Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter

Sorry this chapter is shorter than most, I'm honestly surprised I was able to get something out at all - also sorry that I didn't update last week. I find Prisoner of Azkaban quite hard to replot with Harry's identity still being hidden and me not rereading the book in far too long (though I will try and reread it soon for some extra inspo. Don't worry though I'm not near abandoning the story and have tons of ideas for fourth year and up, just need to cross the wall to get to there first and then it should be full steam ahead.

Hope you enjoy:

Luke had initially been reluctant to let Harry go to Hogsmeade. Sirius Black's presence had scared the doctor - as had the dementors which had now threatened Harry's life two times.

Harry had informed Luke of every detail of each attack, and, along with the prophet, had kept him informed of everything he knew about Black (which wasn't much) - he did not want a repeat of last summer.

It had taken Harry convincing Luke that it would look more suspicious if he stayed in the castle than left it, for Luke to sign the permission slip he'd been holding onto since September ("Let's just wait and see how the Black case progresses - then I'll sign, or not sign it.").

It had been worth it, Harry thought, as he took a sip of butterbeer inside the warm refuge that was The Three Broomsticks.

They'd started their adventure with a trip to the bustling Honeydukes - where Anthony more than stocked up until Christmas - before checking out the Shrieking Shack. The Shack, though rumoured to have housed a werewolf, a banshee, and a coven of dark witches, was relatively underwhelming - you weren't allowed too close to it, and from a distance it really just looked like any rundown shack.

They'd deferred the trip to Zonko's joke shop until later in the afternoon, instead preferring to warm-up away from the cold Scottish weather. Jokes were cool. A warm butterbeer and a piping-hot pumpkin pasty on a freezing afternoon was better.

"How's Care of Magical Creatures?" Harry asked, curious as to what the subject actually entailed.

"Great." Anthony replied enthusiastically, almost spilling his butterbeer. "Professor Lima is amazing. It makes me glad Kettleburn retired last year."

"Yeah." Michael affirmed. "Apparently in previous years they had to do it in a classroom, but Lima's more about practicals and actually getting involved. The Hippogriffs were amazing - shame Malfoy ruined that." Everyone had heard about Malfoy's shared class with the Gryffindors - Neville's account had been particularly damning.

Apparently, after strict instruction from Lima to be polite to the creatures, the blonde had insulted one to his face, and gotten his arm slashed - meaning the Gryffindor-Slytherin match had also been postponed, forcing the 'Puffs to play in those horrendous conditions instead.

"Well, I'd say I'm surprised but after seeing those textbooks he wrote..." Terry trailed off, clearly thinking about the murderous books which had attacked him on their first night back.

"They're good." Anthony grinned. "Once you figure out how to open them of course."

"Muggle studies?" Harry asked turning to Terry, who's mouth was full of a pasty.

"Interesting enough." Terry said once he'd finished his bite. "There were telling us you'd got a rocket to the moon?" He asked incredulously. "Like, the actual moon?"

The other three laughed, a lot more aware of muggle advancements than Terry. Terry was a half-blood like them, but his dad had been in and out his entire childhood until he'd completely up and left last summer. He wasn't exactly a good educator of muggle customs.

"That was in the 60s though, they've advanced a lot since then." Michael replied.

Harry and Anthony nodded, laughing as Terry's eyes grew. "You should see the computer at the hospital my dad works at. They got a new investor recently and redid all of their computers, the screens are huge!" Harry enthused.

"Computers?" Terry asked. "I haven't heard anything about them."

"It's probably just later in the syllabus." Harry replied and Terry nodded.

"I still don't know why you guys signed up to do maths." Anthony said, before taking a huge bite of a chocolate frog he'd bought from Honeydukes.

"Arithmancy." Harry corrected with a grin. "It's not maths."

"There are similarities." Michael conceded. "But you can use it to predict the future." He told Anthony - though they hadn't covered that aspect on the syllabus yet. At the moment, it was actually quite similar to maths - most wizards didn't know how to do basic multiplication and division, which was fundamental in predicative work.

"So, it's Divination, but with numbers?" Anthony asked, a small smile playing at his lips as he taunted them. They all knew Divination as a joke.

"No." Michael quickly replied, before seeing Anthony's smile and realising he was getting played. He took a sip of his butterbeer, and slowly reclined in his chair until you could barely see his head, provoking laughter from the others. Suddenly he bounced back up, stealing a mournful glance at his empty glass and saying: "Zonko's?" with an eager, puppy-like smile.

"Alright." Terry tipped the glass back, pouring the dregs into his mouth.

Two minutes later as they were trudging through the muddy-snow, tainted from the boots of all of the Hogwarts' students, the boys were regretting their decision to leave the safe and warm refuge. Zonko's was full to the brim with all of the Hogwarts' students, but the thing which scared Harry the most was the sight of the Weasley twins walking around the shop with a small notebook and pen, that they hid every time the owner cast an eye towards them.

"Alright Cameron?" Terry called and Harry saw the, now seventh year.

"Perfect."

"Why do I feel like the reason you told Flitwick you didn't want to be head boy is so you could still play pranks?" Terry quizzed and Cameron put on a sheepish smile.

"It is my last year, I may as well go out with a bang."

"I do hope you mean literally." One of the twins winked as they walked past.

"Does he mean fireworks or...?" Michael trailed off and Cameron laughed.

"Both, I hope." He grinned and the four younger 'claws exchanged an amused look. Anthony made an appreciative noise as he caught sight of a deluxe packet of sugar quills.

"How's seventh year?" Anthony asked as he examined the product.

Cameron shrugged. "A lot of work. Plus they've got us doing all types of extra-curriculars, looking at internships at the ministry or at Gringotts, work experience and everything. Appreciate third year while you can - it's definitely the best year. You chose your subjects, but they still aren't at the point of really mattering for OWLs yet, but it's equally not first or second year when the teachers are still keeping an extra eye on you and giving you detention for leaving your homework in the tower or something."

"Third year's good." Harry agreed.

"Because you're only doing two - yes, I don't count flying - new classes." Terry said, whilst Anthony and Michael went to explore the new line of dungbombs.

"You guys didn't have to do three... Don't blame me for your poor decisions."

"You're doing flying?" Cameron asked.

"Yeah. It's nice being able to learn some new stuff so we can thrash Slytherin in the re-match." The invasion of the dementors on the pitch had ended in the match getting called off, being postponed for December - just before school breaks up.

"Hopefully that match won't end with you in Draco Malfoy's arms." Cameron joked and Harry just rolled his eyes. He'd heard way too many jokes about how Malfoy was his hero, and was he a good damsel in distress...

"Well, as Malfoy is the only other person in his flying class they are getting a lot of good one-on-one time." Terry added, a mischievous smile tugging at the corner of his lips, despite how hard he was trying to restrain it.

"The new power couple?" Cameron snarked and Terry laughed.

"Shove off." Harry left them to join Anthony and Michael. They were just discussing boring pranks but it was better than imagining himself dating Draco Malfoy.

Of all people... honestly...

Eventually they decided to go back to Hogwarts and the warmth of the castle, fully stocked with sweets and with smuggling a few contraband Zonko's products with them.

A few minutes into the long walk back to the castle Harry started to hear a familiar voice ranting. He held out a hand, stopping the others in their tracks, "Sh." He quickly ordered, and despite their confusion they all snapped silent.

"That know-it-all bitch." Malfoy was surprisingly alone as he mouthed-off in the forest. His voice got drowned out by the sounds of students making mock-howling noises near the Shrieking Shack. But Harry heard the next words loud and clear: "The filthy mudblood." Malfoy spat.

Harry strode purposefully to him and punched him in the face. Hard.

"Merlin, Harry!" Michael exclaimed, though there was something akin to jealousy in his eyes, as though he wished he'd been the one to sock Malfoy.

"You," Malfoy tried to get up but the snow made the ground slippery and his hand gave way. Terry ran towards him.

"Stay down." Terry told him calmly, gently putting his boot on Malfoy's chest as he made a move to get to his feet.

"He, he punched me." Malfoy sputtered.

"You deserved it." Harry retorted.

"You don't even like Granger." Malfoy's hand reached for his nose, which had began to bleed. His eyes widened as his fingers drew back with blood.

"I also don't like you being a racist asshole." Part of the reason Harry was so angry right now was, if he was being honest, not Malfoy's fault. He'd seen a wanted poster of Sirius Black pegged to a shop door and all sense of rationality had been thrown into the streets. His parents' best friend.

Every time he saw that crazed face roaring against the bars of Azkaban he wanted to punch something. So he had. Not that Malfoy didn't deserve it. A large part of him was incensed by Malfoy's inability to grow up and stop being the same tosser he was back in first year. How had he not grown up by now?

"Racist?" Malfoy looked genuinely confused, his nose began to screw up on his face before he winced in pain.

"Racist. A bigot. Judging someone based on some genetic factor they can't control. She might be a muggleborn, but she's still a better witch then you."

Malfoy scoffed. "Right. She just memorises all the textbooks."

"And you beg your daddy to bribe Snape to give you good grades." Harry taunted, as Malfoy still lay in the snow. Red droplets began to clash against the pure white blanket on the ground.

"Reynolds," He began menacingly, but Terry just pressed his foot down harder. Harry turned away, ready to walk away from Malfoy, the other 'claws joining him. "I helped you last year. Saved your life."

"Saved my life?" Harry turned back round to face Malfoy who'd made his way to his feet.

"Told you how to find out what the monster was. I didn't have to do that. I didn't have to pretend you were a muggleborn either, I could have told them all you were a half-blood and then you'd have definitely been off to Azkaban." Anthony and Michael looked to Harry in surprise, unaware of this information.

Harry shrugged. "So why didn't you?"

Malfoy's face blanched, as if he hadn't been expecting that question. "I'm not my father." He eventually said, in a quiet voice.

"If you're not your father, then why are you still advertising his bigoted ideas?" Harry replied, moving closer to Malfoy.

"You have no idea what it's like living in a house with someone like that." Malfoy whispered pointedly, keeping his voice quiet enough that only Harry could hear it.

Harry shook his head. "You don't know anything about me."

"I saw your dad. He was a muggle but at least he seemed nice. My dad..." Malfoy trailed off, biting the inside of his cheek as he turned to look at some imaginary object.

"Just because you live with assholes doesn't mean you need to be one. Trust me. I know." Harry told him, before turning around and joining the others to return to Hogwarts.