In answer to the most common question, I can only say that a lot of the answers about Harry's and Connor's relative levels of power are going to have to wait for Chapter 12. Sorry!
But hey, now we're halfway there.
Chapter Six: Suspicious Eyes"Flying lessons!" Connor declared as they walked outside. The sun blazed above them as if in approval of his grin, Harry thought, and he spun around with arms out as if embracing the wind. "Aren't you excited?"
"Very," said Harry quietly, and heard Hermione Granger, walking not far away from him, snort. He turned and smiled at her. Hermione appeared startled for a moment, then buried her head in the book that she carried and refused to raise it again. Harry sighed. He had attempted to encourage Connor's friendship with her, but it had faltered on both parts; Hermione was too interested in studying, and Connor was too much interested in everything else.
"Harry, there you are."
Draco jogged up behind him, earning a swift offended look from Ron and a suspicious glance from Connor. He ignored them both effortlessly, and smiled at Harry. "Excited to have flying lessons with the Gryffindors?"
"Someone is probably missing the broom his daddy bought him," said Ron, just loud enough to be heard.
"At least I have a broom, and not a twig," Draco retorted.
Connor shook his head, and stepped away from both of them. "Ignore him, Ron," he instructed his flushing friend. "We have…" He paused for a long moment, then yelled "Flying lessons!" and whooped his way down the field towards the line of waiting brooms. Ron hesitated, gave Draco a glare that said they'd resume the argument later, and took off after him.
"Do you have to do that?" Harry asked, dropping back with Draco towards where the other Slytherins walked.
"Yes." Draco appeared almost angelic now, but Harry wasn't fooled; he knew it was only because the other boy had gotten his way. He slung an arm over Harry's shoulders, and that was an act, too, a play for some invisible crowd. "I know he's your brother, but he chooses to hang out with a blood traitor. He can't help some of it rubbing off on him, I suppose."
Harry wondered wearily what bothered him more: the cheerful condescension in Draco's voice, or the fact that trying to point it out would involve meeting his blank stare. In the end, he kept silent. He had discovered in the last five days that trying to negotiate between Gryffindors and Slytherins involved an awful lot of just knowing when to keep his mouth shut.
They arrived at the line of brooms at last, and moved to take their places. Harry wound up opposite Connor, who grinned at him. They'd both flown at home often enough to do it in their sleep. This wasn't going to be an effort.
Maybe not for us, Harry thought, hearing an audible gulp from the side. He glanced that way and found Neville Longbottom looking at his broom with a mixture of horror and sick fear. Harry cocked his head. He should be alert in case the other boy needed help.
Technically, Connor should be alert. But I can watch for him.
"Take your places!" Madam Hooch instructed as she walked up between the brooms, ignoring the fact that most of them had already done so. She was a stockier witch than Harry had expected, with hair that looked permanently frazzled, as if it had blown in too many winds to ever calm down. She pivoted in a slow circle as she looked at them, gaze narrowed and slicing over their faces. Harry lifted his chin under her scrutiny, and noticed with amusement that Draco did the same thing, as if they had something to prove. Draco spoiled the effect by catching his eye and grinning, of course.
"Welcome to your first flying lesson," the witch continued. "As we will be controlling the brooms by means of our own magic and not our wands, I must ask you to lay them aside." Harry saw a general rustle as a few students tucked their wands away; Hermione reluctantly put the book she'd been reading back into a huge bag near her feet, then kicked the bag behind her. "As for the procedure of controlling the brooms, it's very simple," Madam Hooch said, and then stalked over to a larger broom laid near the end of the line. "You hold your hand over it and say—"
Up, Harry mouthed, and Connor mouthed it back to him across the line.
"Up!"
A ragged chorus of voices gave the command, and for a moment Harry saw the air blaze and shimmer with light as various wills reached out for the brooms. Some people were more successful than others. His broom leaped up, and Connor's, and Draco's, and Ron's, and Hermione's. Others made it halfway up and then fell. Neville's smacked into his hand with such force that the plump Gryffindor sat down on the grass. Harry winced for him.
"Good and not so good," said Madam Hooch, who was, of course, holding her broom. "You must believe in it when you summon the broom, or else it won't work. Take you, Mister Longbottom." She swooped down on Neville, who looked terrified to be singled out, but let her help him sling a leg over the broom. "You have the strength, but no finesse. When you ride the broom—no, not like that—"
But Neville's broom was already rising, and carrying him along. He clung to it and shrieked. Other students began to cat-call or laugh or cry out in worry as was their wont. Harry narrowed his eyes. He could see Neville's hands beginning to slip off the broom, and knew he wouldn't hold on for very long.
His eyes shot to Connor. His brother was gaping like the rest of them, but he had one leg half-lifted, poised to descend on the other side of the broom.
Harry seized his wand and cast an unobtrusive Sticking Charm in Neville's general direction. It wouldn't hold long either, at this distance and with the broom bucking like it was, but it would be long enough for Connor to do something.
His brother remembered himself a moment later. He rose like the expert flyer he was, shot across to Neville, and caught his arm just as the Sticking Charm failed. For a moment, Neville's weight dragged him towards the ground, and Harry caught his breath in alarm, wondering if Connor would manage to juggle him. He did, though, and landed on the grass to the cheers of the Gryffindors. Something small and round dropped from Neville's robe and rolled into the grass, too, but Harry doubted that anyone noticed or cared. Connor's face was flushed with triumph, and Neville was looking at him as if he were the sun.
"Now," said Madam Hooch, showing up beside the two boys so quickly that Harry blinked in surprise. "That was some flying, Mr. Potter." Connor's flush altered to one of pride, and Harry smiled. He deserved it. Hooch turned to examine Neville, bending down until her nose was an inch away from his face. "What about you, Mr. Longbottom? Set to fly?"
"I—I think—" Neville began, and then fainted dead away.
Madam Hooch snorted, placed her broom gently on the ground, and picked Neville up, nodding to Connor to carry his feet. "We'll take him to Madam Pomfrey," she said, as they began to walk. "Don't worry about missing the lessons, Mr. Potter, we'll be back in two shakes of an owl's tail, and you've shown that you've got the basics mastered already." She turned around and gave the rest of the students a severe stare from hawk-yellow eyes. "All of the rest of you, remain on the ground. If I find out that anyone has been flying, I can and shall issue detentions."
Harry was happy to remain on the ground. He watched Neville and Connor pass out of sight, and sighed. That had gone well. Neville had been spared serious injury, and Connor had looked like a hero. Things were the way they should be.
"Look what I've got!"
Harry hissed as he turned around. Draco's voice, speaking in that tone, meant things were not as they should be, or would not be very shortly.
Draco had found the small round thing that Neville had dropped in the grass, and now tossed it in the air, grinning. It landed in his hand with a soft smack. That and the red color told Harry it was a Remembrall. He wasn't surprised that Neville had one; the poor boy forgot every ingredient in a potion almost as soon as Snape wrote it on the board. Draco had evidently forgotten something, too.
Such as not being a git, Harry thought, stepping forward. "Give it here, Draco," he ordered, holding out a hand.
Draco grinned at him. Harry blinked. There was no malice in that expression, only a clear and childish delight that puzzled him. If Draco had taken the Remembrall to humiliate Neville, he should have been cracking a joke, or sneering, or in general lamenting the intelligence of Gryffindors as compared to Slytherins. The way he backed away from Harry, holding the Remembrall not quite out of jumping height, argued it was something else.
"Why should I?" Draco asked. "It's not yours. I'll just hang onto it until Longbottom remembers to ask for it. Which would be never." He snickered, and this time Harry heard the sneer in it.
"Give it back," said Harry, wishing that he knew how to sound more commanding. It was one of the arts their mother had tried to teach Connor, but Harry had learned more about hiding and silence.
"No, I don't think so," said Draco, and then abruptly hopped a step backwards, grabbed Neville's broom, mounted it, and took off in a dizzying spiral like a lark's. "If you want to come and get it," he called over his shoulder, "please feel free to do so."
Harry ground his teeth for a moment, then darted a glance around. The other Slytherins were watching him, expressions mildly curious. It was the Gryffindors who concerned him, though. Their eyes were narrowed, and they had been about to jump Malfoy themselves, but now they stared at him.
Show us you're different from the rest of the slimy snakes, their gazes challenged him. Show us that you really would defend Neville like one of your own.
Harry grimaced, cast a quick glance at the school, and raced back to his own broom. When he looked up, Draco was hovering overhead, waiting for him. He swallowed and kicked off from the ground.
The same transformation happened that always happened, the moment his feet left the grass. He was thrilled, exalted, at peace, like a bird balanced on the wind. He couldn't help smiling as he circled towards Draco, even given what had happened to inspire this, even though he was breaking the rules. He loved flying too much.
Draco was grinning at him again, and though his eyes were narrowed, Harry saw a variant of the same challenge that the Gryffindors had showed.
"Show me what you can do, Harry," he breathed, and then turned and cast the Remembrall in a high, descending arc.
Harry snapped his head forward, eyes locked on the glitter, and then flew after it. Connor wasn't here, and so no one could compare his performance to his brother's. He was free to unleash all the speed he normally kept constrained. The wind shrieked past his ears, and his hand curved out at the proper moment, and he turned, and the Remembrall fell with a triumphant sound into his palm. Harry folded his fingers around it, holding it safe. After the difficulty of grasping and holding a fluttering Snitch, this was no problem at all.
He wheeled around to see Draco hastily flying back towards the ground. Harry dropped like a falcon. Madam Hooch was coming back, or she'd sent some other Professor out to supervise the class. Harry cursed quietly as he landed and hopped back from the broom like it was on fire.
Draco strode up to him just before Hooch and Connor returned, grinning like the idiot he was. "That was impressive," he whispered.
Harry eyed him. Draco seemed perfectly cheerful, as though everything had gone according to plan, but Harry didn't know why. With a shrug, he turned away from the Slytherin and extended the Remembrall as Madam Hooch entered the pitch again.
"Neville dropped this, ma'am," he murmured.
Madam Hooch nodded and pocketed it, and the lesson, complete with happy Connor and ridiculously happy Draco, went on.
Draco grabbed Harry's arm when he tried to leave the field with the Gryffindors. Harry turned and scowled at him. Draco knew that he hadn't earned his goodwill earlier, even if flying about with Neville's Remembrall had no direct reflection on the Gryffindor prat twin.
He'll see differently, Draco promised, and then smiled at Harry. "Come on, we have to see Professor Snape."
Harry blinked. "What? Why?"
"Because we do," said Draco, and dragged him off. Harry went with him, steps slow but not actually resisting. He probably would have been struggling like a trapped unicorn if he knew what Draco actually intended.
That didn't matter. This was one of those times where Harry would just have to listen to good sense. And once Draco described what he'd seen, he knew what their Head of House would say.
They hurried down a dungeon corridor and towards Professor Snape's office, where Draco knocked importantly on the door. Harry fidgeted nervously, continually glancing in the direction Connor had gone. Draco snorted, caught his eyes, and forced him to stop it.
"You're not in trouble," he said. "Quite the opposite."
Harry opened his mouth to ask why, but didn't get to, as Snape's voice said, "Enter," just then, and Draco took the chance to open the door and push Harry inside, ahead of him.
Snape looked up from his essays, eyes narrowing. Draco widened his eyes innocently. Snape wouldn't fall for it, but at least it reassured him that Draco was here in a spirit of mischief—and improving Slytherin's Quidditch team, he told himself virtuously—and not because he was in trouble.
"Potter, Malfoy," Snape said, rising to his feet. "Why have you disturbed me?"
Harry just stared. Draco took the chance to talk. If Harry would not speak up to defend or spare himself, he thought, he deserved what he got. "We just came from flying lessons, Professor. Madam Hooch left us alone briefly, and I took the opportunity to test Harry." He smiled at Harry, who still looked bewildered, and not unhappy yet. "I suspected he might be, and he is. Bloody amazing on a broom. He caught a Remembrall from fifty feet up and ten feet behind. We've got ourselves a Seeker."
Ah, there was the unhappy expression. Draco peeked around his shield. Harry's power was growing claws. He retracted his awareness hastily and glanced at Snape, whose face showed he'd picked up on it, too.
And doesn't he wonder why the less powerful Potter twin shows this much power? Draco thought. I know I do.
"Sir, I'm sorry," said Harry, tensing his shoulders as though he were facing a strong wind. "I didn't know that Draco brought me here for this. I know I wasn't supposed to be flying on a broom while Madam Hooch was gone, and I'll gladly accept my detention." He recited the last words in a monotone, his eyes cast down. Draco snorted. He knew well enough that that humility was a mask, having seen Harry's eyes flash whenever he thought something might have upset his brother. Who did Harry think he was fooling?
Not Snape, as became clear from the professor's voice a moment later. "As you doubtless know, Potter, first-years are not allowed to possess their own brooms, much less allowed on the House Quidditch teams."
Harry looked up, a faint smile of relief curling the corners of his mouth. "Yes, sir. I realize that. Again, I'm sorry for interrupting you."
"However," Snape continued, and Draco watched with interest as Harry's smile froze, "Slytherin has been in solid possession of the House Cup for some time now. I do not wish that to alter, particularly as our—new celebrity—has been Sorted into another House, and may expect to receive special treatment." The sarcasm on the last words was as thick as treacle. "If you are truly as good as Draco says, then I would be a fool not to put you on the team. Rules can be bent for a good cause."
Harry didn't miss the cue. "He's probably mistaken, sir. I did dive after a Remembrall, but not from as far away or as high up as Draco says."
"That's right," said Draco.
He received a death glare from Snape, but it lasted only until he added, "It was from sixty feet up and fifteen feet behind. I forgot."
Snape lifted his eyebrows and altered the frigidity of the stare by only a touch. Draco endured it. He knew that Snape could read minds, and deliberately let his memory of Harry diving after the tiny ball play across the surface of his thoughts. Snape snapped the gaze a moment later, and nodded.
"You will play Seeker on Slytherin's team this year, Potter," he said, and turned away with a dismissive sweep of his robes. "I will speak to Headmaster Dumbledore about it. You need only show up to practice and at games, and then you need only catch the Snitch."
"No, sir."
Draco stared at Harry. He had his arms folded over his chest now, and he had dropped the mask of humility entirely. His eyes flashed green fire. He didn't quail even when Snape turned around, slowly, and asked, "What did you say?"
"No, sir," Harry repeated, his voice flat, but not at all dull. "I will not play Seeker on the Slytherin House team. I'm only a first-year, and I haven't had much time to make friends yet—other than Draco." His stare said what he thought of that friendship at the moment. "I'd cause resentment and dissension, not only in Slytherin but in the other Houses as well, sir. I feel it's best if I don't play."
Draco knew that wasn't true, of course, though it was quite possibly the best lie Harry could come up with on the spot. He knew the real reason. He won't play because his twin isn't on Gryffindor's team. Prat! He was not sure if he meant Harry or Connor with that last thought.
"You can play, Mr. Potter, and you will," Snape told him, in a voice even softer than before. Draco shivered. Snape didn't raise his voice when he was truly angry, and he was truly angry now. "I will speak to Headmaster Dumbledore about it. You need not concern yourself."
"I believe that there's no rule saying that someone can be forced to play Quidditch if he doesn't want to," said Harry, head up. His lightning bolt scar showed clearly through his fringe. Even with Snape's anger, Draco saw the professor's eyes dart to the scar, and his faint, questioning frown. "I've chosen, and I won't be moved from this. Sir."
"You will," said Snape. "Or I can make life unpleasant for you, do not doubt."
"I don't doubt it, sir," Harry said. Snape winced, and Draco wondered how far his shield against power-headaches was down. "But I am prepared to endure that. I'm prepared to die against Voldemort, if it comes to that. Somehow, I don't think you'll be quite that bad." His hand actually drifted sideways to rest on his robe, as if he would draw his wand at any moment.
Snape stared into Harry's eyes for what was probably only a minute, but felt much longer to Draco, given the freezing silence. Draco shifted. He wished he knew what Snape saw there.
"You are right," Snape said abruptly. "I ask your forgiveness, Mr. Potter." His voice had risen slightly, but was still soft and mocking. "I forgot that some of my Slytherins prefer to contribute to the welfare of their House, and others do not."
As Draco had suspected, that insult slid off Harry like water. He probably doesn't even think it's an insult, since he wants so much to be a Gryffindor, Draco thought spitefully. "Thank you, sir. May I go now? I have a long Potions essay to finish."
"You may," said Snape, as if he had lost interest, and Draco watched Harry stride out the door, as though he thought he had won this battle.
Snape turned around when the door shut, and it was obvious from his expression that he hadn't given up the battle at all, only retreated to firmer ground. Draco smiled at him.
"I was right, wasn't I, to bring him here?" He didn't mean the question to sound quite so anxious, but Snape only nodded.
"You were. The boy doesn't think he's a Slytherin." There was disbelief in his voice, but anger as well. "And he's as arrogant as ever James Potter was about it." Now hatred, and Draco shivered as the tone chilled again. "Well. No matter. We shall show him in the end." His smile came back, the kind of smile that Draco had seen when he walked in on Snape and his father trading stories of Voldemort's first rise. "And James Potter, as well. I shall enjoy using his son to win and keep the House Cup."
He nodded at Draco. "You may also go."
Draco left, comforted. Well, that didn't work. But it's not as though Harry can hide forever. Talent is going to show itself, and if he isn't playing on the House team before the year's out, I'll eat five Galleons. No, ten. In front of Weasley.