Harry Potter spent Thursday in a blur, his mind resting more on the morrow and yesterday than the day itself. Charms, yes, and Transfiguration, and even Divination - which claimed to look forward, but didn't have absolutely anything to say about Friday, Or Saturday, or even Sunday. Hence worthless. He really needed to ask himself why he'd signed up for the course in the first place. It wasn't as if he needed the bespectacled bat to give him any more prophecies. Perhaps over the weekend he'd talk to McGonagall. Either he could quit, or he could take something else, right?
Harry spent his mealtimes staring at the Slytherin table, and, more circumspectly, looking at Draco Malfoy. The want to know was burning a hole in his brain, and he seriously wanted to stomp over there and ask. All in good time, he thought, schooling himself to a patience he surely didn't feel. Hermione and Ron tried to pull him onto other topics, but even Quiddich paled in comparison to what he'd been working on. Had Smith done it? Did Harry need to intervene? Would Luna know?
The same thoughts were running through his mind, as he ate breakfast shortly before Potions class. Hermione, as usual, was studying frantically. She seemed to think that if she only read over everything a little more she'd avoid being called out in class for not knowing something. Harry, having listened a little more closely to the Professor, realized that knowing everything just got her called a know-it-all, which, while true, was hardly fair for Snape to go on about, as he'd been actively encouraging the behavior!
Everyone filed into the Potions classroom, finding their accustomed seats. The room was quiet as a pin until the Gryffindor girls came in, and their lively gossip made the rest of the room relax, slightly.
Well, until Snape strode in at any rate.
"Homework, please." Snape said, and people began to dig in their satchels. Harry, who'd anticipated this, simply pulled out the parchment, and waited to pass it in. "Ah, Potter, so good of you to come prepared. That will be the first time." Snape looked down his long nose at Potter, "Make sure it's not the last." Snape's eyes gleamed malevolently, as he said sardonically, "Dashing my hopes will be dealt with harshly."
Harry had to think about that for a bit - he was busy parsing both that he'd gotten a compliment - and Snape's subtle warning that he's not supposed to look eager, or really be anything more than a slapdash Gryffindor. Harry Potter wondered how he was supposed to learn if he wasn't prepared - and abruptly remembered the twins, whose skills at potionneering were top notch. They'd know, if no one else did.
Snape saved Hermione Granger's parchment for last. As he did so, he unrolled it across his desk. "That will be four feet, Miss Granger, not four fingers. Have you lost the ability to distinguish the difference?" Snape's mouth smirked with his peculiar brand of grim humor. "Perhaps if we were to shift them around, you'd count on your feet instead?"
"No, sir," Hermione said stiffly, her body straightening as she said, "Sorry sir, but there was just too much to summarize!" In the background, Harry was aware of Draco Malfoy smirking.
"Miss Granger, time and again you have asked me if there was anything possible that you might do to earn some extra credit." Snape paused, paced three steps away before whirling to face Granger again. "If you can possibly abridge and circumcise your homework to the allotted length for the rest of the year, I believe you will find you've earned some extra credit."
You could hear a pin drop. Snape, giving, dangling, the possibility of giving Granger extra credit? To the Gryffindors, it was astounding. To the Slytherins (particularly Malfoy) it was appalling. As usual, Snape pretended not to take heed, writing his notes on the board with a swipe of his wand and saying, "What are you waiting for?" Students scurried into work, and the entire class was as silent as a tomb, with various cracks of glassware but no audible conversation.
Harry Potter, was, in some sense, relieved. Snape was still acting like the grim Potion Master Snape - he hadn't been switched with a suddenly chatterboxy, hyperactive Snape. No, apparently Snape just taught the two classes differently. Which, when harry considered, made a very great deal of sense.
Harry could hear through the Great Hall, all through lunchtime, discussion of what it meant that Severus Snape, Potions Master and notorious Hater-Of-All-Things-Gryffindor, had offered Hermione Granger 'extra credit.' Harry Potter hadn't expected Snape to just straight out offer it - certainly not in class. Harry had to wonder what his wily Professor was up to. Problem was, when he put his mind to it, it seemed like just too much of a deviation from what Snape's carefully cultivated image was. That meant one of two things - that this was yet another wrinkle in the increasingly "left on the floor for dead" tapestry that Snape seemed to be weaving... or it was a mistake. If it was a mistake, Snape was bound to put it to rights by coming down hard on the Gryffindors, probably in general (He seemed to have significantly more trouble finding something to yell at Hermione about, anyway. Suppose 'Harry Potter' makes a tempting target, Chosen One or no).
What was most interesting, Harry thought, was the expressions on the Slytherins' faces. Most of them looked uncertain, some nervous, and a few just a bit twitchy. Draco Malfoy wore a smirk, as if he knew everything about everything, and Harry mentally categorized it as "I don't know a damned thing, but I'll be damned if I let you know that." Which was hilarious, when you thought about it, and Harry himself might have tried it if there was any way in blazes he could act that well.
The Ravenclaws were predictably outraged, and Harry thought he saw signs of a growing consensus, with quick glances up at the High Table. Something, he thought, was brewing there. The Ravenclaws considered schooling to be their province, and had accepted Hermione's trouncing of them with predictable bad grace (though, it must be said, not nearly as poorly as Malfoy had. Come to think, Harry'd never actually asked himself if Malfoy was really just pissed off at having a girl beat him. Hiding whatever he really thought behind blood prejudice? It made a scary sort of sense - scary because it was plausible, and scary because it almost sounded like Harry was trying to understand a Slytherin, something he'd previously considered an exercise in positive timewasting).
The Hufflepuffs were actually amused. Everyone else was all fluffy about this, and this was the best gossip they'd had, well, since Snape had decided to assign people 'ways to kill their classmates' as a homework assignment.
And the Gryffindors? Well, Ron was predictably shoving food in his mouth and making a mess as always. Some things never change, Harry thought with a fleeting grin. Hermione was busy flipping through her books, absently muttering about having to throw out research. Other Gryffindors would pat her on the shoulder in congratulations - with Dean actually saying, "You actually managed to get through to Severus Snape. Congratulations!" To which Hermione, clearly not paying a whit of attention, said, "Professor Snape." in the same tone that she'd always corrected Harry and Ron (to whom she might have thought she was talking).
Before Harry was done eating, Hermione looked up and said, "I'll have to go ask Professor Snape about that."
Harry looked at her, noting her fiddling with her 'wand' absently. "What 'bout?" He asked, his mouth still full of food.
Hermione looked at Harry, and said with a bit of a nudge, "You know."
Right, what she's not supposed to discuss in the bloody Great Hall. Harry nodded, and quickly thought, I don't want to let her go into the dungeons alone. There's not much they can do to seriously harm her, but Malfoy's clever enough to get around that, if he wants to. "I'll come with. I've got a few questions for Snape too."
"Professor Snape, Harry." Granger nodded, her unruly hair shifting with her head, "Right after Charms, then."
Harry knew this was a bad idea, going to see Snape. And yet, Ron couldn't be counted on to visit a professor, and Harry wasn't going to let his friend come to harm when he could possibly prevent it. Even if it was just the pesty sort of harm. All through Transfiguration, and then Charms, Harry was thinking of why he let himself get caught up in things like this. Well, when he wasn't trying to think of something to ask Snape. It didn't make sense for him to come storming in, and he didn't really have any questions about anything. But he couldn't very well show up to office hours without questions, could he? Maybe... Harry scrambled... maybe he could ask for extra reading? Something supplemental? Oh, boy, Snape would have something to say to that. Something cutting, of course. But, at least he wouldn't be telling Snape that he was down there simply because he didn't trust Snape's hold on his Slytherins. That would go over poorly, sure as Sunday.
Harry followed after Hermione Granger, whose smaller form was somehow capable of going at warp one, while still walking. Harry studied her gait absentmindedly, stretching his own to compensate. "No Running in the Halls" - if people had actually meant the speed, Minerva McGonagall herself would have assigned Hermione Granger detention, nevermind that she had a foot on the ground at all times. Hermione Granger wasn't graceful about it, even when she was walking on a mission - her stride was that of a boar, or a bull, or a cow - something too big to have to worry about what it stepped on. Not something to get in the way of. Harry'd been walking alongside Snape enough to know that he had the reflexes of a cat, and something of it's quiet, deadly grace. Snape could, and would, if it suited him, stop on a dime.
Harry really didn't want to be heading downstairs, into the dark dungeons. It wasn't, truly, that the walls of Hogwarts were scary... but the people there had no good feelings for him, and weren't really the type to stay neutral. Worse, he knew he shouldn't be doing this. Knew that it was going to upset Snape, who was pretty clearly telling Harry that they weren't chums. Harry let out a soft snort at the very thought.
But he couldn't just not go, even though he could hear Snape suggesting it in his mind. Hermione was his friend, and if any harm, any ill-intent, was likely to happen to her, Harry wanted to be there to stop it. That was just what friends did. Problem was, Harry wasn't certain Snape would consider that valid, let alone passable as an explanation. He might not even understand the thought, as anything more than pure, groundless emotion. And... that thought was scary. Scarier than Snape at his maddest, which had still never meant Harry had to fear for a belt, after all (and, seeing as he never had been expelled, perhaps, just perhaps, he had misread some of that. Scratch that, he was twelve, of course he'd misread it. Maybe... maybe that'd been the point. Better not to ask that question, Harry reassured himself doubtfully.)
His mind returned to Snape not understanding the concept of wanting to look out for someone else. Of watching someone else's back, with the expectation that they'd be there to watch yours, in turn. Harry nodded, slowly, thinking, hoping, that Snape would at least understand that. Sometimes, Harry reflected bleakly, the man seemed inhuman.
His mind turned back to something that Snape had said - something about having a friend from Gryffindor. Snape sometimes seemed so Slytherin that Harry wondered how often his friend had wound up being throttled for something completely impulsive and irrational. Maybe a lot.
And then they were there, Harry swallowing on a suddenly dry throat, and Hermione looking her cheerful self - so much so that Harry wanted to hiss at her to look at least a little bit scared - it was Snape they were speaking to, after all. Snape-who-hates-Gryffindors, and doesn't see them at office hours. Harry wanted to wince, he knew this was going to be awful. Pretend, but he hadn't told Hermione that. Wasn't sure he should, either. Wasn't his secret.
"Enter." Snape's melodious voice said, and Hermione Granger opened the door. Snape looked up at them, and Harry blinked. Snape wasn't, as was his custom, in his normal teacher's robes - or even in his shirt-sleeves. No, he was wearing the ones he'd worn to the Yule Ball (at the time, Harry'd not noticed anything was different. They were black, after all. But this was a black that had darkly shiny stripes across the arms, cut just a bit more formally, tighter in places and loser in others).
Hermione came in first, and Harry followed, both of them standing nearly at the door.
Snape said quickly, "Shut the door." and Hermione complied.
The floo in the side of his office roared into life, smoke piling out, and Dumbledore's voice rang out, "Severus, if you have a moment, I believe we should talk."
"Always, Albus." Snape said, in put upon tones that ended with a long sigh. "Bear with me a moment while I finish sorting the students. It is office hours, you know."
Albus Dumbledore's voice rang out, in cheery tones, "Is this the first time you've had students in your office this year? Don't they generally wait until after?"
Snape sighed, stood, and, facing the floo, said flatly, "Your mirth is entirely unwarranted, and unsuccessful to boot. I shall be a moment." Snape's hand landed on the floo's mantle with a crack, and the audio opening closed with a flash.
Smugly smirking, Snape turned and faced the two Gryffindors, "And that would be the Ravenclaws. Right. On. Time." Snape nodded curtly at both of them, "Touch nothing, remain until I return."
Snape took a pinch of the floo powder, and said "Dumbledore's Office," before he stepped into the floo.
"Ah, there you are. Everything's sorted I trust?" Dumbledore said.
Harry and Hermione exchanged a glance at this. The floo was still open, somehow. Harry could hear Hermione's thought: Snape had said they were to stay here... but he couldn't have wanted them to eavesdrop, could he? We should tell someone, or somehow not listen. Harry, however, was freed of such elementary thoughts, though they sounded suspiciously like what he'd have said last year. Now, Harry realized that Snape indeed wanted them to eavesdrop. And so Harry gave an impish grin to Hermione, and walked forward, careful to keep far enough away from the floo to not get trampled, should there be some sort of unexpected mass exodus.
Hermione started to say, "Oh, we shouldn't-" as she approached and grabbed Harry by the shoulder. Her words were cut off as Professor Flitwick began to speak.
"Greetings, Master Snape," Professor Flitwick said in his high pitched voice, that was nonetheless trying for "cool and collected." To Harry's ear, it fell dramatically short.
"Greetings, Master Flitwick," Snape said, and Harry wondered suddenly if everyone was a master (Hermione'd only mentioned Snape, but she'd know. Why didn't he? That seemed like something moderately important...). "To what do I owe the pleasure?" Snape's voice dripped acid.
Harry pictured Snape looking around the Headmaster's Office, as Snape said, "All the Ravenclaws at once? This looks to be something that their Head of House could resolve, certainly?" Snape said cuttingly. "Some intrahouse argument?" Harry mentally populated the Office with at least the sixth years, and probably the seventh and fifth years as well.
Chang, unwisely, spoke up, "We're united in this, sir. Our dispute is with you."
"Re-ally?" Snape said in a singsong voice, "I can't imagine why you'd have a dispute with me."
Professor Flitwick spoke up, "You offered extra credit to Hermione Granger. My Ravenclaws would like an equal opportunity."
Snape snorted, looking a bit smug, "Did I? That's odd, I do not recall." Harry could picture Snape looking smug at this, and realized (as he'd made sure to remember the exact wording) that Snape hadn't... quite... offered to give extra credit to Hermione. Harry nodded slightly at this, thinking that it was clear that Snape was Up To Something.
Harry pictured Snape striding around the room, and turning back to the Ravenclaws, as Dumbledore watched, quietly interested. Snape continued after a pause, "Gentlemen, I am not in the habit of offering extra credit for the purposes of wasting your time, as other professors do so often."
"If-" Snape said, the emphasis landing heavily on the word, "I have not offered you extra credit, it is because in my judgement, your scores are contingent on your talent and determination. That is to say, I will offer extra credit when someone's detrimental scores do not reflect their true abilities."
Harry heard the slight ruffling of robes, students shifting uneasily on the other side of the room.
Snape said, quickly - as if he was interrupting someone about to speak - "Your scores in my Potions class are coherent with my estimations. However," Snape said, pausing, "There are three of you here whose scores in my other class leave something to be desired. I believe I can see my way to providing you extra credit, if you'll make it worth my while." Snape paused, and said smoothly, "That goes for any of you. However, this is a limited time offer - if you are interested, see me before Monday."
The Ravenclaws shifted uneasily. They had come prepared to yell, Flitwick had come with arguments - and here Snape had neatly sidestepped them, and even offered them extra credit. The fact that he'd never done so before... well, he was certainly doing so now.
"If that will be all?" Snape asked abruptly, taking advantage of the general confusion. Dumbledore nodded (Harry assumed, as that question could only have been for the Headmaster), and Snape whirled into the floo.
Hermione made to open her mouth, and Snape - dark eyes boring into hers - ran a finger along his lips.
From the other end of the floo, Boot said, "Canny bastard. Didn't even bother telling us who needs the extra credit."
Haworth said, "I'm one of them. Never did do well on the written tests. Decent on the practicals though."
"Who's up for some extra credit?" Chang asked, and there was a round of murmured assent.
Snape brought his hand down on the mantle with a crack, breaking the connection. Turning towards the two Gryffindors (only barely beginning to process that Snape had just blatantly eavesdropped in front of them), Snape said mildly, "It is sometimes more effective to have a malfunctioning floo, rather than one in precise working order."
Harry just nodded, staring at Snape, whose expression was unreadable - again.
"As for the two eavesdroppers that I've caught in my office," Snape said, his voice taking on elements of parade snap. "Detention is in order." Snape pulled two pieces of chalk from the desk, and threw them at Granger and Potter. Harry Potter easily caught his, but Granger's wound up on the floor, broken in two pieces. With a heavy sigh, Snape stood, walking towards her. He passed her a new, straight piece of chalk, then bent and picked up the two white pieces on the ground. He popped them into his mouth, and began chewing.
Hermione was fighting the urge to ask a question - Harry could tell, despite not having her in his cone of vision - she was practically vibrating.
Snape gave them a heavy nod as he swallowed, "Third floor corridor, left side, inside the armor's chest. Mark when you would like detention, at least a day in advance. If I am detained or have other business, I shall cross it out."
Hermione just looked at him, somewhat confused. Harry, understanding that Snape had decided that Private Potions Lessons were a ridiculous cover when the Gryffindors were obviously up to Out-Of-Bounds Missions nearly constantly, smiled thinly. Better to give us 'movable detentions.'
"It goes without saying, that you will not bother me during office hours. Ever. Again." Snape said the last two words as he leaned over both Potter and Granger, and Harry fought the urge to salute.
Hermione responded with a weak, "Yes sir."
"Dismissed." Snape said, and Harry walked out of the... without having done a thing. Which, of course, he thought with a sinking heart, just meant he'd have to go back. Again.
Harry Potter, like most of the old DA, still carried his Galleon on him, and so it was Saturday Morning when it warmed in his pocket. Pulling it out, he saw that it read "Quiddich Pitch, under the bleachers, noon." Harry wanted to roll his eyes. Like having half a hundred students walking out to the Quiddich Pitch wasn't going to raise questions? Thinking quickly, Harry shucked on his Quiddich gear, and bounced down the stairs. Ron and Hermione were waiting down there, huddled together as if they wanted everyone to know about the signal.
"Who wants to see me on a broom this morning?" Harry Potter asked, his tenor voice booming through the Common Room. "I bet I can fly three hoops if Gin'll toss them!"
Hermione hissed something to Ron, and they both stood up, Ron said, truculently, "I bet you can't."
Hermione said snottily, "I bet it depends on how Gin'll toss 'em."
"Of course I'll help," Ginny Weasley said, "It's a bet!" By this point, their "we are speaking loud enough to wake the dead" voices had woken most of the older students (and the younger students were watching wide-eyed.)
"Third years and older please." Harry said sternly, "If I lose, I don't want to have to explain to our Head of House why I accidentally taught second years unconscionable swears."
The room rumbled at this, and Ron said loudly, "Breakfast first! I'm hungry."
Everyone laughed, as they all knew Ron, and it was ridiculous to have thought he'd do anything without breakfast.
Downstairs, in the Great Hall, Harry sat like a stone, laughing at everyone's antics, and generally having a high time. He was trying very, very hard to not look suspicious and he figured that being loud and boisterous would do the trick.
Across the Hall from him, Draco Malfoy apparently had had a different thought. Harry'd caught increasingly pointed glances from Malfoy through lunch (along with that jackal like laughter from Pansy). About midway through the meal, Draco Malfoy stood, and swaggered arrogantly over to Potter (How anyone with even remote association with Malfoy could think Potter was arrogant! Harry thought, before pulling his mind back on track).
The table had fallen silent. In fact, all the tables had fallen silent, except the high table, where Trelawney was talking to a frozen faced Minerva McGonagall. Even Snape and Dumbledore had fallen silent, quietly looking over at the boy in black and green.
"I challenge you to a duel on the Quiddich Pitch." Draco Malfoy said, grandly but succinctly.
"I can choose the terms?" Harry Potter asked, thankful that Hermione had, midway through second year, actually gotten him to learn the terms of a formal duel.
"You may." Draco Malfoy said, his eyes stony serious in that impassive face he'd mastered.
"Brooms only, no spells. Gin'll toss the rings, I promised she could already. Whomever gets the most, wins."
Draco Malfoy nodded, where Harry had expected him to object. "Very well, and the time?"
"After breakfast. That should give you enough time to change, if you hurry." Harry Potter said kindly, looking down at his plate then, and watching Draco's midriff move off without actually eating a bite.
Gin gave a low whistle, and said, "The whole place heard that..."
Hermione muttered quickly, "I hope the teachers don't come." Harry found himself wondering if that would be better or worse.
Slowly, Harry said, "I hope they do. They're likely to scatter everyone once the 'duel' is over."
Ron nodded, and said, "Yeah, it'll be easier to slip off if everyone's running for the hills."
Harry looked at one of the third years, and said, "Make sure the young lions show up to cheer." He smiled, but felt the smile fall from his face as the browneyed boy nearly saluted Harry.
Harry Potter calmly finished his marmalade toast, blocking out everyone as he chewed. Around him, whispers, bets and other noise faded into black. He didn't really care, after all. And this? This was an excuse to fly. Harry Potter frowned, slightly, as he realized that he wasn't sure if he was still banned from Quiddich, now that Umbridge was gone.
Well, surely this didn't count, did it? Hoops, and two people flying - more of an obstacle course, really. Harry suddenly hoped Snape didn't show up to rain on everyone's parade, that black scowl of his radiating anger. Harry leaned back, a smirk on his face - nah, Snape wouldn't do that, not with Draco playing around. Harry could almost hear Snape's voice in his head, saying "goofing off", but that had to be his imagination, because the idea of Snape using that word was patently ridiculous.
When Harry Potter stood, most of the hall did as well (including a few of the Professors - luckily, Snape wasn't included in that contingent.)
Arriving at the pitch, and stepping towards the shed to grab his broom, Harry wasn't at all surprised to see Draco Malfoy already there, every hair perfect (as always), and waiting for him. Gin Weasley was also there, idly twirling the hoops. Instead of the three he had expected, she had to have grabbed every single hoop that they had. They were just big enough for a skilled flyer to fly through, if one was small and agile.
Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter stood beside their brooms, as Gin announced the rules, "You each get one chance per ring. I'll throw each one up twice. Potter's first, as challenged - for the first ring. After that, you alternate. Winner is the person who doesn't miss one." Gin looked a little more uncertain, "What are the stakes?"
"Honor." Draco Malfoy said crisply, his eyes gleaming a challenge at Harry. Harry idly wondered what it meant that Malfoy had abandoned his characteristic drawl.
They took off, the wind biting and crisp in the autumn air. The first three ringtosses were easy, as if Gin Weasley was getting the feel of both participants. Or maybe she just didn't want either of them to look ridiculous failing on the first try. People cheered, and Harry counted - it seemed as if the Gryffindors were cheering for him, en masse - and the Slytherins were... doing their equivalent of cheering, which sounded more like jeers to Harry's ears. Apparently they wanted Malfoy to finish Harry off quickly, and stop playing with him.
How Malfoy was supposed to do this, when there was absolutely no interaction between them in the challenges... Harry shook his head, and dove for the next ring. This one came up with a bit of a wobble, and he hit one shoulder into the ring, which shivered as he flew through.
Draco Malfoy had watched with his characteristic sharp expression (congenital, that), and had caught that ring quickly, sliding through without a trace. "Do I win yet, Weaselette?"
Gin looked up, hollering, "No, you prat, Harry made it through fair and square."
"Not so fair, when he hit the edge." Draco Malfoy said.
"Leave off, I'm the referee, and I say he's good." Gin said, and Harry was glad that she was playing her part perfectly. Not that that was hard, she couldn't stand the blond ferret.
It was two more rings, each of increasing difficulty, before Gin sent up a ring spinning like a sphere. Harry dove for it, closing his eyes, and managed to hit the damn thing with his head - him and the ring diving towards the ground. He pulled up with difficulty, but the ring was already on the ground. Harry closed his eyes. It had been a fair challenge. He didn't mind losing, but he did find some annoyance at losing to Malfoy, who undoubtedly wouldn't just let it go.
Now Draco Malfoy just had to catch the ring, which was looking tricky. Harry, on the ground, looked up along with Gin, as she let the spinning sphere of a ring go. Malfoy waited until the ring was at its apex before diving, catching it just as it slowed. He was dead on center, but it was still spinning too fast, and Malfoy was stunned by the impact of the ring into his neck. Looking like he must be seeing double, Draco Malfoy slid lower in the sky, and then dropped to the ground, clearly thinking the ground was about a foot higher than it actually was.
Malfoy scrambled to his feet before Harry Potter could reach him, looking daggers at him.
"Draw!" Gin hollered out. "Good game, boys."
Simultaneously, two infuriated boys were glaring at her. "What do you mean?" they both demanded. As the fracas looked to turn into some hairpulling, or something, most of the bystanders were leaning forward in excitement.
Hermione leapt onto the field, projecting her voice, "Alright, aerial show's over. Clear out."
With a lot of grumbling, the stands began to empty (the teachers keeping a discrete eye on the participants, who still looked outraged.)
Malfoy and Potter kept up a line of accusations, invoking past history, each claiming the other had somehow cheated. Making a lot of smoke, and little fire, as the stands emptied out.
"Shake on it, sports. Tell each other good game." Gin's still amplified voice boomed out. Hermione stood opposite Gin, with her hands on her hips, and an itchy wand in her hand.
Malfoy held out his hand, and Harry gripped it - by his forearm, which Malfoy returned with enough strength to bruise. "Good Game." they both growled at each other, making it into more a statement of "I'm going to get you" than anything peaceful.
"Time for a shower," Harry said, as he headed towards one of the locker rooms under the Quiddich grounds. Malfoy did likewise, facing directly away from him as he did so. Harry dimly noticed his friends following him, as he was trying to act upset - and was desperately hoping he was doing a decent job. He didn't even know if Malfoy was coming, he thought wryly. Still, if he wasn't, they had still managed a damnable fine distraction. The teachers stood to leave, as Potter and his friends ducked under the bleachers.
Well over a hundred students waited for them, reds and golds, yellows, a scattering of blues - and greens. Harry Potter deliberately put on a scowl, looking at the Slytherins suspiciously. "What're they doing here?" Harry Potter growled, giving Hermione a raised-eyebrow, slightly bulging eye look when she eyed him sharply - it said 'go along with it.'
Harry Potter looked around at all the students. He was glad to see that there didn't seem to be any first years here. That would be all they needed, he thought grimly. Turning to his friends, who were still agog at the sheer number of people, he said, "Come on, let's find Smith." As he turned and started to elbow his way through the throng, he noticed that Malfoy was doing the same - less from seeing Malfoy (who was short enough to be lost in the crowd), and more from seeing the crowd itself part. Slytherins on that side, Gryffindors on this one, Hufflepuffs (and a scattering of Ravenclaws) in the center.
Smith himself looked lost, as Harry approached. Harry suddenly realized, Smith didn't realize how many were coming... Shite, this is more than half the school... Some third year Gryffindors had snuck in, and Harry wanted to haul them out by their robes - suddenly, he remembered Snape screaming at him. Shite, he was not going to act like Snape. Never did Harry any good being yelled at, anyhow - not likely it would work on other Gryffindors.
Harry reached Smith, who was trying to get people's attention - completely futilely, as there were simply too many people, and even though they were trying to be quiet. Hermione and Ron were flanking him - Malfoy had snuck over, completely without his two goons (which wasn't surprising - there they were, slowly nudging Slytherins aside).
They had to act, and reinforce Smith, Harry thought urgently. But how?
With a flick of a wrist, he twisted off his glove, and tossed it on the ground. "Stage," he instructed and Hermione (who was only pretending), and Potter set to work, transfiguring a stage to give Smith more height.
"Megaphone," Harry said shortly, using his other glove. Malfoy, catching on, started to cast a silencing spell that Hermione didn't know - Harry could tell because her eyes sparked with interest. Ron kept busy keeping other people from intruding.
They were ready, Harry thought, as Smith stepped up to speak.
"I would like to extend the hand of friendship to anyone who stands here today. To old friends and new, I welcome you today. This is the start of a select club to teach ourselves defense. If you are not interested in learning, you may step out now. If you are, however, we need you to do two things. First, sign this paper, which will keep ourselves from breaking ranks and squealing to interested parties. And Second, elect the officers from your house. They will take turns training us, so choose wisely."
The paper started among the Gryffindors first, and by the time it was done, there were already a few officers standing and waiting for them. Harry Potter wasn't at all surprised to see Malfoy standing there - he was nearly tops in their grade, and he was known for being malevolent in Defense, when pressed. Goyle, however, was a surprise.
Connor and Boot stood for the Ravenclaws - what few there were. Harry'd almost have expected Chang - but, he noticed as he glanced through the Hufflepuffs, she wasn't even here. Neither was her friend Edgecombe.
Bones and Abbot for the Hufflepuffs, and wasn't that a surprise. Harry'd have expected Smith to take one of the roles for himself; Harry did need to give the pretentious bastard some credit - he'd be far better leading if he wasn't teaching.
Turning back towards the Gryffindors, he found Ron exhorting everyone, "Granger and Potter!" Slowly, started by Neville he thought, they took up the chant. Hermione looked at him, eyes wide, and Harry, gravely, bowed. "At your service." Then they turned towards the stage, hustling over to the other teachers.
"Aren't we going to-" Sue asked.
And Smith responded, "We'll have their names, we can get them those later..."
Draco Malfoy, smirking bold as the day is long, got out his golden galleon (former Edgecombe's), and started flipping it, "Heads." he said after a moment.
Hermione started to take over the conversation, trying baldly to hide her dislike of Malfoy, "What do you want to teach?" she addressed this at Goyle, not Malfoy, and Harry was thankful for that, as Malfoy's insouciant attitude might hide any number of responses.
"What I'm good at." Goyle said, looking her over, "You?"
"Charms, I think." Granger said with a gentle smile.
Goyle looked over at Malfoy, a jerk of his head indicating the blond twit, "He'll take Potions." And Harry had the feeling that since Goyle said it, it was bound to be true.
People were dispersing, after they'd signed the sheet, which had traveled through most of the Hufflepuffs, and was currently traversing the Slytherins. Pansy said cuttingly, "This seems a little obvious, doesn't it?"
Potter, looking up at her, said, "Gotta be obvious or us Gryffs won't get it."
The Slytherins paused for a moment, collectively, seeming to think over Potter making a joke about himself.
Tori Greengrass said, with a small smile, "Knew you weren't as arrogant as ol' Snape says." Which would have been fine, if she hadn't decided to hang herself off Harry Potter like some sort of limp foxpelt.
"Professor Snape," Hermione Granger corrected almost automatically, and Ron smiled at the automaticness.
Harry Potter picked up Tori as if she was five, holding her under her armpits, and sternly said, "Off."
"Potter, you really don't have a lick of manners at all, do you?" Malfoy said, in his usual drawl.
"Nope, fraid not." Harry Potter said affably. He held back the crack about being raised, not in a barn, but a broom cupboard. Even at his crankiest, he knew better than to give Malfoy ammunition.
By this point, everyone had left (even Tori gamboling after her sister), and the paper was down to them. They passed it around, until it got to Malfoy. He was the last person there, and he said gravely, "I'm not signing this. I'll come, but I'm not signing this."
"Why not? Everyone else signed!" Hermione Granger snapped out, hands on her hips in a danger sign that they all knew well.
"Exactly. I'm a Slytherin, you should already know I'm good for keeping this a secret." Malfoy drawled, seeming not to notice the crackles of magic coming out of Granger's hair.
"Malfoy!" Granger snapped, her voice crisp and exasperated all at once, "All the other Slytherins signed!"
"Which is why I don't need to." Malfoy said smoothly, with an unruffled drawl.
Well, Harry thought, this was probably what Snape was talking about, when he said let Draco do as he wanted. Still... there was nothing Harry liked better than giving Malfoy a hard time.
"You say you can keep a secret. We remember first year, when you went squealing to McGonagall lickety-split!" Potter said, his voice mocking.
"That was a Dragon!" Malfoy snapped back, all pretense of equanimity forgotten. "You were three first years!" Harry Potter idly caught the wounded puppydog look that Goyle was giving Malfoy, as if he'd never heard about any of this...
Ron cut in, bless his heart, "I don't trust you."
Hermione concurred, saying, "Neither do I."
Harry Potter eyes gleamed, and he said slowly, "Let Malfoy do as he pleases. I've got a few hexes I've been dying to try on someone... we'll know if you squeal." The last was said smugly.
Smith said grandly, "Then we have everyone. When's the next meeting time, and who's teaching?"
Potter said, more to say something than to win, "Seven o clock Monday Night, and Hermione's bound to have something interesting by then."
Draco Malfoy spoke up, in his soft drawl, "Eight, Monday night" His eyes gleamed a mocking challenge, as he looked towards Granger, "Can you teach the Patronus, witch?"
"Anytime," Hermione growled, seeming to have heard bitch instead of witch. They dispersed, leaving Harry wondering just what Draco Malfoy was planning. Why had he insisted that he not sign?