Chapter Seven: Grapes, Cantaloupes, and Mudbloods

Harry was having a lovely dream. He seemed to be in bed, where he didn't know, but the sheets were made of emerald green silk, and they were warm. . . . Harry grinned in his sleep, reaching around him, searching for something, and found it. A warm body, a warm, soft body. He pulled the warmth closer to him, taking deep breaths of lilies and lavender. It smelled really good. He was just about to open his eyes to see who it was when he woke up abruptly.

"Harry, wake up! Time to get dressed so we can go to class!" a sing-song voice shouted somewhere near his feet.

He groped around him, looking for his glasses, when they were handed to him. He put them on thankfully, blinking a few times before realizing he was looking at—

"Blaise! Since when did you become a morning person? Especially on the first day of school?" he enunciated, falling back on his sheets.

"Ever since I wanted to be, why?"

Harry glared at her.

"Okay, fine, so maybe Ginny came and woke me up 'cause she was nervous. I couldn't go back to sleep so I just decided to wake you up so we can go to breakfast. Now, get dressed!"

Harry groaned, but as Blaise left the dorm, he did just that. It seemed he couldn't get back to sleep either. It seemed she had already woken Theo, who was on his bed glaring at Harry.

"Hey, don't glare at me, Theo. I'm not the one that woke you up."

"Good point, sadly," Theo said as Harry went to the bathroom to take a shower.

oOoOo

Blaise and Ginny were waiting for them in the common room as they came, and together the quartet made their way to the Great Hall for breakfast.

"Mmm, food. . . ." Blaise sighed as they entered the hall before heading to their table and piling their plates with all breakfast foods imaginable.

To say the Slytherins didn't speak much as they filled their stomachs would be an understatement. Other than Blaise's occasional moans, nothing else was heard from the four until they got their schedules.

"Damn . . . Transfiguration with Ravenclaw first," Blaise said, eyeing hers and Harry's schedules with distaste.

Ginny looked up from her own schedule now. "I've got Defense with Gryffindor . . . and Lockhart."

"Eugh, crash and burn. How are you supposed to endure Lockhart and Gryffindors for a whole class period?" Blaise said dramatically.

"I don't know, but we have to do the same thing after lunch," Harry sighed mournfully.

"Naw, man! You have got to be—" Blaise looked at her schedule. "No!"

"Yes," Theo sighed theatrically.

"I hate you both."

"We know."

oOoOo

Professor McGonagall wasted no time on reminding the class of her rules before going straight to the theory on how to turn an animal into a goblet. They spent thirty minutes of the class taking notes and listening to McGonagall before she said, "Now, I want everyone with an animal with them to use their own, but for everyone else I have mice. Miss Li, would you mind passing these out?"

Harry grinned an evil grin and raised his hand.

"Yes, Mr. Potter?"

"I don't think mice would be such a good idea. . . ."

"Why not, Mr. Potter?"

"Well, my snake doesn't like them much past eating them." Harry held out Sneak, who happened to be in his pocket and showed him to the professor.

He got the time of his life when McGonagall shrieked like a little girl and covered her mouth with her hands. Sneak snickered, then he hissed for good measure.

"W-Why do you have a snake, Mr. Potter?"

"I met him at the orphanage. We've been friends ever since, haven't we, Sneak?"

Sneak hissed, "Yes."

"So . . . do you mind keeping the mice away from Sneak?"

"Mice? You didn't say anything about mice! Why didn't you say anything? Now I can smell them. . . ."

"It's okay, Sneak, I'm sure Professor McGonagall will give you one mouse."

"Only one?"

"Right, Professor?" Harry asked, ignoring Sneak.

"O-Of course. After the lesson."

"Great." Harry grinned.

And so the lesson began. Harry used Sneak to make his goblet ("And what if I don't want to be a goblet? What then, eh?") and succeeded on the first try, except that the goblet was covered in green scales.

Blaise eyed his goblet with envy.

Harry smirked.

Theo snickered.

Blaise glared.

Harry and Theo burst out laughing.

oOoOo

The lesson soon ended and lunch arrived. When the bell rang, Harry and Theo grabbed their bags and sprinted from the classroom, Blaise hot on their heels. They made it to the Great Hall before her and fell into their usual seats giggling. Blaise glared at them and proceeded to ignore them.

"So, Ginny, how was Lockhart?"

Harry and Theo shut up. Blaise smirked.

"Horrible. I can't believe Dumbledore's actually letting that ponce teach. Just so you know, you're getting a quiz on him."

"A quiz?"

"On him?"

"Yeah, questions like what's his favorite color and other useless crap like that." Ginny stabbed her chicken.

"Why is it always the chicken that gets stabbed?" Theo asked curiously.

"Dunno," Harry answered.

"That's a question to ponder into the next—" Blaise started.

"Ow!" Harry exclaimed, rubbing his head.

"What is it?" Blaise asked, eyeing his head, where all she could see was messy black hair.

"Someone hit me with a grape!" Harry glared around the table and quickly spotted who it was who threw it (who was now laughing with his friends): Marcus Flint. "Oh, that's bastard's going down. . . ."

Right then another grape soared to him, and Harry caught it angrily before it hit him. Harry glared at Flint.

"Don't just glare at him, Harry. Give 'im the finger!" Blaise did just that. Luckily for her, Flint was only concentrating on Harry, who'd gone back to his lunch.

Another grape soared into the air, which Harry caught without even looking up. Harry looked at Flint and smirked, giving him the finger as Blaise suggested.

Flint glared, throwing another grape at him. Harry caught it.

Flint continued throwing grapes, which Harry continued to catch. But Harry was easily getting agitated, which got Blaise agitated.

"That is it!" Blaise yelled, grabbing a cantaloupe from the nearest fruit bowl and lugging it at Flint sixty miles an hour. Unluckily for him, he didn't see it, and it hit him right on his hard head, knocking him out.

Blaise dusted her hands together. "All done," she grinned.

oOoOo

Therefore, while Harry, Blaise, and Theo made their way to Defense, Flint's friends took him to the hospital wing. Blaise was skipping, Harry was whistling, and Theo was shaking his head at their strange antics.

"You do realize that it's Defense—with Lockhart and a bunch of Gryffindors—which we're going to, right?"

That sobered them right up. . . .

"Theo, why'd you have to tell us something so depressing?" Blaise exclaimed dramatically, her hand on her heart.

"Oh, I don't know, maybe to stop you from acting like Hufflepuffs?"

Harry and Blaise gasped.

"You can't be serious!"

"Hufflepuffs?"

"I'm serious, and I won't be caught dead with Hufflepuffs," Theo answered.

Two passing Hufflepuff girls glared at him. Theo ignored them.

"Well, aren't you a nice chap?" Harry asked him sarcastically.

"I like to think so."

oOoOo

When the whole class had been seated, Lockhart cleared his throat loudly and silence fell. He reached forward, picked up Neville Longbottom's copy of Travels with Trolls, and held it up to show his own winking portrait on the front.

"Me," he said, pointing at it and winking as well. "Gilderoy Lockhart—Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most-Charming-Smile Award—but I don't talk about that. I didn't get rid of the Bandon Banshee by smiling at her!"

Blaise snored dramatically.

"I see you've all bought a complete set of my books—well done. I thought we'd start today with a little quiz. Nothing to worry about—just to check how well you've read them, how much you've taken in—"

When he handed out the test papers he returned to the front of the class and said, "You have thirty minutes—start—now!"

Harry looked down at his paper and read:

1. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite color?

2. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's secret ambition?

3. What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart's greatest achievement to date?

On and on it went, over three sides of parchment, right down to:

54. When is Gilderoy Lockhart's birthday, and what would his ideal gift be?

Harry looked over at Blaise and mouthed, "You have got to be kidding me."

Blaise shrugged. "I'm not doing it."

Half an hour later, Lockhart collected the papers and rifled through them in front of the class.

"Tut, tut—hardly any of you remembered that my favorite color is lilac. I say so in Year with the Yeti. And a few of you need to read Wanderings with Werewolves more carefully—I clearly state in chapter twelve that my ideal birthday gift would be harmony between all magic and non-magic peoples—though I wouldn't say no to a large bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey!"

He gave them all another roguish wink. Blaise's mouth was open and an expression of shock on her face; Theo was green in the face; two Gryffindors in the front named Finnigan and Thomas were shaking in silent laughter; Hermione sighed and fanned herself.

". . . but Miss Hermione Granger knew my secret ambition is to rid the world of evil and market my own range of hair-care potions—good girl! In fact, full marks! Where is Miss Hermione Granger?"

Hermione raised a trembling hand.

"Excellent!" beamed Lockhart. "Quite excellent! Ten points for Gryffindor! And so—to business—"

He bent down behind his desk and lifted a large, covered cage onto it.

"Now—be warned! It is my job to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizard-kind! You may find yourselves facing your worst fears in this room. Know only that no harm can befall you whilst I am here. All I ask is that you remain calm."

The three of them all leaned around their piles of books to get a better look at the cage. Lockhart placed a hand on the cover. Finnigan and Thomas had stopped laughing now. Longbottom was cowering in his front row seat.

"I must ask you not to scream," said Lockhart in a low voice. "It might provoke them."

As the whole class held its breath, Lockhart whipped off the cover.

"Yes, freshly caught Cornish pixies."

It seemed Malfoy couldn't control himself. He let out a burst of laughter that even Lockhart couldn't mistake for a scream of terror.

"Yes?" He smiled at Malfoy.

"Well, they're not—they're not very—dangerous, are they?" Malfoy choked.

"Don't be so sure!" said Lockhart, waggling a finger annoyingly at Malfoy. "Devilish tricky little blighters they can be!"

The pixies were electric blue and about eight inches high, with pointed faces and voices so shrill it was like listening to a lot of budgies arguing. The moment the cover had been removed, they had started jabbering and rocketing around, rattling the bars and making bizarre faces at the people nearest them.

"Put your books in your bags, Harry, Theo, just trust me on this," Blaise whispered out of the side of her mouth, quietly sliding her books back into her bag. Harry and Theo followed her lead, catching the serious notes to her urgent voice.

"Right, then," Lockhart said loudly. "Let's see what you make of them!" And he opened the cage.

Before they could say anything, Blaise had grabbed their sleeves (and they had grabbed their bags) and they pelted from the classroom as fast as they could, barely noting the pandemonium inside. Lockhart would never notice they were gone.

"Thanks, Blaise," Harry panted.

"No problem."

They continued walking down the halls, checking for teachers occasionally as they went. They were aimlessly walking, no destination in mind, so it came as a surprise when they ran into Flint. On his way back from the hospital wing, no doubt.

"Zabini, was it you that threw that cantaloupe?"

"Yes, and proud of it."

"You should be. Potter, Zabini, you're on the Quidditch team. You're Seeker, Potter. Zabini, you're Chaser. I want you the team meeting as members to meet and get acquainted with the other players." Flint grinned. "Thanks for trying out."

"You're welcome!" Blaise shouted as he walked away.

"Four o'clock at the Quidditch Pitch!" Flint called behind him as he rushed off.

"Wow," Theo said, blinking slowly.

"Come on, Harry! Let's go get our brooms so we can meet 'em at the pitch!"

oOoOo

Harry and Blaise headed out to the pitch to find that the only person that had beaten them there was Flint, who was shooting goals.

"Hey, Captain!" Blaise shouted, soaring into the air.

Flint grunted.

Harry and Blaise joined him, taking a few practice laps around the pitch. Blaise flew over to practice a bit with Flint while Harry hunted down the Snitch so he could practice. It didn't take long before the whole team was out and Flint did a number count before blowing a whistle, signaling for them to go back to the ground.

"Okay, everyone," Flint started. "We're going to begin by telling everyone our names. I'll call out your position and you answer. I'm Captain and Chaser, Marcus Flint. On pitch you call me Captain. Off pitch: Marcus will work. Seeker!"

"Harry Potter," Harry answered.

"Chasers!"

"Adrian Pucey."

"Blaise Zabini."

"And me," Flint added with a grin.

"Beaters!"

"Kyle Derrick."

"Mitch Bole."

"Keeper!"

"Draco Malfoy."

Harry and Blaise turned, not having seen Malfoy there as well. That came as a bit of a surprise, but hopefully he was good.

"Now that you know your teammates, I want you all to know something: there is to be no fighting between team members whatsoever. Which means Potter and Malfoy will have to come to some sort of truce. Zabini as well."

Malfoy's eyes widened, as did Harry's and Blaise's.

"Fine, Malfoy, we agree to a truce," Blaise answered. "We can continue hating you and you can continue hating us, but we'll agree to ignore each other for purposes other than Quidditch. Deal?"

"Deal," Malfoy agreed reluctantly.

"Good, now that that's taken care of, let's get to the important business. Chasers are to meet me after practice for copies of plays and their positions. Each member has a different color: here's a list I made." Flint passed out copies to each of the players.

Harry looked at his list. It read:

1. Seeker – Potter – Green

2. Chaser – Flint – Black

3. Chaser – Pucey – Blue

4. Chaser – Zabini – Purple

5. Beater – Derrick – Brown

6. Beater – Bole – Grey

7. Keeper – Malfoy – Red

"Do me a favor and actually learn your color, even if you don't learn everyone else's. I want a good team this year, and you have to know your position in our plays."

"Question: why am I purple?" Blaise asked.

Flint shrugged. "Black, blue, and purple match, I suppose."

Blaise glared at him.

"Fine! You're the only girl on the team and I was running out of colors."

"Oh. . . ."

There was a short hush and Flint had just opened his mouth to add sound to the silence when Malfoy butted in quickly, "My father has a gift for the team."

Flint gaped for a moment before asking, "And that is . . . what?"

"Nimbus Two Thousand and One's for everyone. But since Potter and Zabini already have one, they'll be fine." The second sentence was said with a glance at the brooms Harry and Blaise were holding.

Flint's eyes lit up. "Really?" When Malfoy nodded, his eyes brightened even more. "Yes. . . ."

"Now, before we go, one last thing: If it is possible, I would like to keep it a secret that Potter's our Seeker. Everyone knows it's in the Potter gene to be the best, and we don't want the school knowing that. In fact, we don't want our fellow Slytherins knowing that. You can tell your friends, Potter, they're sure to find out you're coming to practices, but if it's possible, I want to keep you, our secret weapon, just that—a secret. Everyone got that?"

A chorus of "Yes, Captain," was heard.

"Good, then everyone can go finish up on their homework now. We've got practice all day Saturday, starting bright and early."

oOoOo

"Greenhouse three today, chaps!" Professor Sprout told the second year Slytherins and Ravenclaws happily. "We'll be repotting Mandrakes today. Now, who can tell me the properties of the Mandrake? Miss Brocklehurst?"

"Mandrake, or Mandragora, is a powerful restorative. It is used to return people who have been transfigured or cursed to their original state."

"Excellent. Ten points to Ravenclaw. The Mandrake forms an essential part of most antidotes. It is also, however, dangerous. Who can tell me why? Mr. Potter?"

"The Mandrake's cry is fatal to anyone who hears it."

"Correct. Ten points to Slytherin."

Blaise grinned at Harry.

"Now, the Mandrakes we have here are still very young."

She pointed to a row of deep trays as she spoke, and everyone shuffled forward for a better look. A hundred of so tufty little plants, purplish green in color, were growing there in rows. They looked quite ugly.

"Everyone take a pair of earmuffs," said Professor Sprout.

There was a scramble as everyone tried to seize a pair that wasn't pink and fluffy.

"When I tell you to put them on, make sure your ears are completely covered. When it is safe to remove them, I will give you the thumbs-up. Right—earmuffs on."

Harry snapped the earmuffs over his ears. They shut out sound completely. Professor Sprout put the pink, fluffy pair over her own ears, rolled up the sleeves of her robes, grasped one of the tufty plants firmly, and pulled hard.

Harry let out a gasp of surprise that no one could hear.

Instead of roots, a small, muddy, and extremely ugly baby popped out of the earth. The leaves were growing right out of his head. He had pale green, mottled skin, and was clearly bawling at the top of his lungs.

Professor Sprout took a large plant pot from under the table and plunged the Mandrake into it, burying him in dark, damp compost until only the tufted leaves were visible. Professor Sprout dusted off her hands, gave them all the thumbs-up, and removed her own earmuffs.

"As our Mandrakes are only seedlings, their cries won't kill you yet," she said calmly. "However, they will knock you out for several hours, and as I'm sure none of you want to miss your other classes, make sure your earmuffs are securely in place while you work. I will attract your attention when it is time to pack up.

"Four to a tray—there is a large supply of pots here—compost in the sacks over there—and be careful of the Venemous Tentacula, it's teething."

Harry, Blaise, and Theo were joined at their tray by a pretty brunette Ravenclaw girl Harry knew he had seen before.

"Mandy Brocklehurst," she said shyly, smiling at them. "Do you mind if I work with you?"

"Not at all," Harry said. "I'm Harry Potter, this is Blaise Zabini, that's and Theodore Nott."

"Hello," Mandy said quietly.

"So, where are you from?" Blaise asked.

"Staffordshire. I'm Muggleborn, so my parents weren't expecting the letter."

"Ah, I'm originally from Surrey, but me'n Blaise hail from London," Harry said.

"Bristol," Theodore added.

After that they didn't have much chance to talk. Their earmuffs were back on and they needed to concentrate on the Mandrakes. Professor Sprout had made it look extremely easy, but it wasn't. The Mandrakes didn't like coming out of the earth, but didn't seem to want to go back into it, either. They squirmed, kicked, flailed their sharp little fists, and gnashed their teeth; Blaise spent ten whole minutes trying to squash a particularly fat one into a pot.

By the end of the class, they were all sweaty, aching, and covered in earth. Everyone traipsed back to the castle for a quick wash.

"It was nice meeting you!" Mandy called as she parted ways with Harry, Blaise, and Theo on her way to Ravenclaw tower.

"You, too!" Blaise called.

After their wash they traveled to Theoretical Astronomy with the Hufflepuffs. Since they were doing a review of last year, it didn't require much thinking, unless you were Blaise. They then went to lunch and were free for the day.

oOoOo

"Wake up, Harry, c'mon! It's time for Quidditch practice and Flint won't stop blowing that damn whistle of his!"

"I'm up, Blaise, go away!"

Harry hurried into his robes, grabbed his broom, and thundered down the stairs, where he could hear Flint blowing his "damn whistle."

"Okay, is everyone here? There's Bole, okay, now come on! To the Quidditch pitch!"

They walked to the Quidditch pitch in silence, glaring at the few passersby.

"Now, when we reach the pitch, everyone swagger. We're about to make fools out of the Gryffindors."

"Flint!" Wood bellowed. "This is our practice time! We got up specially! You can clear off now!"

"Plenty of room for all of us, Wood."

"But I booked the field! I booked it!"

"Ah," said Flint. "But I've got a specially signed note here from Professor Snape. 'I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practice today on the Quidditch field owing to the need to train their new Seeker, Chaser, and Keeper.'"

"You've got three new players? Where?"

Harry, Blaise, and Malfoy came to the front, smirking at the horror on Wood's face when he saw them.

"Aren't you Lucius Malfoy's son?" said Fred.

"Funny you should mention Draco's father," said Flint as the whole Slytherin team smiled more broadly. "Let me show you the generous gift he's made to the Slytherin team."

All seven held out their broomsticks. Highly polished, brand-new handles and seven sets of find gold lettering spelling the words Nimbus Two Thousand and One gleamed under the Gryffindors' noses in the early morning sun. Then Blaise decided to speak up.

"Except for our brooms, of course," she said, pointing to herself and Harry. "Ours were donated by Harry Potter."

"Very latest model. Only came out last month," said Flint carelessly, flicking a speck of dust from the end of his own. "So, where's your Seeker?"

A tall third-year boy came to the front. "Cormac McLaggan," he introduced himself.

But Flint wasn't paying much attention to him. "Oh, look, a field invasion."

Weaselbee and Hermione were crossing the grass to see what was going on.

"What's happening?" Ron asked his brothers.

"Why, I'm the new Slytherin Seeker, Weaselbee," Harry said smugly. "And Blaise is the new Chaser. Malfoy, of course, is the new Keeper."

"Everyone's just been admiring the brooms my father's bought our team," Malfoy added. "They love them, don't you?"

Ron gaped, open-mouthed.

"Good, aren't they?" said Malfoy smoothly. "But perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new brooms, too. You could raffle off those Cleansweep Fives; I expect a museum would bid for them.

Harry and Blaise stiffened, but the others howled with laughter.

"At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in," said Hermione sharply. "They got in on pure talent."

The smug look on Malfoy's face flickered.

"No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood," he spat.

Harry and Blaise knew at once that Malfoy had said something really bad because there was an instant uproar at his words. Flint had to dive in front of Malfoy to stop Fred and George from jumping on him, Spinnet shrieked, "How dare you!", and Weaselbee plunged his hand into his robes, pulled out his wand, yelling, "You'll pay for that one, Malfoy!" and pointed it furiously under Flint's arm at Malfoy's face.

Unfortunately for Weaselbee, he had his wand pointed in the wrong direction again, and instead of a jet of orange light heading towards Malfoy, it headed towards Weaselbee, either which would've been fun to watch for Harry and Blaise. They dug into their proverbial popcorn and set back to watch as the light hit him in the stomach, sending him reeling backward onto the grass.

"Ron! Ron! Are you alright?" squealed Hermione.

Weaselbee opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead he gave an almighty belch and several slugs dribbled out of his mouth onto his lap.

The whole Slytherin team was paralyzed with laughter. Flint was doubled up, hanging onto his new broomstick for support, Malfoy was on all fours, banging the ground with his fist, and Harry and Blaise were supporting each other to keep from toppling to the ground. The Gryffindors were gathered around Weaselbee, who kept belching large, glistening slugs. Nobody seemed to want to touch him, but somebody came up with the idea to levitate him, and so Weaselbee was levitated to the hospital wing, belching slugs all the while.

Finally, Flint managed to right himself. "Now, as fun as that was, onto practice! I want our three new ones to be fluent in the language of Quidditch by the end of the day!"

oOoOo

"Explain," McGonagall ordered, her lips pursed in their thinnest line yet.

The fourteen Quidditch team members plus Hermione gave her innocent looks.

"If someone doesn't tell me how Mr. Weasley came to the hospital wing coughing up slugs, you will all have two weeks of detention," threatened McGonagall.

"Well . . ." Blaise started.

"Yes, Miss Zabini?" McGonagall looked relieved.

"Ron saw the confrontation between the two teams," Hermione continued. "Since his brothers are on the team, he went to go check it out. I tried to stop him."

"Malfoy was going on and on about our team's new brooms," Harry put in. "He made fun of the Gryffindors for having old brooms and . . ."

"Hermione retaliated," continued Blaise. "She told him that at least the Gryffindor team didn't have to buy their way in; that they got in on talent. Malfoy . . ."

"Malfoy called Hermione a . . . a Mudblood. Pandemonium started," Harry finished.

"What's a Mudblood, Professor?" Blaise asked.

McGonagall's face had taken on the look of an enraged madwoman. She was breathing heavily through her nose and her hands were tightly bunched into fists.

"A nasty word for a Muggleborn. That word is only used in the lowest levels of society," McGonagall stated heavily, using all of her self-control.

"Oh . . . sorry. We didn't know. We won't say it again," Blaise promised, slightly scared for her life at the hands of the enraged professor.

"You will serve two weeks of detention, Mr. Malfoy, for calling a fellow student such a . . . vulgar . . . name. The detentions will be served with me, so there will be no chance of . . . corruption." McGonagall glared at Malfoy, who tried to gulp so no one could see.

"Now, out of the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey will need quiet to work on Mr. Weasley. You can stay, Miss Granger."

The others traipsed out of the hospital wing, still in a bit of a stupor.

"He called her that once before, in the bookshop," Blaise whispered to Harry where the others couldn't hear.

"I know," he answered.

"Do you think Hermione's angry at him?"

"Probably . . . we'll ask if she wants us to prank him just for her."

"Yeah, let's do that."

The rest of the evening was spent planning the prank for Malfoy.

It had to be their best ever.