravissante, leaving the room without so much as backward glance.

Alecto looked down to Harry and the boy almost saw a flash of regret in his eyes. It was gone quicker than it appeared, replaced by the blank mask of coldness that permanently was fixed on his face. Stoic, Alecto gazed down at Harry for another brief moment. Then with precision he spun on his heel leaving the room. The door closed with a soft click.

Then and only then, did Harry let the tears in his eyes to flow. He couldn't hold it in anymore. All of it that he had been holding back behind a wall of cool flooded forward like a river. A choked sob left his bruised throat as the events of the day caught up to him. Earlier in the morning, the limo that took him to school was hijacked. These people weren't amateurs. Anyone with half a brain could tell that. They were trained killers. Professionals. They didn't kill people for fun. They were trained and did it for money. A real enterprising career. These people wanted what all people wanted. Money. Harry was to be ransomed to his father. These people weren't stupid, however. They knew exactly what the elder McKnight really did for a living, and they had all bases covered. The place they were in currently, their base, was strategically located outside any of the Clans' territories. Meaning that no one in the Empire could trace their location. Smart. Very, very, smart.

Harry stilled as a sound outside the door reached his ears. He closed his eyes and prayed to the heavens that Ravissante was not on the other side. The doorknob turned and Harry's prayers came faster, as his heart jumped, pulse racing quicker in time with his panic. With his heart thudding in his throat, he stared at the slowly opening door that seemed to be going in extra slow motion, as if time was out on a break. A black clothed figure entered the room, dressed head to foot in black.

"Daddy!" Harry said, recognizing his father, despite the cloth covering half his face, ninja style.

Killian yanked off the cloth. Instantly he was at Harry's side slicing at the bonds holding him with a dagger. Once the bonds were cut, Harry was in his fathers arms held in his safe embrace. "Kiddo are you alright?"

Harry nodded. Killian's eyes traveled down to the cut on Harry's neck that looked more like a ragged gash. His green eyes went cold, as he ripped off a strip of cloth from his sleeve, holding it to Harry's throat. A sword was strapped to Killian's back, and running down each arm was throwing stars. Covering his chest and midsection was a Kevlar vest. Bulletproof. In shoulder holsters were two large stainless steel guns, Smith and Wesson 1911 pistols. These were his father's go get'em weapons. If Killian was armed with these guns, all hell was going to break loose.

"Overkill, much?" Harry chuckled, his voice raspy. His joke failed to lighten the mood for Killian seemed to grow even angrier at how bad Harry's voice sounded.

Killian grabbed Harry's hand, helping him off the bed. "Come, on. We're getting out of here."

Stealthily, the duo traveled down the hallway. They avoided nearing footsteps or approaching voices whenever they could. Two low whistles from behind made them spin around in alarm. A man, eyes rolling into his head, fell to the ground, dead. Blood oozed from two bullet holes in his back. Three feet behind the man were two black clothed figures. By their stances, Harry recognized them immediately. The Angels of Death had joined the soirée. Todd and Dylan walked up to them. Their footsteps made no noise against the wood paneled floor. They were the perfect bodyguards and assassins.

"Is the young master alright, sir?" asked Todd. Half of his face was covered like Killian's.

Killian sighed. "He will be." He turned to Dylan. "Give him your gun."

"Sir?"

"Give him your gun? The Browning 9mm. It has the smallest grip," Killian said, while keeping his eyes focused on the shadows ahead of them.

Todd made a 'hurry up' sound. "Come on, Dyl'. He can handle it, you know it. The young master can shoot."

Todd handed Harry the gun. Harry took the gun and with his small hands, he popped the clip out making sure that it was loaded. Quickly, with a practiced ease he popped it back in, then put a round in the chamber so it was ready for shooting. The saftey went on with a click. Just in case. Harry looked to his father and the man nodded. Harry could read the relief in his eyes. His father wanted him to be safe if they should go down. As one they moved down the hall, dead bodies cluttered their path. Suddenly, a hand grabbed him around his arm. Instinctively, he twisted tugging the arm off. Then without thinking his gun was out, safety off, and firing. Ravissante fell to the ground blood spraying, and body shaking from the rounds of hot lead entering her flesh. Harry's brain went bye bye, and any coherent thought refused to be formed. He went into a place where emotions had no meaning and only the sweet nothingness existed. Only thing he knew was that Ravissante Tueur had to die. No amount of pain would be good enough except for death. Blood pooled around her fallen body, but that was not enough. Still Harry fired into her. His mind refused to register that she was already dead after the second shot.

"Harry?" a voice broke through his reverie. Still he kept squeezing the trigger. Not even realizing that the gun had clicked empty long ago. He was doing nothing more than dry firing into her torn and dead body. "Harry, stop! She's dead. She's dead."

Killian grabbed the gun, but Harry jerked back, eyes wild. He felt trapped. His mind was a jumble of thoughts. Nothing made sense. Nothing except Ravissante Tueur dying. That was the only thing that had made any kind of sense. Her pain. Her hurt. That had made sense. That was reality. Killian grabbed Harry, forcing his eyes to meet his own lighter, green eyes.

"Kiddo, look at me." He tilted Harry's chin up. "Look at me. She is dead. She cannot hurt you anymore. Its over."

Harry was suddenly enveloped in Killian's arms. "I wanted her to hurt, Daddy." Tears fell down his cheeks. "I wanted her to die."

Killian nodded. "I know." He took the gun carefully from Harry's hands. "Lets go."

The blissful fog of the dream started to lift and Harry began to realize that he was in fact dreaming. Reliving this memory was nothing more than a dream. Harry could feel himself start to awaken. Then Harry was suddenly clutched by something. Something… powerful. He was trapped in this dream. The walls faded. His father and bodyguards disappeared. Harry focused his vision and terror filled him for the first time.

Darkness. A black, never-ending darkness surrounded him on all sides. It was above him, beside him, beneath him. Trying to smother him in its bottomless depths. An overwhelming urge from inside warned him to run, but Harry had nowhere to run. The darkness was everywhere. He was in a sea of darkness. And he was drowning. It filled his throat, choking him in power. A power so old and ancient that it was unnatural. This power shouldn't exist. Shouldn't be in the world of man. It was something evil. An old evil. I must find a way to escape, Harry thought.

'You escaped me once. Never again.' A voice whispered into his head, simultaneously coming from the nothingness.

Harry felt a wave of fear and despair flood over him, filling his heart. It was everywhere. He could feel it inside his bones. In his nose. He could practically taste it on his tongue. He wasn't escaping. Whatever had him was powerful and it wasn't letting go. He couldn't fight this thing. Whatever fancy new power he did pick up alluded him at the moment. Nothing could stop this. He couldn't hit it. Couldn't shoot it. Nothing was going to stop it.

Another wave of terror hit him, flooding him. Harry wanted to tear his brain out. It throbbed so bad, almost threatening to explode from his skull. This attack on his psyche could only last so much before he just completely gave in.

'Surrender,' the voice again whispered.

'NO!' A strong, deep voice boomed out from nowhere.

At the sound of the voice, Harry was suddenly filled with a new emotion. Courage. It renewed his body, chasing away the dark thoughts and foreign emotions filling his body. A light appeared around Harry. If he were looking in a mirror, he would have seen that his eyes were glowing a startling emerald green from edge to edge. Another thing was that his lightning bolt scar was glowing also. A dazzling gold, so bright that it began to chase back the darkness.

'YOU CANNOT HAVE HIM! HE IS UNDER MY PROTECTION! GO BACK TO THE DARKNESS!'

The darkness at the sound of the disembodied voice and the light from Harry started to recede. With a new wave of energy giving him strength, Harry willed himself to awake. Suddenly, his eyes snapped open and he bolted up in his bed. His breath came in great gasps as he looked around him. The familiar sight of his dorm comforted him. He was safe. Relief and thankfulness washed over him. He was still at Hogwarts. Harry felt a bitter taste fill his mouth. Touching a finger to his tongue he realized that he had bit it, while in the throes of his nightmare or whatever the hell it was. He clutched his heart through the thin material of his shirt. It was still beating rapidly, but it was slowly yet surely slowing down to its normal rhythm and pace. Through the window, the first rays of dawn appeared. Harry grabbed his glasses from the bedside nightstand then slipped them onto his face. Frowning, he looked down at his hand. He held his hand out palm flat. He realized that he was shaking. Hell, his whole body was shaking. Not from the cold. No, that wasn't it. The dream may have been over, but he was scared fucking straight. Who wouldn't be? If Harry was a fairytale believing kind of kid, he would swear that he just had a visit from the bogeyman.

The fear was still there but it was receding with each waking moment. As long as there was light the dark would be beat back. Harry wasn't going to get anymore sleep today before classes started. That was a given. He grabbed his shortsword from his bedpost, where it was mounted with a spell. Slipping on a pair of Nikes, he exited his dorm room. No one was in the common room. Hell, no one in his or her right mind would be up at this time of day. With Deathdealer secure in his grip, Harry took the remembered route to the Great Hall. He didn't go inside, however; he went outside to the grounds. He walked to the lake, liking how calming the scenery was. Harry took a calming breath, trying to slip into the trance like state he went into when doing katas.

'Come on, McKnight,' he told himself. It was taking longer than normal to slip into the trance. Of course it was going to take longer than usual. So much was on his mind. His plate was so full recently. He hoped that no one else decided to make it pick on Harry day.

'Focus'

With that one word he let out all his breath, slowly. The emotions on his face washed away, leaving nothing but a face full of calm. Harry's sword was pulled from his sheath, effortlessly. Gracefully, Harry went into a fighting stance. In his mind eye he could see them. Invisible, multiple opponents were all around him. As one they attacked and then the dance began. Harry was quite a sight to watch. With the sun rising in the background, throwing oblong shapes of sunshine on the lake's surface, Harry was ethereal. His sword became an extension of his arm. They were one. He flowed with his sword and the same with it. The worries and fear was pushed back in his mind as Harry went further into his routine. Katas always had a way of calming him. Always. He felt like he would just drift away from this Earth not returning till he finished. The sun had long finished its rise into the sky by the time Harry finished.

'That feels better.' Harry thought, wiping the sweat from his arms and brow.

He did indeed feel better. Performing katas always had a way of balancing him, whenever he was most troubled. Harry bent over picking up his scabbard off the ground. Harry looked down at his watch and swore. He only had a ten minutes to get back to his dorm before everyone else awoke. He was in no mood at all to explain where he had been or what he had been doing. Some other time maybe, but not today.

Harry sat with Terry and Kevin in the Great Hall an hour and a half later. The constant sound of chattering kids kept the hall at a dull murmur, never quite too loud and never silent. Harry ate his breakfast silently, only adding input to the conversation now and then. Terry and Kevin wondered what was wrong but didn't outright ask. Harry for the most part was thankful for that. All the Ravenclaws were smart to know when to push and when not to. Suddenly, there was a flutter of wings and then in a flock, owls flew in through a high open window. Kids opened their arms as letters were dropped into their waiting hands. Parcels and packages were dropped into laps. Harry jumped when an owl dropped a rolled up newspaper in front of Kevin's plate.

Kevin unrolled the newspaper and Harry, out of his peripheral vision, saw the words the Daily Prophet scrolled across the top. "Well I'll be damned!" Kevin muttered softly.

"What happened?" asked Terry, slopping on a lot of jam onto his toast.

Kevin shook his head. "Can you believe that Gringotts was robbed."

"Holy shit!" exclaimed Terry, bits of toast flying out from his mouth.

A couple of heads on the Ravenclaw table turned. Terry blushed a little and just shrugged muttering a barely heard apology. They went back to what they were doing dismissing the event. Harry leaned forward, so he could see the article better. There on the front page was a moving picture. A pissed off goblin was waving his arms before a patient wizard, holding a quill and parchment.

Harry cocked his eyebrow. "I thought that with the goblins there, it was the safest place to have your money. At least that is what I was told."

Terry nodded. "It is. Well… was."

Kevin turned the page, reading further along in the article. "It says that nothing was stolen. I'm guessing whoever did it, was looking for something specific. When they didn't find it they bolted."

Harry didn't really care about Gringotts getting robbed. He wasn't some amateur sleuth out to solve the case. He just wanted to eat breakfast, finish the day out, and try to get a goodnight sleep tonight. A bank getting robbed did not fit into his itinerary.

"Hey look at this," said Kevin. He pointed to another article in the Daily Prophet. It read:

Vampire Murderer Strikes Again


An unidentified witch, was found dead today outside Merlin's Gate Park.
Her body was found torn and mutilated early this morning by a hiking wizard.
The arteries of her neck were ripped open, giving the magic law enforcement
reason to believe she may be the victim of a vampire attack.
If this is indeed true then that makes this woman the twentieth victim of the
Vampire Serial Killer that has been the scourge of England since last month. A
team of Vampire Hunters has been dispatched by the Ministry. As it is well known,
the last team sent to find and execute this vampire still has not returned. We can
only hope that this team will fare better than the last.

"They still haven't caught him!" said Terry.

Harry's head turned so fast that he was sure his neck cracked. "Are you saying this is true? There is a vampire serial killer?"

Terry nodded. "True as can be."

"So, are vampires evil like in the movies?" asked Harry.

Kevin shook his head. He folded up the paper and sat it in his lap, then turned to Harry. "No, vampires aren't all evil. There are different species. Vampires of Soul, Demon, and Bite. Each species has different powers and traits. Only the vampires of demon are inherently evil, since instead of a soul they have a demonic entity. I'm willing to bet that it's a demonic vampire since they are the most murderous."

"I think so, too," agreed Terry. "The soulless vamps are really crazed."

Harry just nodded along. He wasn't sure of anything. In fact he was starting to get a little overwhelmed. Everything he had begun to believe as false was indeed true. It all was becoming a lot to take in. Who knows what could be true next? Could Santa Clause and the Easter Bunny be real, too? Were they in the North Pole right now playing strip poker with Rudolph and the Elves? Plus, being around two people who had been around magic their whole lives was like being pumped full of new information all the time. Harry shuddered as a tingly sensation went down his spine. Someone was watching him. He could feel eyes on him. Subtlety, Harry looked around the Great Hall. He looked to the Head Table and met the eyes of Severus Snape.

'God, is this guy a child molester or something,' Harry thought angrily, staring right back at the Potions Master.

Their gazes locked. Neither wanted to be the one that broke away first. Harry just narrowed his eyes, letting all his distaste and annoyance show through. Under the table his hands clenched into fists. Harry biggest discomfort was having people stare at him. It was something that just got on his nerves. He didn't know how, but he got the feeling that Professor Snape knew this. It was just something that he could feel. A hunch, one would call it. Those dark blue eyes, so dark and blue that they looked black from far away, bored into Harry's emerald green eyes.

Harry glared, icily. He was beginning to get pissed off. He ground his teeth together refusing to let the cuss words building in his throat from coming out. The Professor was doing this on purpose. He wanted Harry to get angry. He wanted him to make a fool of himself in front of his peers. Harry wouldn't let him win so easily. Not like that. He took the words he wanted to say and wound it up with all his anger. Then gathering it together, he thought one single phrase with as much vehemence he could build.

'STOP STARING AT ME!'

Harry watched amazed as Professor Snape visibly shot back in his chair, as if some invisible hand pushed him backwards. With a dazed look, hair falling into his face, Snape looked to Harry with wonder, surprise, and… fear. Harry didn't have time to study his reaction, because Terry and Kevin were tugging on his arm, leading him out of the Great Hall.

During their free period after Charms, Harry delivered a letter with Serenity to his father. It was the letter he had written last night while in the common room. Feeling the need to be alone, Harry excused him from the common room, where his friends where playing some game called, Mind Trap. Supposedly, it was the latest craze for the wizarding realm. Yawning, Harry entered his dormitory. He wasn't surprised to find the room empty. Harry found his mind wandering as he walked toward his bed. His thoughts were full of why's. How had his life changed so much in such a short span of time? Why did scary and weird shit always happen to him?

"Why me?" he wondered aloud, talking to the air.

He collapsed on the foot of his bed, staring at the top of the ceiling. Harry paused as he heard himself. He stopped moving. When in the hell did he start sounding like a mopey victim? He was Harry James Duncan Potter McKnight. He might not be the most tallest or strongest kid, but he prided himself on being tough. He wouldn't let these new problems break him. Whatever this darkness was that invaded his dream it had to be tied to Quirrell. The power felt too similar to be anyone other than him. Snape, was no problem. He was just a mortal man. He was no one special. Whatever new power he was developing could be trained.

'I can't let this school change me,' Harry thought.

He wouldn't let Hogwarts make him forget his lessons and years of training. He might be in a different setting and environment, but he was still Harry. He couldn't forget that. Harry just had to start using his mind like in that past. He couldn't let his feelings override what he had been taught. Harry found a new feeling had overtaken him. He was ready. Ready for whatever was going to meet him head on. He was a McKnight. Not some little crybaby. Harry slipped off his bed and went to his trunk to get his cloak. According to his timetable, flying class was next. The older students informed them that the Flying Instructor liked to get things done as quick and soon as possible. Hence the reason they were flying when it was only the second day of school.

"Okay, now this is just weird," muttered Harry, hitting his trunk.

The damn thing wouldn't open. It was stuck shut. Harry tugged and pulled then kicked the trunk with a mighty force. The lid flew open as if by magic. A crashing sound from within startled him. Harry went on his knees before the large trunk. The lining of the lid had fallen off revealing a hidden compartment. Strapped to the lid were an assortment of weapons. Harry's jaw must have dropped as he got a good look at the hidden goods. Back to back were a Firestar 9mm and a Beretta 10 mil. Next to them was a mini Uzi. Clips were bundled together in the corners strapped down with Velcro. Harry took off the note that was taped to the Uzi.

Son,

You know that I don't like you having a gun yet, but you can shoot.
Use these weapons if you find yourself in 'our' kind of situation.
Please don't do anything foolish with these. Always always respect
weapons. Remember that.

Dad

Harry's eyes were wide as he read the note. A low whistle left his mouth. "Geez, Dad. Can we say, overkill?"

"Come on, Harry. We're going to be late," called a voice from down the stairs.

Harry hurriedly replaced the tear away material that hid the guns. He reached into his trunk and pulled out his cloak. Grabbing his wand he sealed his trunk closed with a locking spell. Someone with years of experience could break it. But at least his fellow first years wouldn't be able to open it. That is what mattered. If they happen to find his guns, then he could bet he would be kicked out of school faster than you could say, crack. Harry had already checked the rules about his sword and it seems that an old rule, inspired by Godric Gryffindor, allowed for personal swords. Surprise, surprise, who would have thought.

Harry put on his cloak. A smile was on his face. Having guns nearby was a reassurance. He wouldn't go around armed, except for his knives. But having a powerful weapon nearby at hand was something that put a bounce in his step. Tightening the straps of his knives on his forearms, Harry was ready to go.

It was almost three thirty in the afternoon, as the Ravenclaws tromped down the grounds to the courtyard. All the other houses were already there. This professor liked to teach everyone at once, rather than going by the regular method of splitting up houses. The clouds in the sky were thick and provided a cover from the sun, only letting sunshine fully touch the earth when the right wind blew. Harry stood beside a broomstick with his peers all around him. They were in two lines of twenty. Harry nodded at Draco and the blond nodded back. Harry looked to Hermione who was staring at her broom with trepidation. She met Harry's eyes and her face hardened into determination. Harry raised his eyebrow. This was going to be fun.

Harry looked around at the other students, judging their facial expressions. A large majority looked scared. He had no idea why. All they were going to do was fly on a broomstick. The whole flying on broomsticks seemed kind of lame. If he wanted to fly, he would book a plane ticket. But there was a small part of Harry that wanted to soar into the clouds without the aide of machinery. Kevin and Terry stood beside Harry, looking a little bored. They were both from wizarding families so it was kind of pointless for them to be here.

The students quieted as a tall man, wearing dark blue robes joined them. His hair was short and kind of spiky at the top. A sort of young, executive look. With jade green eyes he looked down at them. A small smile was fixed on his chiseled, young face. The girls instantly started to perk up and lovesick looks filled their faces. Harry rolled his eyes. If it wasn't a boy band member it was a teacher. No matter where you went it was the same. The Professor didn't bother to talk loud because it was already silent. After all, it wasn't smart to make the guy who would teach you to fly mad.

"Hello, everyone. My name is Mr. Matheson. Welcome to your fist flying class," he said, eyes glinting with warmth. Many of them were thrown back for a moment because his accent was clearly American. "Many of you will end up hating flying but there will be those, who will enjoy. What I want you to know is that, not everyone is a great flyer. Some can fly as if born to do it, others will find they have to work harder to control the broom."

He smiled wide and clapped his hands together. "Now let's get to it. I want everyone to hold their hand over their broom and say, 'Up!'"

Harry and everyone did as instructed. "UP!"

Harry stumbled a little as his broom jumped into his hand at once. His was only one of the handful that did. Terry and Kevin were among those who were successful. Harry smiled at Draco, nodding at the broom in his hand. Draco gave him a suave look and a shrug that meant nothing and everything at once. Hermione caught his eye then wiggled the broom, held in her sure grip. Harry raised an eyebrow, as the bushy haired girl gave him a grin and mouthed 'tie'.

Mr. Matheson nodded at them. "That was just an exercise to test your potential. Now please sit the brooms back down." They did as ordered, then waited for further instruction. "Since, riding broom sticks is somewhat of an exercise, we must stretch before we begin." There were some groans but they were met by his expectant grin. "Calm down and just copy me. Please extend your arms out, parallel to the ground. Spread your legs shoulder width apart. Now on the count of two, we will bend down in a squat to stretch our calves and thigh muscles. These are muscles most used when flying."

The groaning was cut off as they began to stretch. He took them through almost five different stretching routines, before he was finally satisfied. From there they began to mount to their brooms and Mr. Matheson came around to correct them. He fixed postures and corrected grips on their handles. Mr. Matheson walked around the gathered first years, robes sweeping behind him. Finally he held a whistle to his mouth and blew, getting their attention. Heads turned and conversations stopped.

"Now, I'm going to blow my whistle and I want all of you to kick off from the ground. You will feel almost weightless for a moment. That is because your magic inside of your bodies alters the gravity around you. Don't be alarmed. That can lead to panic and you don't want to panic while in the air," said Mr. Matheson. "When you get about five feet in the air, came back to ground to a low hover. Do this by leaning on your broomstick with the slightest pressure. Now only when I blow the whistle…"

But someone was a little anxious. A round faced boy with the mousiest features ever, lifted into the air. From the cries and shouts of the Gryffindors, Harry could guess his name was Neville. Well, Neville rose into the air as if he was a weed on crack. Screams of fright fell from everyone's lips as Neville suddenly slipped off his broom… while twenty feet in the air. He came down faster than he rose and with a sickening crunch -- he landed on the ground. He landed face forward on the grass, arm lying at an odd angle. The glistening white of his bone was protruding from his arm. A compound fracture.

Mr. Matheson bent over Neville, moving him so that he was on his back. Blood gushed forward from both his mouth and his nose. Harry could see Mr. Matheson's eyes sweeping over Neville analyzing everything. From where he stood, Harry could easily tell that Neville had broken his nose and either bit his tongue or knocked a few teeth out. He was too far away to tell.

Mr. Matheson waved his wand and instantly Neville began to float in the air. He turned to the rest of the class. "No one touch a broomstick while I'm gone. I'm going to take him to the hospital wing and I will be right back. If you touch a broomstick," he said, smiling a chilling smile. "Just test me and see what the consequences will be."

As soon as they were out of earshot, everyone began talking. Immediately the Slytherins started laughing about Neville's fall and the Gryffindors were defending him. The Ravenclaws just tuned them out, getting involved in their conversation. They discussed how badly hurt Neville was, rather than defending his honor. Everyone quieted as the voices of Ron Weasley and Draco Malfoy rose above everyone else's. Harry turned to stare at the redhead and blond.

Draco held up a crystalline, glass sphere. "Its not my fault fat boy dropped his Remembrall."

"Its not yours so give it back," said Ron, ears turning red. His face was flushed making his freckles stand out sharply.

Draco smiled a nasty smile. "Who do hell do you think you are--The Lost and Found?" He seemed to get an idea because his gray eyes lit up and his smiled turned cold. He leapt onto his broomstick and smoothly launched into the air. "Come and get it, Weasley."

'No one is stupid enough to fall for that, Draco,' Harry thought. His eyebrows shot up when Ron responded to the taunt and mounted his broom. He flew into the air after Draco with jerky movements. Harry shook his head, feeling like he should be sorry that anyone was that stupid.

"Did he really just fall for that?" muttered Terry. "What a dumbass?"

Kevin nodded. "Looks like they're both going to be in really big trouble. Mr. Matheson was dead serious when he said don't touch a broom." He paused for a moment, looking to Terry. "Two galleons say that they both get caught."

Terry cocked an eyebrow. "I say, only Weasley gets caught."

"Deal," replied Kevin, sealing their bet with a handshake.

Harry chuckled and they shared a hidden smile. They only did that to get a laugh from Harry and they succeeded. Everyone stared into the air watching the fight go on. Ron chased Draco around like a dog playing fetch. They circled around the school in a blur. Draco's taunting laugh drifted down as he zoomed around towers and turrets. Ron doubled back around a tower and met Draco head on, colliding with him. Long arms grabbed at Draco and Ron came away gripping something that came from the blonde's robes. Harry narrowed his eyes, and could make out the faint shape of a pendent. It glinted gold in the light. Ron said something that those on the ground couldn't hear. Draco gave Ron back the Remembrall quickly after Ron stopped talking.

Ron grinned evilly and tossed the pendant over his shoulder.

"Well that was just fucked up," muttered Terry, dryly.

They watched with bated breath as Draco dived. And boy did he. It was beautiful to watch. He leaned forward and down he went, flattening himself against his broom like a javelin. With every passing second he grew closer and closer to the falling pendant. People screamed as it looked like he was on a crash collision with the ground. There was no way he was going to make it. Harry actually found himself wishing that Draco would pull his broom up already. He didn't want the other boy to die. He wasn't all that bad. Draco stretched out his hand, and caught it, less than a foot from the ground. A grunt was heard as he pulled his broom up. Foot tips grazed the grass, as he leveled off bringing his broom to a halt.

"Merlin's beard!"

Heads turned as Mr. Matheson returned. He marched into the courtyard, face white and eyes wide as he looked at Draco. He couldn't even say anything as shock ran through him. Harry looked to Draco and saw that his face too was white. He stood there clutching his pendant and trembling.

"Come. With. Me." Mr. Matheson ground out through clenched teeth.

Pansy Parkinson, a Slytherin, immediately stepped up. "Mister Matheson, you don't understand--"

"Its Mr. Matheson and get back in line little girl. No one asked your opinion," he snapped. He crooked a finger at Draco and the boy followed the tall teacher, head bowed and face creased with sorrow. Everyone stayed silent, watching as they disappeared into the castle.

Harry looked at Terry and Kevin. He said the only thing he could say that would fill the silence descending over them: "Well, looks like you clowns both lose the bet."