Harry had to admit that things could have been worse. At night, when he sat listening to Aidan talk about the purity of wizard blood, or during Potions as Snape dug unsubtle barbs into him, he would imagine himself back at Stonewall High in Dudley's old clothes, going back to the Dursley's at night and falling asleep in his cupboard. Hogwarts was certainly better than that life, and if he had no good friends here – well, he hadn't had any at Number 4 Privet Drive, either.
Generally, around his housemates, he could imagine that he fit in. It was a strange kind of group dynamic in Slytherin. People had friends – he and Blaise spent time together, and Draco had Crabbe and Goyle. The girls banded together into small groups, as well. But all of these friendships had a guarded quality, an unwillingness to really open up. Harry had no one he could talk to without any reservations, but neither did anyone else.
It was when they spent time with the other houses that he felt the lack. In Potions classes, when Snape criticized one of the Gryffindors, he saw the way their housemates bristled to their defense. Blaise's reaction when Harry was criticized was usually to look the other way, trying to deflect any of the negative splash onto him. Harry had taken to partnering regularly with Hermione Granger for that reason: if she didn't act like a friend to him, at least he had no reason to expect it.
He was grateful that they spent so little time with the Gryffindors, overall, particularly given the way Ron had been avoiding him since the Sorting Ceremony. So when he saw the notice posted in the Slytherin common room, he let out a low groan. He was not alone. "Flying Lessons to Begin Thursday. Gryffindor and Slytherin: 1:30."
He had been looking forward to learning to fly more than anything else, but somehow the idea paled without anyone close to share it with.
"Pathetic," drawled a voice from beside him. "Putting us in lessons with idiot Muggles who have never been on a broom in their lives." Harry didn't feel like getting into another conversation with Draco, so just moved away from the notice board, leaving Draco to the attentions of Pansy Parkinson and Daphne Greengrass, who were always willing to fawn over him.
"I've been flying for years," he told them. "It's rubbish that first-years never get on the Quidditch teams; the Cup would be ours easily if I were playing. And I have to take lessons alongside people like Longbottom and Granger? Pathetic."
Although Draco was the most vocal, he wasn't the only one with stories about flying. In the day after the notice went up, it felt as though the first year students were split into those who had flown before and those who had not. Nearly everyone in Slytherin had stories to tell, and the other houses were just as full of students who were anxious to tell their best flight stories to anyone who would listen.
Thursday arrived bright and sunny, and the energy in the Great Hall was high. Last-minute jitters rocked the first-time fliers, and boisterous excitement poured out of those with experience.
They all bolted down their food quickly, the expectation knotting their stomachs. By the time the mail arrived, most students were done with their meals. Harry left Draco to brag over the package of sweets his mother had sent and headed towards the door. He hadn't received a single letter since arriving at Hogwarts.
He was distracted as he passed the Gryffindor table by a burst of enthusiasm from Neville Longbottom. A few Gryffindors were clustered around him, gazing at the tiny glass ball he was holding.
"It's a Remembrall!" he was telling them excitedly. "Gran knows I forget things - this tells you if there's something you've forgotten to do. Look, you hold it tight like this and if it turns red - oh..." The grey smoke swirling inside the Remembrall turning glowing scarlet, and Longbottom's face fell. "...You've forgotten something..."
Although Harry felt badly for Longbottom, he had to admit that the boy was a bit pathetic at times. As Longbottom struggled to remember what it was that he'd forgotten, Draco appeared behind Harry, leaning forward to pluck the ball from Longbottom's hand.
Ron Weasley was instantly on his feet, with Dean Thomas following a second behind and a little less enthusiastically. Fortunately for everyone involved, however, Professor McGonagall was quicker.
"What's going on?" she demanded.
"Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor."
Scowling, Malfoy quickly dropped the Remembrall back on the table.
"Just looking," he said, and he sloped away with Crabbe and Goyle behind him. McGonagall turned her disapproving gaze towards Harry, who quickly turned away, hurrying out of the Great Hall.
At three-thirty, Harry and Blaise headed with Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode out of the castle and down the front steps onto the grounds for their flying lesson. Draco was already there with Crabbe and Goyle, but none of the Gryffindors had arrived yet. The day was fair and breezy, and Harry took a moment while he waited to gaze around the flat lawn.
Twenty broomsticks were laid out neatly on the grass. They didn't bear much resemblance to the Nimbus 2000 he had seen in Diagon Alley. That had been a sleek, elegant instrument, and these were much cruder: bunches of twigs tied to a long stick. Still, they were broomsticks, and soon, he would be flying on one of them.
He chose a broom with fewer twigs jutting out at odd angles and stepped up beside it. Almost immediately, Draco was there.
"That's my broom, Potter. Pick another." Behind him, Crabbe let out a low snicker.
Harry's face burned. Behind Draco, Blaise was watching the two of them. When Harry's eyes met his, he lifted his eyebrows in a sort of shrug. Harry felt something tighten inside of him.
"Back off, Malfoy," he responded. He wasn't angry, precisely, just tired of backing down.
Draco looked as though someone had waved something unpleasant beneath his nose. "What did you say to me, Potter?"
Harry took a step forward, towards him, trying to ignore the looming hulks of Crabbe and Goyle. "I got to it first. It's my broom. Back off."
"He was there first, Draco," Blaise put in, his voice lazy.
Draco spun to look at the other Slytherins. Pansy and Millicent just giggled, and Theodore Nott gave an apologetic half-shrug. "His broom," he told Draco.
Draco's face was red with anger, his jaw set. Any reply he might have made was cut off by the arrival of the entire group of Gryffindor first-years.
Harry felt a thrill of excitement, his heart beating hard. He had stood up to Draco, and his classmates had backed him. He tried to fight down his triumphant grin and took a moment to study the Gryffindors.
Some of them were gazing at the broomsticks with eager anticipation, some with faint nervousness, and Longbottom with frank terror. Hermione Granger was clutching a copy of Quidditch Through the Ages as though it were a talisman against harm.
Madam Hooch, their instructor, strode down from the castle. "Well, what are you all waiting for?" she demanded, sharp eyes sliding from one student to the next. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."
Harry already had his broom, and a little self-satisfied smirk touched his mouth as Draco, delayed by his argument with Harry, wound up with one of the rattiest-looking brooms there.
"Stick out your right hand over the broom," Madam Hooch called to the group, "and say 'Up!'"
"Up!" Harry shouted, in concert with everyone else.
His broom leapt immediately into his hand. It felt right there, the way his wand had when he first held it. He took an instant to revel in the feeling, then took a moment to look around. Only one or two other students had brooms in their hands. Draco, he was sorry to see, was one of them.
The other students continued to shout "Up!" until all the brooms had risen off the ground. Longbottom's was the last to go; for nearly a minute, all eyes were on him while he desperately shouted at it. In the end, Madam Hooch had him just bend down and pick it up.
She then showed them how to mount their brooms, how not to fall off, and how to hold them. Draco was confidently going through the motions until Madam Hooch, walking by, barked at him that his grip was all wrong and chided him for bad habits. Harry managed not to laugh, but Weasley didn't bother trying. The look Draco gave him was murderous.
"Now, when I blow my whistle," Madam Hooch said, "you kick off from the ground hard. Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle – three – two –"
Maybe it was nerves, maybe just clumsiness, but Longbottom jumped the whistle. He pushed off too hard and shot straight up into the air. He was twelve feet up before Madam Hooch had time to shout, and her ordered, "Come back, boy!" was powerless to stop him.
Longbottom was twenty feet up now, and still rising. His face was white and terrified, and Harry could see his hands start to slide a second before they lost their grip totally. He gasped, slid sideways, and then fell.
WHAM. He hit the ground with a muffled thud and a sickening crack. His broomstick continued to sail away, out over the forbidden forest, as Longbottom lay facedown on the ground.
Madam Hooch was as white as Longbottom's as she bent over him, checking for injuries. "Broken wrist," she muttered. "Come on, boy--it's all right, up you get."
She looked back at the rest of the class. "None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave these brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.' Come on, dear."
She guided a tear-streaked Neville back towards the castle. Draco, with some effort, managed to hold in his laughter until they were out of earshot, but not longer.
"Did you see his face, the great lump?"
The other Slytherins joined in the laughter. Harry, unamused, glared at Blaise, who immediately stopped laughing.
"Shut up, Malfoy," snapped one of the Gryffindor girls.
"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" said Pansy Parkinson. "Never thought you'd like fat little crybabies, Parvati."
"Cut it out, Pansy," Harry said. Pansy gave him a startled look, but stopped laughing. Only Crabbe and Goyle were still chortling alongside Draco now. Harry's irritation with Draco had gone too far, and Longbottom's fall gave him an excuse to confront him.
Draco spotted something in the grass, and quickly darted forward to snatch it. "Look," he said, opening his hand to reveal the Remembrall. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him."
"Put it back," Harry ordered him, taking a step forward.
Draco matched him, advancing closer to Harry. "No," he said with a nasty smile. They both knew this wasn't about Longbottom, or about the Remembrall.
Harry didn't back down. He was tempted to try and snatch the ball out of Draco's hand, but knew if he failed, he'd lose face. So he tried another card. "Pansy," he ordered coolly. "Take the Remembrall from Draco and give it to Granger."
On the edge of the circle watching them, Hermione shifted uncomfortably. Harry ignored her.
Pansy sent a nervous look at Draco, then back at Harry. Finally, she stepped towards Draco.
Draco smiled nastily. "Crabbe, Goyle, stop her," he said.
At those words, Blaise and Theodore stepped forward as one. "Draco, you can't beat up Pansy," Blaise said. Theodore just glared at the blond boy.
There was a moment of silence, and then Pansy stepped forward again and slowly pulled Draco's fingers away from around the Remembrall. Harry again felt that thrill of power as Draco glared murder at him. Pansy dropped the Remembrall into Hermione's hand. "Thank you," Hermione said automatically.
"Thank you," Harry echoed her, turning away from Draco at last.
Ron Weasley came up to him a bit sheepishly as Harry returned to his broom. "Ah, listen, Harry," he said awkwardly. "That was a pretty decent thing there."
High off the surge of victory, Harry's irritation at Weasley's flightiness stuck deep. "I didn't do it for you, Weasley," he said, his tone heated.
Ron recoiled slightly then flushed dark. "Yeah, I figured I was right about you," he snapped. Harry watched him walk away with a bit of a lump in his throat, but didn't say anything.
Madam Hooch returned soon afterwards, telling the class that, "Mr. Longbottom will be fine. Madam Pomfrey will have his patched up before supper. Now! Back to your brooms!"
The lesson went smoothly after that. Flying was every bit as amazing as Harry had imagined it would be, and he seemed to have a natural gift for it. Three times, Madam Hooch called out warnings to him, and it was only her threat to ground him for the rest of the lesson that put an end to his aerial acrobatics.
When they landed on the ground again, Harry felt more exhilarated than ever before in his life. His heart was racing, his blood was pumping, and everything in the world around him felt more vibrant and alive. He had flown, and done it well. He had stood up against Draco Malfoy and won. Here, HE had power.
Blaise caught his sleeve as they headed back up to the castle together. "Careful," he said lowly. "You don't want to cross the Malfoys." It was good advice, but Harry wasn't prepared to take it just yet. He wanted to see how far his reputation here could take him.
He had the opportunity to test that power the next morning at breakfast. Most of the other Slytherins had left, but he and Theodore were lingering behind, talking: Theodore was attempting to explain the glories of Quidditch, which as far as Harry could tell was a game where people flew around on broomsticks trying to knock one another's blocks off. Harry felt someone looming up behind him, and Theodore went quiet.
Harry waited for Theodore to say a guarded, "Oy, Draco," before turning and offering the blond boy a careful nod.
Draco was flanked by Crabbe and Goyle and looked murderous. "Potter," he flung the name like a challenge.
"Draco," Harry said in response. In the middle of the Great Hall, he knew Crabbe and Goyle wouldn't do anything more than loom imposingly, but the intimidation tactic was working amazingly well. It was an effort to keep his voice even.
"You tried to humiliate me yesterday in front of Gryffindors." He spat the other house's name as if it were a curse.
"Right, which you'd never do to me," Harry said. He could feel the heat rising in his chest. "Or are we just ignoring all those times?"
"I am a Malfoy!"
"I know. And you're a lot braver when you can get the odds to three on one. Is cowardice a Malfoy trait?" He was being stupidly rash, but it felt good.
"I am not afraid of you, Potter!" Malfoy's pale face was darkening. "I'll face you any time, any place! Tonight! Wizard's Duel in the Trophy Room."
"I'll be there." Harry had no idea what a wizard's duel was, but knew he couldn't retreat from Draco now. Blaise spoke up from beside him. "I'm his second," he said coolly.
"Good." Draco smiled in a nasty way. "I'll see you there, Potter." He, Crabbe, and Goyle moved towards the door.
Harry turned back to Blaise. "What's a –" He broke off when he saw the audience their conversation had picked up.
Hermione Granger was standing not far away, her bookbag clutched in white-knuckled hands, staring at Harry. When he met her eyes, she turned to hurry away. "Bloody hell," Harry muttered. He would have to talk to her during Potions. For now, though: "What's a wizard's duel?" he asked Blaise.
It took a minute for Blaise, who was staring after Hermione, to respond. "Huh? Oh, right, you wouldn't know. It's a fight. Wands only. You try to hex him, he tries to hex you."
"I don't know any hexes."
"Yeah, but he probably doesn't, either. You'll probably both stand their waving your wands and looking dumb. Why do you think I offered to come along?"
Harry grinned at that, the tension cut slightly. "What's a second, anyway?"
"Oh, it means I take your place if you die." When he saw the sudden alarm on Harry's face, it was Blaise's turn to grin. "Come on," he said. "We're first-years. He's not going to kill you."
Although he knew Blaise was right, Harry was not completely reassured.
Harry arrived a bit early for potions that day, taking his seat and watching the door for Hermione's arrival. When she came in, she hesitated, looking at him without approaching. He offered her a little smile and nodded his head towards the seat next to him. After a moment, she came over to sit.
She reached into her bookbag without meeting Harry's eyes. "I wanted to say thank you for getting Neville's Remembrall yesterday," she said, the words all coming in a rush. "It was really nice of you."
Harry shrugged a bit uncomfortably. "Yeah, well, Draco's a prat. Um, about this morning…"
Hermione busied herself with her copy of 1001 Magical Herbs and Fungi, flipping quickly through the pages.
Harry tried a more direct approach. "You aren't going to tell anyone, are you?"
"You aren't actually going to do it, are you?" Hermione's tone was scandalized, and Harry dropped his eyes to his own book.
"Look, you wouldn't understand. It's different for me."
"It's stupid boyish pride," Hermione said quietly but urgently. "It's a trick; you know Malfoy wants to get you in trouble or something. You could get kicked out!"
"I can't just back down!" Harry responded, growing a bit angry now.
Hermione bit her lip. "Harry, he wants you to do it. That must mean it's a bad idea."
The worst thing about it was that Hermione was right. If Draco wanted him to do it, it had to be a trap of some sort. But Harry didn't have a choice. He and Draco had walked into this conflict together, and if Harry were to back down now, he'd be backing down for the next seven years. He wasn't prepared to do that.
He was trying to figure out how to explain this to Hermione when Draco came in, followed as always by Crabbe and Goyle. He gave Harry a little smirk.
"Frightened, Potter? Want to back down?"
"Not a chance," Harry shot back. Maybe this was just the kind of thing that only Slytherins would get. He gave Hermione a little shrug, and she deflated slightly.
They spoke less than usual during the class that day.
Blaise's hurried attempts to teach Harry a blocking spell he had learned from his mother didn't instill Harry with a great deal of confidence, and Harry was painfully aware that he knew no offensive magic at all. But the image of Draco's triumphant face if given proof of Harry's cowardice hovered in front of him, and he knew he couldn't back down.
And so at half-past eleven, he and Blaise were waiting in the Slytherin common room. All the Slytherin first-years knew about the duel by now, and Harry didn't want to listen to their wagers upstairs. Most people were favoring Draco, anyway, though Blaise had nobly taken all action offered against Harry.
Draco had slid out with Crabbe around ten minutes earlier, but Harry wanted the few extra minutes to gather himself before heading out. Finally, Blaise glanced at the door and said, "We'd really better get moving."
"Yeah," Harry said. He took a deep breath and blew it out again, then pushed to his feet and headed out into the hallway.
It was eerily quiet. Harry and Blaise crept along dark hallways and up staircases, headed for the Trophy Room on the third floor. Harry was half-expecting Draco and Crabbe to jump out at them from around a corner, trying to make them out to be cowards by getting them to yell. His nerves jangled from the constant tension of bracing for assaults.
When the figure loomed up at the head of a staircase, Harry stifled his yelp a bit more successfully than Blaise beside him. It took a minute for him to make the identification in the dim light.
"Granger?" Blaise said incredulously.
Hermione stood at the head of the staircase in a pink bathrobe, wearing a ridiculous pair of fuzzy pink slippers.
"What are you doing here?" Harry said, his voice sharper than he intended. "Go back to bed!"
"I can't," Hermione said matter-of-factly. "The door to the Gryffindor common room is closed up, and I can't get back through yet."
"Why did you come at all?" Harry demanded. "This has nothing to do with you!"
"To tell you not to do this!" Hermione said. "It's stupid and risky, Harry! You're going to get in trouble. You might even get expelled!"
"What do you care?" Blaise asked her, although his tone was more curious than upset.
Hermione's face flushed.
It was a really good question, Harry realized. Why did Hermione care?
"I just do," she said.
Harry didn't push it. Instead, he just said, "Well, I'm not changing my mind." He moved past her down the hallway. To his surprise, he realized Hermione was following, along with Blaise. The two of them were trading uneasy glances.
For that matter, he wondered, why did Hermione always sit with him in Potions? As he looked back at her following in his wake, he realized he'd never seen her just spending time with her classmates the way the other Gryffindors did. In classes, she always came and went by herself. She never seemed to be talking with anyone else at meals. She was always alone.
They were aboveground now, and slanting stripes of moonlight crossed the hall, lighting the stones intermittently. So far, they had avoided running into anyone but Hermione, but as they crept up the final staircase to the third floor, he expected to run into Filch at every step.
The final hallway to the trophy room was deserted, and they stepped inside to find the room itself empty as well. Harry stood there for a moment in the silence and then Blaise spoke. "Trap," he said laconically. Harry could feel the hairs on the back of his neck tingling.
"Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner."
It was Filch's voice, and it was coming from the next room. Harry's head jerked around to stare at the doorway, then stepped back the way they'd come, gesturing urgently for the others to follow him. They had barely cleared the doorway when they heard Filch enter the trophy room.
As they darted around another corner, trying to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the caretaker, Blaise ran head-on into a suit of armor, which slammed to the ground in a long series of echoing clangs.
It was enough to wake the castle.
"RUN!" Harry bellowed. Blaise and Hermione hardly needed the advice; they ran with him headlong down the corridor, taking turns without the least concept of where they were heading. Harry ran straight into a tapestry and discovered a secret passage on the other side, and they plunged down it to emerge near the Charms classroom, which was far from the trophy room.
Harry finally dared to slow, bending over and bracing his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. "I think – think we've lost him," he managed.
Hermione was leaning against the wall, clutching at a stitch in her side. "I – told – you," she managed to get out around gasps.
"We've got to get back to bed," Blaise told Harry, glancing back behind them as if expecting Filch to round the corner at any second.
"It was a trap," Hermione was still saying. "He never meant to meet you. He told Filch!"
"I know!" Harry responded to Hermione, unable to keep the anger from his voice. He bit it back down. "I know," he repeated in a more urgent undertone. "Let's go."
But things weren't going to be as easy as that. Before they'd made it out of the corridor, there was a rattle from behind them, and something shot, squealing, out of a classroom: Peeves, the Poltergeist. For an instant, Harry felt the impulse to run, but it was too late: they'd been spotted. Peeves cackled.
"Shut up, Peeves -- please -- you'll get us thrown out." Harry begged.
"Wandering around at midnight, Ickle Firsties?" Peeves' voice grew shrill with delight. "Tut, tut, tut. Naughty, naughty, you'll get caughty."
"Not if you don't give us away, Peeves, please."
"Should tell Filch, I should," said Peeves. His eyes held malicious mischief, despite the innocence of his tone. "It's for your own good, you know."
"I'll call the Bloody Baron on you," Blaise hissed at Peeves desperately. They all knew the Bloody Baron was the only one who could control Peeves. But the approach seemed to have been misguided.
"STUDENTS OUT OF BED!" Peeves bellowed, "STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR"
Ducking under Peeves, they ran for their lives, right to the end of the corridor where they slammed into a door -- and it was locked.
"Bloody Hell!" Blaise said, pounding on the door with one fist. Harry glanced desperately back over his shoulder.
"Move over!" Hermione said urgently. She pulled her wand from a hidden pocket of her robe, tapped at the lock, and said, "Alohomora!"
The door slid obligingly open. All three of them poured through it, closing it behind them and pressing their ears up against it to listen.
"Which way did they go, Peeves?" Filch was saying. "Quick, tell me."
"Say 'please."'
"Don't mess with me, Peeves, now where did they go?"
"Shan't say nothing if you don't say please," said Peeves in his annoying singsong voice.
"All right -please."
"NOTHING! Ha haaa! Told you I wouldn't say nothing if you didn't say please! Ha ha! Haaaaaa!" And they heard the sound of Peeves whooshing away and Filch cursing in rage.
Harry relaxed against the door. "He thinks it's locked," he whispered. "We're all right." He turned to grin at Blaise and Hermione, but the expression slid off his face. Looming up behind them, completely unbeknownst to them, was a creature out of nightmare.
Hermione must have seen the look on his face, because she turned in time to see the giant three-headed dog push up to stand. It was enormous; the tips of its six ears brushed the ceiling. From three tongues, saliva dripped, and a low growl sounded in three throats like thunder from the foundation of the castle.
This was not a classroom. This was a corridor: this was the forbidden third-floor corridor. Harry now understood Dumbledore's cryptic warning from the start-of-term feast.
Harry fumbled desperately for the knob behind him. Given the choice between expulsion and death, he'd opt for expulsion. Blaise grabbed at his shoulders, desperately trying to spur him onward, which didn't help. It seemed like forever before he could get the door open, and the three of them tumbled through in a hurry, slamming the door hard behind them.
The corridor was empty. Filch had clearly moved on in his search for the miscreants. They didn't linger to wait for his return, pelting down corridors in a frantic rush to get away from the demonic dog.
They raced down a staircase and down a corridor, finally darting through a door into the Transfiguration classroom. Once inside, they paused to catch their breaths. For a moment, they just stood there, gasping unsteadily.
Blaise was the first to come up with words. "What was that thing?" he asked. "Why was it there?"
"Didn't you see it?" Hermione had gotten her breath back, and her frustration came though in angry words. "Don't you use your eyes? Didn't you see what it was standing on?"
Harry blinked at her. "The floor?" he hazarded. "I, uh, wasn't really looking at its feet, Hermione. Didn't you see the heads?"
"Not the floor," Hermione retorted. "It was standing on a trapdoor. It was guarding something."
"Guarding what?" Blaise asked.
Harry just shook his head. The question was interesting. After Hermione had flounced back to her dorm and the boys had returned to find a disappointed Draco waiting up, he lay awake mulling over the question. The dog was guarding something. Hadn't Hagrid said that Gringotts was the safest place for something you wanted to hide – except Hogwarts?
Had Harry figured out what had happened to the grubby parcel from vault seven hundred thirteen?