Chapter Two: Born This Way

There was something inherently magical about Hogwarts Castle. It wasn't anything that could be seen or heard, but rather felt. It was one of Harry's favourite parts of being back at school. The Castle absolutely fascinated him.

As a result, Harry liked to take walks through the corridors. He preferred to do it when there weren't many students moving about, so he was usually out of bed after curfew, roaming the corridors and discovering new things. He was always a rebel at heart,
even though he was still a diligent worker, a loyal friend and a fierce protector. His mother always told him that he would have strived in any House. He'd once asked her if she'd still love him if he were in Slytherin. Her response
had been that her best friend had been a Slytherin, and that was all she said on the matter.

Harry sometimes wished he wasn't in Gryffindor, if only to rub his father the wrong way. He sometimes thought that James got too much satisfaction from having both his sons in the same House; in his House.

He sometimes thought that, if his name had been called after Jack's on the night of the Sorting, things would be different. Harry would have done what he could to be away from the brother who was hardwired to hate him from birth... Or, rather,
from that fateful Hallowe'en night.

Owing to the fact that the students arrived at Hogwarts on a Friday, they had the entire weekend to acclimate themselves to life back in the Castle before classes started fresh on Monday morning. Harry, like many of the other students, truly appreciated
the extra two days of no pertinent school work. As much as he was a hardworking student, he didn't particularly like the idea of school. Sure, he liked his friends, some of his teachers and he probably also liked some subjects; but the idea
of school - being tested on knowledge - just didn't sit right with him. He felt as if he were constantly being judged for how well he could remember information.

So he, Neville and Luna spent majority of Saturday holed up in the library, books spread out in front of them and a Silencing Charm around them. They gave off the appearance that they were reading ahead, but really they were discussing their upcoming
year, and just how they were going wreck havoc on Hogwarts without anyone ever realising it was them.

They'd started their little band of misfits at the end of Neville and Harry's second year. After everything that happened with the Heir of Slytherin, the Chamber of Secrets and all the petrifications; the school needed something to lift its spirits.
Really, Harry just needed an excuse to have some fun. It'd taken significant coaxing to get Neville on board, but now there was no looking back.

They were selective, and they never targeted people who didn't deserve it. Their pranks were usually light-hearted, designed to get a laugh instead of embarrassing and ridiculing. Nobody ever knew it was them. They'd even gone so far as to name
themselves.

From the way that Jack continually boasted about the Marauders and the way Sirius always puffed out his chest that bit more whenever the four-man - cough, three-man - group was mentioned; Harry decided that a variation on the name was needed. He'd
searched through an endless amount of synonyms, even considering some antonyms, until he narrowed it down to three: Buccaneers, Filibusters and Mosstroopers.

Needless to say; it was Luna who eventually picked their name, when they'd finally made friends with her. Harry couldn't remember how the boys had come to discover their little blonde shadow, but Luna had to know that they wouldn't have ever turned her
away.

And so they became the Mosstroopers. They always shared a little giggle whenever one of them said the word out loud.

"We're starting with Ravenclaw," Luna declared. "Some of my things are already missing."

Harry bristled. "It's been one night!"

She gently pat his forearm to calm him. "It wasn't anything important," she assured him. "Although I was rather fond of my yellow and green polkadot socks."

Harry huffed. "I thought that you said you were going to put trackers on your things?"

"I did," she said, her smile somewhat feral. "Which is why we're starting in Ravenclaw."

Neville chuckled. "Have I ever told you that I'm deathly afraid of you?"

She was back to playing innocent. "Why, Mr Longbottom, whatever do you mean?"

They shared a laugh, before they returned to their planning. Ravenclaws first, and then the Slytherins. When they'd first really started behind-the-scenes, their work was assumed to be that of the Weasley twins and, of course, being who they are,
the twins perpetuated it; even embraced it.

That was, of course, until they were on the receiving end of a particularly funny prank, involving Mariachi music following them around all day, including when they were in class. Needless to say, the twins didn't try to take credit for the Mosstroopers'
work ever again.

When it was dinner time, they packed up their things, dropped the Silencing Charm, returned the prop books to their shelves and made their way to the Great Hall. During the school year, Harry very rarely sat at the Gryffindor table for meals. He rather
sat at either the Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw tables with his friends, depending on what Neville or Luna were feeling.

Once, they'd even flipped a coin.

The other Houses didn't really have a problem with it, though that might have been because Harry Potter was invisible. He wondered what it would be like if that ever changed.

When that changed.

Tonight, they decided on the Hufflepuff table. The three of them usually sat on one side of the table, Luna between the boys; their protectiveness always kicking into gear whenever they were in big crowds. They had routines, and they very rarely did things
apart, save for studying.

It was one thing that Harry sometimes insisted on. He was all for their study group, but he confessed to them that sometimes he just needed to work alone. They both understood that, and respected it. Harry Potter wasn't second in his year for nothing.

Perhaps it truly was time to aim for top spot.

This year was all about change, wasn't it?

Harry wasn't really a big eater. He ate his fill, which consisted of a well-balanced meal. His eating habits were courtesy of his mother, and his physique beneath his clothes was courtesy of Sirius' Quidditch drills and battle training (that Lily Evans
knew nothing about). He even bypassed dessert, but did have a second glass of pumpkin juice.

Harry once confided in Luna that, for some years, he and his mother had struggled to get food on the table. She was a proud witch and refused to take money from anyone, particularly from Sirius. She wanted to make her own way and, after she left the Wizarding
World following the debacle that was her relationship with James Potter; the first few years had been difficult. To this day, Lily wanted nothing to do with the British Wizarding World.

As yet, both Harry and Sirius were confused as to where the Lord Black actually fit when it came to Lily Evans and her magical aversion.

As much as Lily wanted to remain out of the world that essentially ostracised her, it did not stop her from teaching her son everything she could about it. On top of his pre-Hogwarts Muggle education; Harry sat for classes with his mother about Wizarding
History, the many Magical Creatures and the Ever-Present Bigotry. Harry didn't fully understand it all until he stepped foot into the World his mother left, and he suddenly knew why she had.

It didn't matter whether one was magical or Muggle. Not really. Human beings were still cruel.

And he happened to be related to several of those cruel human beings.

Harry could sometimes accept being ignored by his father. James Potter made a choice all those years ago, and that was that. He left Lily and Harry in favour of Jack and the woman he'd cheated on Lily with.

It was fine; painful to think about, but fine. Harry, at least, held little resentment for that. It was what came after that made Harry positively despise his father with every fibre of his being.

"I can practically feel your magic," Luna said, getting Harry's attention.

"Huh?"

"Calm down," she whispered.

He let out a long breath. "I am calm."

"Liar."

He chuckled. "Are you almost done? I want to go back to the library."

Neville and Luna exchanged a look. "Well, Harry, we actually wanted to visit Hagrid," Luna said. "Daddy said that - "

"Say no more," Harry said, raising a hand to stop her. "You two go on. I'll just see you tomorrow."

"Are you sure you don't want to come with us?"

Harry didn't even bother responding to that question. Luna and Neville knew that Hagrid was Jack's friend; he was on Jack's side. Whatever. "I'll just see you tomorrow," he repeated, as he slowly rose to his feet. "Goodnight." He didn't even wait
for a response as he hurried out of the Great Hall.

Harry didn't go back to the library.

Instead, he headed to Gryffindor Tower. The Common Room, thankfully, was lightly populated. He preferred it that way. He moved towards the back of the Room, where the bookshelves were. He had to admit that the one perk of having the Transfiguration Professor
as their Head of House was that there were always advanced Transfiguration books on offer, and Harry was looking for something specific. Their school-wide prank was going to require a lot of work involving time-delayed transfigurations.

For alibis and such.

By the time Harry decided on at least two books that suited his fancy, more students were back from dinner and the Common Room was starting to fill up. It was time to leave. He was just heading towards the stairs when the portrait swung open and Jack
and his friends walked in. It was odd, really, the way that Jack monopolised the friendships of everyone in the House. At the end of the day, there were none left for Harry.

He pretended that it didn't bother him; that he was above it all, but he knew better.

Harry shook his head. There was no point in dwelling on it any more than he already did. This was his life, and it was a good life, as lonely as it sometimes was. He hurried up to his room and closed himself away behind the curtains of his bed. He considered
writing a letter to his mother, but decided against it. He didn't want to give her the impression that something was wrong. She'd just worry unnecessarily, and that wouldn't allow her to focus on her own life.

Harry read through the Transfiguration books until he fell asleep. He'd tried to make notes, but gave up when his eyes started to droop. As much fun as it probably was to stay up late; Harry made a habit of listening to his body's natural clock.

Harry's Sunday went about the same way that his Saturday had, and then it was Monday, and that was the day that things truly started to change. That morning, he forced himself to sit at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, just so that Professor McGonagall
wouldn't have to struggle to locate him to give him his class timetable. He barely glanced at it, before their Head of House was making the announcement about the upcoming Quidditch tryouts that coming Saturday.

Apparently, they were looking for a new Keeper.

Harry was made vaguely aware of Jack patting Ron Weasley on the back, as if he were urging him on; as if he were telling him that the position was in the bag. And maybe it was, Harry thought, because Keeper isn't the position I'm thinking of trying out for.

Harry quickly checked his schedule to see what his first classes were, and then he was on his way. Most classes excited him. When they'd had to choose their elective subjects in their third year, Harry'd tried them all out until he was certain which ones
he wanted to take. In the end, he decided on Ancient Runes and Arithmancy.

Like his mother.

The day itself was relatively uneventful. In fact, it was rather boring. Most of their professors did small overviews on the previous year's coursework, and then laid out what the upcoming year would consist of. Even their new Defence Against the Dark
Arts professor was a sordid theoretical person. Who in their right mind would think that students wouldn't need to work on practical magic? Regardless of whether Voldemort was back or not.

Which he was.

Harry'd seen him with his own two - four, if one was being mean about it - eyes. Harry'd even fought him. Though the number of people who knew that could probably be counted on one hand. Maybe two, if you counted who Jack might have told - or not told.

It was after classes let out that Harry finally figured out that this year definitely was going to be different. He was seated at his usual table in the library, rereading the chapter they would be studying in Charms and making additional notes
to the ones he'd already made over the summer. It wasn't as if he really needed to be doing it, but he had nothing better to do.

That was where she found him.

"Tell me something," she said, getting Harry's attention. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

Harry forced his gaze upwards from the textbook he was reading. "Hmm?"

Hermione Granger cast a quick look around the library to make sure that nobody was watching them, and then slipped into the seat opposite him. "Are you so hell spent on getting his life that you're seriously going to try out for the Quidditch team?" she
asked, hissing slightly.

Harry shifted awkwardly. How did she even know? "Excuse me?"

"Someone heard you discussing it," she informed him.

Harry didn't respond, his mind immediately flying to the portraits he and Neville might have walked past as they discussed it. But what was she hoping to achieve by telling him any of this?

"He knows," she said suddenly, looking around once more, as if the he she was referring to was going to pop out of somewhere and demand to know what was going on. "Jack knows that you want on the team, and he's willing to do anything to make sure
that it doesn't happen."

Harry just stared at her, trying to figure out what this was. Was it a trap? Did Jack send her to try to scare him off?

"Just be careful," she said seriously, her fingers twitching on the table, as if she were trying to stop herself from reaching out and touching him. It was clearly a warning that held a lot of depth. She was really worried for him, he could tell.
"There are other forms of torture that are far worse than the self-inflicted kind."

It was a sentence that resonated with him in a way he didn't immediately understand. It wasn't so much the words she said but the way she said them. She sounded broken for a moment, as if she were tired of all of it; ready to give up, and
he didn't know what to say to her.

Hermione didn't give him a chance to respond as she suddenly stood up, turned and started to walk away. He watched as she went, mildly surprised when she glanced back at him. She smiled ever so slightly, and it was enough for him to know that he had better
heed her warning.

Harry Potter loved to fly. If he were making a list of his favourite things, he would have to list it second only to his mother - okay, maybe third, after Sirius. It wasn't really about Quidditch, but more about flying. It made him feel free;
made him feel bigger than he was.

That wasn't to say that he wasn't a fan of Quidditch.

Harry knew that he had some skill but he wasn't one to flaunt it. For as long as he could remember, he was rather content with playing a few pickup games with several other overlooked students when the Quidditch pitch was empty. Though, even then, he'd
never truly been pushed to the limits of his capability.

It was never really about winning either - well, not really - but it was about playing. He felt safe, somewhat untouchable, when he was in the air. He was able to forget about his life, the struggles of it, or the badly-kept secret that he was the bastard
son of 'Auror Extraordinaire' James Potter.

Harry went out on his broom on Wednesday afternoon, just to try it out and clear his head. He didn't usually go out alone, and this afternoon was no different. Luna and Neville accompanied him, and sat together in the stands as he flew around like the
reckless flyer that he was.

Nobody ever cared that he flew, or that he even commandeered the pitch when he did.

Until that afternoon.

He'd just landed on the ground, breathing heavily, and was moving to greet his two friends who'd come back down from the stands when it happened. He was ready to give them the verdict on his new broom, and he was already composing a letter to
Sirius in his head.

"This has got to be the best broom in the world," he declared, grinning happily.

It was confusing to him that neither of them replied to him, and Harry frowned. Right before his eyes, Neville's smile fell away completely and his eyes widened in alarm.

"What?" Harry asked, worry claiming his features. "What, what?"

Neville didn't get the chance to respond, before they both heard the exaggerated throat-clearing from behind Harry. The raven-haired wizard didn't even have to turn around to know who was standing behind him, and he suddenly felt sick.

Harry did eventually turn, slowly, his grip on his broom tightening automatically. He was met with the smug look of his half-brother and three of his thugs: Ronald Weasley, Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan. All boys who could have been Harry's
friend, but chose the Boy-Who-Lived instead.

So, there was Jack Potter.

Harry sighed.

This was the first time that Jack even paid him any mind since they returned to school, and Harry knew that it was to do with what Hermione warned him about. Jack knew, and this was a lead-up to the retaliation that was surely to come.

The one good thing, Harry guessed, about having two different mothers, was that he and his brother looked nothing alike. In fact, Jack's hair was almost blond, like his mother's, and his eyes were brown like James'. Consequently, Harry's hair was
dark like his father's and his eyes were green like his mother's, or perhaps more striking if anyone looked closely enough.

As a result, Harry and Jack really didn't look at all alike. At all. If it weren't for their surnames, nobody would know that they were related. Nor that they were born two days apart.

Harry also kept his hair much shorter, which he suspected was because there was no need for him to hide his scar. His wasn't the famous one.

"Jack," Harry said through gritted teeth. "What are you doing here?"

"It's a free country, Black," Jack said, shrugging. "Why? Do you have a problem with that?"

Harry glared at the other boy, choosing not to reply. As if calling him 'Black' could deny the fact that they were related.

"I hear you're thinking of trying out for my team," he said curtly. "I sincerely hope, for your sake, that that's just a rumour."

At this point, Harry had no choice but to engage. "I hear that some rumours do tend to stem from truth," he said tensely.

Jack glared at him. "Don't even think of going through with it," he said, practically hissing.

"What's it to you anyway?"

"I just don't want you to embarrass yourself," Jack said, smirking at his friends. "Or hurt yourself. Whichever comes first."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I didn't think you cared so much."

"I care when your idiocy is going to cost us the House Cup," he snapped.

Harry almost growled. "Where was all your bloody caring when your idiocy almost cost us our lives against Voldemort?"

Jack's eyes narrowed, deftly ignoring the gasps of his friends. "You're the one who decided to get in the way."

Harry sighed heavily. There was no use arguing with him over this; not after it already happened, and there was nothing they could do about it now. "What do you want, Jack?"

"Stay off my team."

"I didn't realise it belonged to you."

"What are you trying to do?"

"Why does it bother you so much?"

"He doesn't even care about you, you know? He never even mentions you."

Harry paused. Then he stepped back and shook his head.

It was always one thing for James Potter to hate him, but it was something else entirely when it was Jack. Even before they'd even met; Jack hated him. Harry tried to understand it. As an eleven-year-old, basically meeting his brother for the
very first time within memory, he desperately tried to understand. He thought that he'd done something wrong; that he'd somehow done something to deserve it.

But, apparently, all he'd done was be born.

Harry took a deep breath. If he'd been undecided about trying out for the team before; he definitely wasn't now. He would try out, and he would get on the team. There was no choice now.

"I will see you on Saturday," Harry said. "And I will outfly you."

Jack's left eye twitched. "I'd like to see you try."

Harry could hear the challenge in his voice, and he fought the urge to smirk. His brother felt threatened; that was as clear as day.

"Tell you what, Black, let's make a deal," Jack said, stepping forward. His friends automatically stepped forward with him. "You and I will fly against each other. If you win, I will leave the team, and practically hand you my position." That received
a gasp from all those around, including Luna and Neville. "But when I win, you'll stay away from Quidditch, stay away from me, and just stop trying to steal my life."

Harry bristled. "I am not trying to steal your life," he said seriously, and truthfully. "It isn't even worth stealing anyway."

"Take the deal, Harry."

"And why should I?"

"If you think your life is a nightmare now, then you have another thing coming," he said, his voice taking on a tone that Harry knew he reserved for Voldemort. Despite Jack's shortcomings in the boys' numerous fights against the Dark Lord, the older Gryffindor
still ran head first into confrontations, stupidly and bravely. He was a prime example of 'fake it until you make it.'

And Harry now knew that Jack had a vicious side. Didn't everyone?

Harry looked at Jack, and then he looked at Neville and Luna. Neville shook his head, but Luna didn't respond at all. Her eyes were trained on Jack, a slight frown on her face.

Surprisingly, that was enough for Harry.

"Fine," he said.

Jack's eyes widened slightly, but he recovered soon enough. "Tomorrow," he said. "Here. At midnight."

"Why midnight?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

"What time did you have in mind then?"

"Eight o'clock," he said. "Excuse me if I don't feel like getting a detention before the tryouts this Saturday. You could learn a little thing from me, big brother; the next time you decide to open your big fat mouth in Umbridge's class."

Jack grit his teeth. "Tomorrow at eight." He glanced at Harry's broom. "Are you going to be using that thing?"

"Why? Do you have a problem with that?"

"Who bought it for you?" he asked.

"Why does that matter?"

"You didn't steal it, did you? Don't you think you're already enough of an embarrassment to the Potter name?"

There was just so much hatred in his voice, and Harry, as much as he tried, just couldn't get used to it. He was just a boy, and he definitely shouldn't have had to. How did Jack manage so much venom in his tone?

"Oh, I see, you got your fake father to buy it for you," Jack said, realisation hitting him. "Should have known. Why Sirius would even bother with you and your whore of a mother; I don't know."

Harry's head snapped towards him, anger flashing in his eyes. "What did you just say?"

Jack stepped forward menacingly, and Ron put a hand on his arm to stop him, which he just shrugged off. "You heard me."

"Is that what your father tells you?" Harry asked harshly, his hand twitching as he forced himself not to draw his wand. It was three versus four, which were reasonable odds if one of those three was Harry Potter; but he wasn't going to put his friends
in danger that way. "And you just believe every word that comes out of his mouth, don't you? You can't even think for yourself."

"Harry," Neville said. "Let's go."

Harry shook his head, his eyes never leaving his brother's face. "Don't you dare talk about my mother," he said coldly. "Talk about me, I don't fucking care, but you leave my mother out of it."

"Or what?"

"You ever think about it, Jack? What kind of life you would be living if it were the other way around? If it'd been my mother that your precious father chose?"

Jack just stared at him.

"Now turn around and walk away, before I show you exactly what the difference is between Lily Evans' son and the degenerate that James Potter appears to be raising."

It looked like Jack wanted to say something more, but Ron tugged on his arm much harder than the last time.

"Now, Jack, let's go!"

Jack glanced at his redheaded friend, his anger subsiding slightly. "Fine," he growled.

Ron cast a look at Harry, his features softening slightly. He didn't say anything though, as he started to lead his friend away, followed by Dean and Seamus, who looked entirely uncomfortable. The conversation had turned painfully ugly, and unnecessarily.

Harry didn't turn around until Jack and his friends were completely out of sight. He wouldn't put it past his brother to hex him in the back if he had the chance. He'd done it before.

When Harry turned around to look at his friends, he was sure that his facial expression mirrored theirs. He was terrified, somewhat excited, and suddenly wary of what his mother would say.

"Oh, Harry," Neville said, shaking his head. "What have you done?"

After Hermione found out about the challenge between the two Potter brothers, she immediately went in search of the older Potter, ready to give him a piece of her mine. She found him in the Gryffindor Common Room, laughing at something Ron must have said.
She didn't even bother with the formalities as she roughly pulled him to his feet and dragged him out of the Room.

Jack barely had it in his mind to protest, but he did take his arm back once they were safely away from the Fat Lady. "Merlin, Hermione," he huffed. "Do you want to rip my arm off or something?"

"Sit," she commanded, pointing at a large window sill, and he did as he was told. "What's this I hear about a Quidditch challenge?"

Jack smirked. "Oh, you heard about that, huh?"

She did not look amused. "Talk. Now."

So Jack told her, leaving almost nothing out. Hermione Granger knew his secrets, going back years, to do with family, Quidditch, Voldemort and girls. She was the one person he trusted; sometimes even more than he trusted his girlfriend.

"Are you insane?" Hermione asked once he was done with his explanation. She was almost yelling at her male best friend. "You're insane. My best friend has totally gone insane."

"Shut up, Hermione," Jack muttered.

"Oh, real mature, Jack," she huffed, as she finally sat down next to him on the window sill. She let out a defeated breath before she turned her head to face him. "What are you trying to do? Challenging your brother like that?"

"Why do you even care?"

Hermione folded her arms over her chest. "Of course, why would I ever care about a bet that involved my best friend possibly leaving the Quidditch team and not getting to play the game that he loves?"

Jack dropped his gaze. "It's not going to happen."

"Because you're so certain that you can beat him?"

"Of course I am," he said, his gaze falling on her, heated. "I'm better than him."

"And what if you're not?"

"I am."

Hermione shook her head. "Why did you challenge him anyway?"

Jack took a deep breath. "Dad said that I had to do something to make sure that he didn't try out. This is the only way I could think of."

"Well, to me, it looks like you did it because you're threatened by him, Jack."

"And what if I am?" he breathed.

Hermione relaxed slightly, her hand reaching up to rest on his left shoulder. "He's not trying to take your life from you, Jack."

Jack said nothing.

"You two don't even play in the same position, do you?"

"I don't even know, and that's not the point," he said, shaking her hand off his shoulder. "Quidditch is mine."

"The same way that your father is yours?"

Jack just stared at her. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Hermione did not shy away from the harshness of his tone. "You love Quidditch, right?" She waited for his nod. "Ever think that maybe Harry loves it just as much but, because of your father, he's been forced to squash it down?"

"Hermione?"

"No, Jack, use your brain for once, would you? What if it were the other way around? What if your father had picked Lily and not your mum, then what? Wouldn't you just want to play this stupid game that you claim to love above all else?"

Jack stood up quite suddenly. "Stop it," he said, his voice practically pleading. "You don't know. You don't know what it's going to be like if Harry is on the team. Dad - " he halted. "Just stop, Hermione. It's too late now. I can't back out. I have
to win."

She shook her head. "Don't you see, Jack? It doesn't matter who wins on the pitch," she said; "either way, James always wins. Right now, you and your brother; you don't even matter, and you and I both know it. Only your father wins. And the longer you
hold onto this misplaced hatred, he always will."

When Luna was able to get Harry alone to talkabout the upcoming challenge between Jack and Harry, she too let rip into her best friend, her eyes blazing. Harry couldn't remember a time that Luna ever looked so livid with him, and it was rather frightening.

"What would your mother say?" she asked pointedly, her forefinger pointing at him violently.

"She's not going to find out," Harry said grumpily.

"And if I tell her?"

"You won't."

Luna raised an eyebrow. "Just what are you trying to do, Harry?"

"Nothing."

"Don't lie to me!"

Harry blinked in surprise. "Luna? What's wrong?"

"What do you mean what's wrong? Can't you see what you've done?" She huffed in annoyance, her little body trembling. "You can't stop now," she said. "Now that you've started, there's no stopping."

Harry must have looked confused, because she continued to speak, clearly needing to clarify a few things for her misinformed, sometimes idiotic, friend.

"It is one thing to want to be on the Quidditch team, Harry. It's another thing entirely to challenge your brother for it."

"I didn't challenge him."

"Do you really think that anyone will believe that?" she asked, tempted to cause him some form of bodily harm. "Whatever Jack says is gold, and now you're just a villain. You're just the other brother who's trying to usurp Britain's Golden
Boy."

Harry said nothing.

"It doesn't matter what you say, or what you do, Harry," she said seriously, her tone turning sympathetic. Then: "You're a complete idiot, do you know that?"

He smiled slightly. "I do know that, in fact."

Luna moved to sit down beside him. "And here I thought that this year was going to be less stressful than the last."

Harry leaned against her. "I had no choice," he said. "I couldn't say no, Luna; even if I wanted to. He wouldn't let me forget. And he insulted my mum."

Luna dropped her head onto his shoulder. "I know, Harry," she said softly, knowingly. "I know."

Hermione was in a mood and her fellow Gryffindors were necessarily wary around her. Save for Ginny, who didn't seem to notice that Hermione was clutching her fork a little tighter than usual as they sat at the Gryffindor table for lunch.

"I honestly can't wait for this whole thing to be over," Ginny said, leaning back slightly, and blowing air out through her nostrils.

"What?"

"This stupid challenge," she said, peeking at her friend. "Have you even been listening to me at all?"

Hermione plastered on a smile, forcing her frown away. "I've been listening," she lied. "I just don't understand why you're complaining so much."

"It's Jack," Ginny said, shoving her plate away. "All he's doing is talking about this challenge; how he has to win at any cost. It's driving me insane; I'm considering suffocating him in his sleep."

Hermione just shook her head, mildly amused by the threat of violence. "It'll be over by this weekend."

Ginny sighed. "You don't honestly believe that, do you?"

Hermione eventually leaned back as well, and pushed her own plate of food away. Ginny was right in that regard, at least. This would never be over. Things had been set into motion and there would be no real end. It didn't even matter who won on the pitch.

Hermione glanced Harry's way. He was sitting further along the Gryffindor table, unsurprisingly alone. She wondered why he wasn't sitting with Neville or Luna. He was absently picking at his own food, and Hermione didn't even know how he could be so calm.
Did he even realise what he was doing? Did he have any idea how difficult he was making everything for everyone involved?

No.

He clearly didn't.

"I think we should leave Hogwarts for the week," Ginny said, nudging Hermione to get her attention. "Jack is going to be awful to deal with no matter which way it goes. I don't even know which would be worse: a sore loser or a sore winner."

Hermione snorted. "Sure, your boyfriend is definitely going to allow us not to be at the pitch tonight."

"A girl can dream," Ginny muttered as she stood up. "I've got to pee," she said, lifting her book bag. "I'll see you after class."

Hermione just nodded as she glanced Harry's way again. She was surprised to find him looking in her direction. A part of her was convinced that his eyes would follow Ginny as she walked away but she was, once again, surprised when they didn't. He kept
his eyes trained on her and he didn't even look away when she met his gaze. In fact, he smiled at her and Hermione couldn't help but return it.

Then she shook her head, her smile never once faltering. "You are completely crazy," she mouthed and he just laughed a silent laugh.

Harry looked away from Hermione when Colin nudged him to get his attention. He glanced at Colin, listened to his question, and refused to answer, before turning back to look at Hermione, but she was gone.

He sighed.

"Are you seriously going to go up against your brother?" Colin asked again, and several other Gryffindors sitting around the two of them turned to look at Harry expectantly.

Harry just sighed once more.

Colin looked at him, waiting for a response; anything.

Harry would say nothing. He cast one last look at them before he stood up and left the table. Words never helped him before, and he wasn't deluded enough to think they would start now.

Action.

That was all that would count now. His brother didn't even know what was coming his way.