Harry Potter fell to sleep that night, thinking not of Quiddich and Glory, but of Draco Malfoy's eyes. He wondered what would have happened if he had accepted the other boy's offer of friendship... but not very much. Mostly, he really, really wanted to know who Malfoy thought were the wrong sort... and why.
The next morning saw Harry rising with the dawn, stretching himself out. For once, he wasn't interested in the books strewn everywhere in the Common Room, despite the tempting DADA book. No, today he meant to plan. And the first step to planning was getting the blood flowing.
Up and down through the corridors he jogged (staying away from the dungeons on the suspicion that Snape might actually consider jogging to be running). As he did, little bits of a plan slowly slid together in his mind.
That Slytherin firstgrader whose name started with a Z. Blaise, yes, the last one to be sorted. The loner with the brilliant smile. But... There! Another piece slid into place. Play on being a Gryffindor. How else was he to start a Slytherin plot?
He would not be caught napping again. If your enemies leave you an opening, by God, Take it!
[a/n: Well, and we're off! Harry's getting a good deal more proactive. Up Next: Morning Meal, Ron, and Hagrid.
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