For once, on the way back to the castle, Harry wasn't around the Gryffindors. Ron, for a wonder, had been part of the first wave to find Snape, and had been busy with the second part of the task, which was defending Snape as if he was a Chess-King.

Harry couldn't bring it upon himself to be annoyed at having been one of the slow ones, for once. He knew he was good at defense, and, knowing that, didn't have to care about his grade as much.

It helped that everyone knew Snape favored his Slytherins. Harry didn't worry quite so much, when the grade was gonna be skewed no matter what he did.

The Slytherins had turned to go back to the Castle first, so Harry trailed after them. Still, it was surprising - felt like an actual, unlooked-for, gift, when they started to complain.

Oddly enough, it was Pansy, not Draco, who fumed, "I can't believe he wasn't in the castle! We split up and searched everywhere."

Draco had his hands in his pockets, with that ineffable casual confidence that Harry always envied. "We did our best, Pans."

Goyle asked, "But how did Potter know?" in that dully plodding voice he generally used. It was remarkably effective, if you wanted people to think you were just a dumb brute. This time, Harry saw through it - saw the slight manipulation, the drawing of the conversation away from frustration and towards a solution.

"New perspectives bring new insights," Harry said, doing his best impression of a fortune cookie.

Draco glanced at him sidelong, before hissing, "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Standing atop the Astronomy tower, I saw Hagrid's hut. It was quiet." Harry said.

Goyle nodded slowly, "It's never quiet. Someone's always doing something down there."

Malfoy smirked, but didn't say anything derogatory. I wonder how it felt for Greg, when he's worked with Hagrid, to hear Draco badmouthing the big man?

"Oi!" Ron Weasley called, as he hurried up to Harry, "Did you even make it to class today?"

Harry looked back with a smirk, "Isn't that supposed to be Hermione's question?" Ron and Harry shared a belly laugh, but Harry was certain the Slytherins were just as amused, they were just being quieter about it. Which, in a way, was the polite thing to do. One wasn't supposed to eavesdrop, after all.

Harry Potter tried to pay attention throughout the rest of the day's classes. Really, he did.

He had moderate success, which was to say, Hermione's notes would always be better than his, but at least this day he knew what had been covered, and could even half-cast the required Charm.

Dinner tasted completely tasteless - Ron and Ginny's roughhousing more than made up for it, and had Harry in stitches as they nearly rolled off the bench onto their arses. Harry chanced a glance at the high table during this fracas - He's not looking. which was altogether strange. Snape had a particular fondness for taking points from rowdy Gryffindors, so this seemed straight up his alley. But nothing.

Had the poor rotter just been looking to take points from Harry Potter, then? Or Harry Potter's friends?

And what in the world did it say thyat now he didn't want to do that?

Harry still wasn't sure about that, but he had a somewhat vague realization that whatever the reason for the removal of points, it hadn't been about spite. Because Snape was plenty spiteful on a routine basis.

And it had been targeted. Unless Snape was just laying aside his standard routine... in favor of Ignoring Harry?

That seemed even more unlikely.

Harry had the strange idea that he was tying himself into logical pretzels. However, he didn't get the feeling that any of it was off. Perhaps Slytherins just thought that was normal? Twisting themselves into logical pretzels just for the fun of it?

Harry leapt off the Gryffindor table, seconds before Ginny had Ron pinned on the bench, where Harry had sat.

"Help me, mate." Ron wheezed, his neck squeezed between Ginny's wrists.

"You made your bed," Harry said, turning away, "Might as well lie in it."

Harry was mildly perplexed to see Millicent Bulstrode's mouth quirk up at him, as he strode from the hall. When had it become okay to listen in? Moreover, when had it become okay to care, to enjoy each other? Harry was pretty damn sure that mouth, at the beginning of the year, would have just made a crack about Weasley getting whipped by his wee little sista.

Had he actually changed things that much? Harry shook his head, Nah, too cocky. Had Snape, and Harry, and yes, even Draco Malfoy, changed the school? Oh, it wasn't like everyone was suddenly snapdragons, but things were better. Harry felt a sudden stab of guilt, and a yearning to be doing something right.

Harry Potter squared his shoulders, and knocked on Minerva McGonagall's Office Door. This was the first time he'd come without being summoned since first year. And that... had gone poorly. In retrospect, trying to suggest that the Villain was Severus Snape was something that the Head of Gryffindor House couldn't have taken seriously. In fact, they were lucky she hadn't laughed at them outright. Too unprofessional, that.

"Come in," Minerva McGonagall's voice barked, welcoming as a drill sergeant - her voice all but telling you to kneel.

Harry entered, one of his hands curled around the wrist of the other behind his back. He shut the door behind himself, and approached the sitting woman.

Shrewdly, she eyed him, "Those defense lessons must be doing you some good, at least. You're looking like a proper soldier at least." Harry nodded crisply, so she continued, "Well, go ahead and have a seat and tell me what's the problem."

Harry tried to look innocent as he looked up into Professor McGonagall's eyes, "What problem?"

Professor McGonagall's voice seethed with swells of laughter. "What, did you really come for tea and biskies?"

Harry shook his head, mutely. "Can... exactly how private is this place, anyway?"

Professor McGonagall's eyes crinkled at the corners. "That depends on the people you need to keep the knowledge from, of course. You'll find no Slytherins have bugged this place since I started working here, many a year ago." Professor McGonagall actually smirked, "I believe the Weasley twins have at least three bugs in here, and it's possible the old Marauder one is still functioning."

Harry nodded slowly, considering her words. "Good enough." It wasn't Snape's growl-or purr, it was a crisp sound that was more parade drill than anything else.

"Why didn't you ever mention that my mum had a Slytherin friend?" Harry asked, turning those green eyes on Professor McGonagall, as if by sheer force of will he could guilt her into answering.

Professor McGonagall stood, looking Harry over as if she was scrutinizing an ant. This took minutes, but Harry'd learned not to fidget. At length, she moved toward the side of her office, where she depressed a brick, and opened the hidden door, that had seemed just bricks in the wall. "I have decided to allow you to enter my private quarters, as the questions you are asking are of a personal, not professional, nature."

Minerva McGonagall entered, and Harry was right on her heels, steeping away from the path of the door as she closed it. His eyes caught the sumptuous, but not overdecorated nature of her quarters, done in browns and golds, with hints of ocean blue accenting. A far cry from her plaid office.

"Yer're a right little cheap shite, you know that?" Minerva hissed at Harry Potter.

Harry blinked, once, startled first by the heavy Scottish brogue, and second by what she'd said. He hadn't realized McGonagall knew how to swear, really.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, cautiously advancing the words.

Minerva's pointy finger started poking Harry's chest. It hurt, slightly. "You canna get over yerself to think about anyone else."

Harry just tilted his head in question, waiting for her to continue.

"Ever think I might have a damned good reason fer not tellin' ya?" Professor McGonagal said.

"Honestly? I couldn't conceive of any reason you wouldn't... that was why I asked." Harry blinked in puzzlement at her.

"Laddie, yer not in my office now." Minerva said, in a tone that Harry more associated with someone who's drunk than sober. "These here are my rooms. Out there, you're my charge, and I have some sort of rubbish Professional Obligation to you."

"And in here?"

"In here, you're my guest, and on my sufference. Tread lightly, or you won't be the first I kick out."

Harry nodded soberly.

"Now, ta answer ya question?" Minerva said, eyes sparking, "He's my friend, whether he likes it or not. Merlin knows he could stand someone who wont' be a fairweather friend. And that's private business it is," Minerva leaned almost on top of Harry, her finger starting to poke him in the sternum again. "Bit of a sore subject, innit? Might be the sort of thing that you oughtn't to tell an eleven year old."

Harry swallowed, "I still wish someone'd told me."

Minerva said, "I told Hagrid not to, if you must know. Not that I think I was the only one."

Harry smiled at that, "I think that's the one secret Hagrid managed to keep."

Minerva smiled thinly, "He keeps many more secrets than that, I'm sure."

Harry frowned, "If I... hadn't have weaseled it out, would I ever have known?"

Minerva nodded, slowly, "At some point, yeah. Count on it."

Harry nodded, thinking, "I'm sorry for being such a shite, Minnie."

Minerva snarled, "Get out of here, you dingbat!"

And Harry ran.

Harry Potter got to the RoR in time for training, for once. He'd started to stretch and relimber himself (classrooms were tough, you got all scrunched in one position, and then it hurt getting out). Hermione had arrived next, a flash of surprise at seeing Harry there, which had Harry fuming at himself. He liked practicing, he liked getting better at this. He didn't want to seem just a fair-weather student, at this at least, if not at other subjects.

Malfoy was there next, arriving like a stormcloud, both diaphanous and dangerous at once. He wasn't stretching, but was amusing himself by tossing around light conjured objects.

Ron, as per usual, was later than everyone else. He, too, was determined to do a good job - Harry could see it in the way he carried himself, the way Ron studied the field.

As Ron shut the door, Hermione and Malfoy turned to him as one. "How'd you know?" They both asked, Hermione's urgent voice rising high, and Malfoy's voice his usual casual drawl.

Harry couldn't resist, he started clapping, "Nice, two part harmony."

Malfoy turned a fierce glare on him, and said, "Oi! Says the tin ear!" his voice sounded casual, so the other two wouldn't have any idea of that flash of fury in Malfoy's eyes. Harry blinked, realizing that anything that implied a closer relationship between Hermione and Draco was probably treading towards dangerous territory. Harry creased the edges of his lips down, into what he hoped looked more like a frown than a pout. He nodded slightly, and Malfoy turned away -

Just in time to hear Ron asking, "What's this about, then?"

"You did it." Hermione said, her hands on her hips, "You figured out where Snape was going to be - and before I did!"

"Before me too," Harry chimed in.

"I'd like to know how you did it." Malfoy drawled, his eyes glittering with suppressed malice.

Ron shrugged, "Nothing to it, was there?" He shoved his hands in his pockets - he was actually made uncomfortable by praise, and was trying to look more casual than he actually was. "I counted who was going where, and then I headed in the direction with the least people."

"That's it?" Hermione rapped out. "How'd you know it would work?"

Ron said, "I didn't, not really. But I figure - what kind of a lesson is it if he's where everyone thinks he'll be?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes, and then stared up into space, "I am surrounded by idiots. And vanquished by them." The second sentence came out more as a sigh than anything else.

"That's right!" Harry said, grabbing Malfoy in a headlock, and starting to rub his head with Harry's knuckles.

"Oww! Not the hair, not the hair." Malfoy whinged and whined.

It had the desired effect. Everyone was laughing, including Malfoy as Harry finally released him. Malfoy made a big production out of reapplying hair product, saying, "If I don't put it on straightaway, it will look simply awful the entire rest of the week!"

Harry shrugged and said, "Pretty sure mine looks awful no matter what."

Malfoy looked down his nose and said, "I'll lay that at the feet of your awful relatives." A sick flush tried to roll through Harry's body. He didn't want anyone to know about his relatives, but Malfoy? That was like baring your belly to an angry cat. Malfoy continued, "You've never even met DeAngelo, have you?"

Harry blinked, trying to refocus his thoughts to the conversation at hand. "Can't say that I have. I haven't even heard of him, really."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, and said, "And you call yourself a wizard?"

At this point, Hermione interrupted, "Just because he's not a ponce, doesn't mean he's not a wizard, Malfoy. I presume you're talking about DeAngelo Rosa, the same wizarding stylist that Lockhart used?"

"The very same," Malfoy said, smiling, "Not that I'm surprised that you remember which one Lockhart used. You had quite the memory in that class, as I recall..."

Now Malfoy was the one starting trouble, Harry thought, moving quickly to separate the two brains before their brawn won out (or worse, they might start kissing...).

"Two on Two today," Harry said, not waiting for anyone to say anything before starting to fling spells deliberately to nearly hit his friends.

Hogwarts finally had something to gossip about that wasn't about Harry, or his friends, or even people he'd cared about. Harry cared so little about it, he hadn't even bothered figuring out which House it was about. Maybe someone had the ability to fart puce, and that had occupied all the attention of the entire school.

Harry didn't care. It was nice to savor freedom at breakfast, it happened so rarely. Instead of picking at his food, Harry dove in with a will, idly trying to match Ron in volume, if not speed. There was no way he was keeping up with Ron's speed. Hermione looked at both of them over her book, before - Harry could see the wheels turning- deciding it wasn't worth asking about.

Neville had no such wisdom or compunctions. "Quite an appetite there today, eh Harry?"

"Ymnfl!" Harry said, talking through what he was eating, and making sure to smile without showing any teeth - or more importantly, food.

Harry was good at learning from others; Dudley and Ron shared unfortunate table manners, although Ron was less prone to tantrums.

Hermione suddenly took her book and shoved it to one side, "Neville, come look at this!"

Harry felt inexplicably shut out at that, a sharp pang of loneliness. He knew he wouldn't have felt that if it had been Ron she was talking to.

Still, out of curiosity, and only a little of that utter lonely, Harry craned his neck to see what Hermione was showing off.

Snapdragons and their breeding with manticores to create blast-ended skrewts.

Harry had to smile, because that was just Hermione. Who else got such simple, pure joy out of learning? Well, maybe that was why she was showing it off to Neville - they had since sparked up an animated discussion.

Harry leaned back, no longer feeling lonely at all.

Naturally, it was just then that he looked at Professor Snape, whose dead eyes were thoughtfully watching the Slytherin table.

And just like that, Harry was in a bad mood again.

So, some frizzy haired idiot had decided that Blind Fighting was something that novices could teach each other in their Defense After School Program.

There were many reasons Harry was glad Malfoy wasn't here, but mostly it was that Malfoy had a mouth, and Harry would really rather they fight to learn something, instead of to shut him up.

This was supposed to be a lesson in how to fight in the darkness. If so, they'd all gotten Trolls.

And this within the first thirty minutes. Seamus was nursing a black eye, and Dean was trying to hold himself upright despite some injuries to his family jewels. Nott, of all people, looked stumbly - Harry'd have helped, but Bones was already there, her squat short body quite capable of holding Nott upright. Pansy had a smirk on her face, the only one of them completely uninjured, and had drawn a knife and was spinning it, hilt down, in the palm of her hand.

Harry hadn't been at all surprised when slight Luna Lovegood had put her hand in the crook of Hermione's arm and said, "Oh! How thoughtful! Now we have plenty of dummies to practice healing on!"

While Luna had a pretty smart mouth, everyone gave her miles of leeway because most people were convinced she was barmy, hysterical, or just cray-cray. Besides, if you took offense at her words, she'd give you the blandest look, and ask, "Why do you suppose people get so upset to hear the truth?"

Malfoy, whether speaking truth or lies, tended to speak with intention.

Luna just said what she thought. It made her the very devil to argue with.

Healing was one of the disciplines that Harry knew the least about, and it was a very valuable discipline too (Snape had used it sparingly, along with potions, over the Summer. His philosophy had been that if you weren't too hurt to move, you'd best be moving anyway.*).

Harry learned that a lot of Healing was about connection, and about weaving spells. That was why bones were fixed with a potion - it was hard to weave through muscles and other swollen tissue. Healing was also about draining out bad humors, biles and phlegm, and occasionally blood.

All in all, Harry was very glad he was there and paying attention.

Friday was Potions, and Harry hated Potions. Not the subject, although it was far from his best even when he tried really hard.

No, Harry hated potions because Snape was there. Harry felt bad enough about what he'd done when he wasn't watching Snape's back, or accidentally glancing up into Snape's bleak face.

And so, Harry's primary expression through breakfast was meant to be dread, with a certain bit of peevishness about Why couldn't Potions be later?

Then the mail arrived, and everything changed.

It was another letter from the twins, who had created a sigil for their jokestore which had twin lions with snakes heads on the tips of their tails. The snakes twinned together, almost a Caduceus, and the Lions' claws were tipped with gold, their teeth red (luckily not dripping).

Harry hurriedly buried the note in a book before Ron filched it - or Hermione demanded he tell her everything.

Potions was first, Harry thought, and he rabbited out of the Great Hall, practically out the door before anyone noticed he was off the table.

Harry went straight to that alcove a half turn above Snape's office, somehow in the middle of the stairs to the dungeon, behind a tapestry. It was the perfect place for reading just what the Twins had to say.

The first page was boilerplate, which was to say it was full of different explosions, accidents and general chaos.

But the second page... It had one word in the center of it, a cursive Yes. All around it were other words, as if put on the page by some mad painter, who'd spun the page as he'd worked. It was free association, questions and answers splayed everywhichway. They were curious - as why shouldn't they be? as to why Harry'd want to prank Snape. They wondered about the safety, but more about the fun, and about the intended outcome. Did Harry mean to best their record for Points Off in one year? There were points about technicalities too.

Harry had the strangely certain feeling that this was how they prepared pranks, products, all of it. Two hands, two heads, combining together to make beautiful artly thoughts, that swirled and vibrated as much as they lay on the page.

The next three pages were filled with idle musings, gossip, and a few more entries from what Harry had taken to calling The Anonymous Filer. Harry had read earlier, but hadn't really noticed - no, not until he was reading the letters one after another, that someone was writing anonymous letters to the Twins. Helpful letters, ones that opened new avenues the twins hadn't thought to explore.

Whoever it was, they didn't ask for payment.

It was time for Potions, Harry thought, roughly pushing the letter into his Charms book (if he left it in the Potions book, Snape might take it).

Harry was still early for potions, so he busied himself devising variations to the potion the Twins used to evoke love - in a fairy tale sense. They were using it for some DayDream products, that would let adolescent witches dream about their Very Own Prince Charming. Harry thought it was a bad idea - that Mirror flashed in front of his eyes, but he didn't mind trying to think up some variations.

Harry was so busy working that he failed to notice Snape entering the classroom. "Potter, what are you doing? You should know by now that insolence will not be tolerated." There were soft snickers from the Slytherins in the back.

Harry spoke softly, but clearly, "Essence of Murtlap will interact poorly with frostflower, because of their dueling amphibious natures?"

Snape paused, for a split second, and then asked, "Are you asking or telling?"

"Asking." Harry said, lifting his eyes to Snape's.

"Yes, though you'd find more codicils on the subject if you looked up Fruitful Flowers and other Herbologial Wonders, rather than wasting time in class."

"Thank you," Harry said, turning his eyes down as he flipped to a new sheet of parchment.

"Today, we will be working on a modified Strengthening Solution that is better considered a poison. Can anyone tell me why?" Snape started. Class continued as usual.

Lucius Malfoy strode down the path from the gates to Hogwarts Castle. He knew it was only a matter of time before he was intercepted, and he wanted to enjoy the quiet, for once. He'd had little peace in the last few months, and the gentleness of Hogwarts would do his temper good.

As Lucius Malfoy entered the entranceway of the grand castle, Snape, his erstwhile friend, appeared like a shadow. Unfortunately, Snape's appearance meant words. Lucius pretended, accordingly, not to see Snape - which amused him, because Snape was habitually as silent as a tomb.

It was a waiting game - the sort Slytherins prided themselves on winning.

Luck was not with the Malfoys today, it would seem. Lucius heard the flittery voice of Professor Flitwick, the diminuitively dangerous miscegenous Half, "Why, Lord Malfoy! I was hoping I could have a word with you. It would seem Luck is with me today!"

So it would seem, Malfoy thought, unwilling to verbalize losing the match to a Half. He turned from Severus Snape and walked up the long flights of stairs with Flitwick. He knew that, before he'd actually exited the entranceway, Snape would have already retreated to the shadows. He was always more comfortable there anyway.

Lucius loved people - most particularly twisting people around his fingers, wearing them like baubles.

Snape had always been the opposite.

##-##-##

By the time Saturday Breakfast had rolled up, everyone who mattered (the Ravenclaws, and spreading from there...) had heard that Lucius Malfoy was again gracing Hogwarts with his august presence. Snape's eyes flicked quickly around the room - wondering where Lucius' support was strongest. Oh, sure, he had some among the Slytherins (Crabbe and Goyle bettered themselves by standing by his son, after all)... but Slytherins were naturally wary, and Lucius' smooth, silver tongue certainly set Snape off. There would be others like him - Millicent, whose trollish looks were not just a funny joke, and Nott, the terminally shy boy who knew that words were as wind, ready to blow away, and never to be trusted. Then there was Blaise, who Snape would have bet money wouldn't take The Fall. His mother valued independence too much.

Potter arrived, and Snape turned his head away from the Gryffindors, who were in the main boring anyway.

School owls arrived, includig one for Malfoy, whose face paled. As Snape could easily rule out the other causes of that particularly illmannered reaction, Snape realized that Malfoy was looking at a message from his father, telling him to meet.

At least Malfoy didn't need to be told that his father is Right Here.

Severus Snape paced his potions lab, which was nothing new.

What was new, was that nothing was brewing.

Lucius Malfoy had come to Hogwarts.

He was there to negotiate, in public.

Anyone he might need to talk to, presumably, he could call back to Malfoy Manor.

So, it meant something, that he was laying his cards down for others to see.

Somehow, Snape doubted his dear old friend was here to see yours truly. For one thing, he'd have engaged Snape at the earliest opportunity, knowing Severus' tendency to disappear into brewing and be nigh unreachable for hours on a Saturday afternoon. (His coffee addiction generally prompted at least a brief stint at the High Table before he began brewing).

Severus Snape wanted to know everything about what Lucius Malfoy was up to (and, particularly, not about what Filius was up to, which was rather obvious. He always needed some tzotchki or another for his classes. Snape's requests were routinely more expensive, but got approved far more often. The firewhiskey Snape used to dissolve the red tape seemed to work better than Filius' logic. Imagine that.)

Snape's smugness was shortlived, because his curiosity rose like a cobra in his mind.

Was this for Albus Dumbledore's benefit? Snape thought not, but Lucius Malfoy had charmed spots off a salamander once (they had been burning bits of paint that he'd used for cufflinks for a time). It was not out of the question that Lucius might attempt to switch sides - but, at any rate, a public appearance with Dumbledore was hardly the way to do it. It was a sure ticket to torture if caught - and not even Lucius was malevolent enough to wish his own wife tortured insane. Bella might actually pull that off too.

It might be for the ministry's - Lucius wanted always to be known as a powerbroker, and making deals at Hogwarts fit that role to a T. He was one of the Governors, after all - not even Albus could deny him entry, though he certainly could follow Lucius around like a lost, very over-eager puppy - and make any prospects for negotiation shrivel accordingly. Snape had only seen Albus do that once, quite early in his tenure. Lucius had taken the point, and, before His Rise, had only used Hogwarts for the most delicate of negotiations, with hostile parties that did not believe Lucius could be approached without violence. As most people who knew Lucius knew that he regarded violence as an in extremis ploy only, these meetings were few and far between. The last had been an encounter with Augusta Longbottom, a formidable woman whose wandwork was only matched by her temper. Slow to rise, but prone to explosions.

It was probably, in part, for the Dark Lord's sake. In that, Lucius would be demonstrating his worth. The Dark Lord dwelled under a self-imposed house arrest - he could not emerge and make deals nor appearances without ruining his current scheme.

For what little it was worth, Snape sympathized with Lucius - the new minister had dramatically trimmed Lucius' influence in the ministry. He was undoubtedly scrambling to show he was still of value.

All of which was rather beside the point, which was that Snape wanted to know exactly what Lucius was up to.

Burn Potter and his inane stupidity! Snape thought crossly. He'd be the perfect choice. Everyone expects him to go haring off after Death Eaters and information. Snape wasn't desperate enough to use a tool that couldn't be trusted not to slice off his hand. Potter was a blade with no hilt and no sheath, to wield him was to come away as bloodied as your opponent.

Granger? Certainly not. She might actually ask Lucius what he was doing, and lord only knows what he'd say.

His Slytherins knew better than to ask. Lucius was a shark, and they were myriad minnows.

Snape was up early for Sunday breakfast, a Hogwarts Tradition. Everything was traditional at Hogwarts - the house elves were stodgity creatures, and Snape was sure they'd been serving the same food since Salazar Slytherin strode these halls.

His attention was laser focused on the Slytherin table. Draco Malfoy sat there, holding court - which was a welcome and decorous change from the persecuted look he'd had on his face, as girls from all four houses had hounded him for months. Draco Malfoy was the sort you didn't want to back into a corner - he left many of those poor, beleaguered girls in tears. The lad had little patience for being boxed in, something Snape shared in common with his godson. Learning patience had been a trial, Snape thought, and one that Draco would have to endure as well. Some things were best taught with experience alone.

Malfoy wasn't being the pompous prat he'd turned into, somehow, at the prompt age of eleven - proud and boastful. He'd been a perfectly respectful child throughout his proper childhood. Then he'd turned into a complete snob - he'd actually been friends with Crabbe and Goyle at one point. Snape knew that Lucius hadn't cared enough to tell Draco to act thus; the deluded boy had picked it up through immersion, most likely.

It had taken Snape years to drum the delusions out of Draco - years of quietly moving pieces behind the scenes. Certainly Flint wasn't one to take a second year shortie's commandments. Malfoy was decent at strategy, though, so he'd been given the carrot of actually helping, if he could keep his sneering to himself.

Draco wasn't acting like "I've Got A Secret!", so he probably didn't. He may no longer think himself that important, but a message from the Dark Lord, a command, something to do? That would have him acting... well, as he'd always acted in first year. No matter how much of a guise it was, how world-weary the lad was. He'd lived in the same house as the Dark Lord, and that came with certain trials and tribulations. Not that Snape would mention how lucky the little cherub had it. Before the Dark Lord's fall, he had had certain... sexual appetites. They were quite noisy and had prevented Snape from using the library on occasion. Sometimes even the garden.

An unlooked for stroke of luck, Snape thought, in Potter leaving Lucius Malfoy the hell alone. It was unexpected, but Snape planned on enjoying his respite from Potter's Gryffindorian antics for as long as it lasted. Likely it wouldn't be long enough.

Harry didn't really have many plans to teach Draco Malfoy today. It was really about the flying, and getting to fly, and chasing each other around the pitch. He didn't much care if Malfoy learned a new trick or not - unlike the DA, he was really not in the business of teaching.

It was still fun, though. The wind through his hair, the feel of the wood under his fingers, the tautness of his face stretched into a perpetual grin.

They were some of the best flyers at Hogwarts, so it was a good idea they were doing this "Bright and Early" on a Sunday (which was to say, after Harry's morning run).

If they did this before supper, they'd draw a crowd.

Harry spun, doing a sloth roll, and then a reverse Immelman, enjoying the shocked look on Malfoy's face, a second before it turned into a hard, determined glare (that Harry felt on his back, his face long pointed in the other direction).

Malfoy might have roared, or bellowed (it was hard to hear over the banshee-like effect of the wind), but in seconds he was relying on his broom's pure speed to catch up.

Neither of them was really looking for the snitch. Not really.

Instead, this intricate ballet, this aerial maneuvering - that was the fun.

Malfoy seeing if he could come close enough to pull a few twigs from Harry's broom, and Harry trying to swat Malfoy with his broom, all while not falling off.

Hermione would hate watching this, so it was a good thing she was asleep in her bed.

Harry started upward, and Malfoy turned a spiral around him, showing off the increased maneuverability of his broom. It was a deft thing, cornered well, but Harry far preferred his speedy broom. When you saw the snitch, it was time to race.

Harry shot a bit more speed into his broom, by bending over it a bit, and then braked, sending himself parallel to the ground, in a rush of "nearly hit the safety lines."

Malfoy was right on Harry's heels, and Harry could feel the ebullience coming off both of them in waves.

"Harry James Potter!" was the sound Harry heard, and he repressed the urge to wince. "And Draco Malfoy!"

Shite.

Caught.

Harry and Draco exchanged chagrined grins, still way too high to hear effectively. They took slow circles downward, intent on enjoying their time in the air.

Hermione was there, on the ground, her hands on her hips. "Just what do you think you two are up to?"

"Training," Draco Malfoy said, in his usual lazy drawl. His stiffness on the broom, however, was far from usual. They do have tells, Harry thought, just subtler ones.

"That didn't look like training to me!" Hermione hollered, "That looked like rubbing right up against the safety spells."

"The snitch does get up that close sometimes," Harry said, trying to smile a gormless smile.

"You two get off those brooms right now, and shower up. It's nearly the end of breakfast, and my mother always said teenage boys eat like three grown men." Hermione ordered.

"Yes'm." Harry said, already off his broom and moving towards the Gryffindor changing room. He didn't hear what Malfoy said to Hermione, and suspected it was better that way. If Malfoy wanted to be a git, Hermione had a ready spell for most occasions. Come to think of it, he should ask her to teach him some of those. Might come in handy the next time the entire school takes a fancy for Harry Potter Rump.

*I continue to emphasize that Snape is preparing Harry for the front lines of a war. Conduct such as this is not acceptable for College Football, University of Maryland, we're looking at you.