A/N: Sorry it took so long to get this last chapter up. I was hoping to have it done Friday, but then the weekend got kind of hectic, so I didn't have a chance to write until tonight. The next chapter is like, halfway done though, so that means it won't be too long until that's up, if all goes according to plan!
Thanks, as always, for reading, and I hope you enjoy this next installment!
In the morning, Harry wakes feeling refreshed and extremely excited, an odd buzz settling in his stomach and radiating through his bones. He's the first of the five boys up, so he gets out of bed quietly and tiptoes across to the bathroom to brush his teeth. The others are still sleeping when he comes back, so he decides to begin really unpacking his trunk, taking out his uniform and laying it carefully on the bed, folding the three other identical sets and tucking them in the drawers under the bed, and delicately placing the photo his father had given him of his mother on the nightstand. He has a few other possessions that he brought with him, which he places either on the nightstand or in the drawers, and before he know it, his trunk lies empty at the foot of the bed. With nothing else to do, Harry strips his pajamas off and begins pulling on his uniform, buckling the black belt tightly around his hips so his trousers don't fall down (Sirius had insisted on getting them a size or two up, saying, "If he's anything like you, James, he'll outgrow them in about a month).
He hears a groan and Ron's foot pokes through the curtains of his bed, stretching and flexing as the red headed boy tries to wake himself up. His head makes an appearance next, bleary eyed, with hair sticking up in every direction, and Harry has to work very hard to suppress his laughter. Ron scowls at him darkly, and Harry makes a mental note that his best friend is most definitely not a morning person.
"What time is it?" Ron croaks, taking in Harry's fully dressed state.
"Seven oh five," Harry chirps, checking the watch from his bedside table, and Ron lets out another groan.
"Class doesn't even start 'til nine!" he cries, flopping back onto his bed, but Harry pokes his head in after his friend.
"Yeah," he argues, "but if we go down now, we'll get all the good breakfast before it's gone."
Ron eyes him thoughtfully and then a grin spreads across his face and he throws the blankets off himself, grabbing his robes from where they were tossed haphazardly into his trunk.
It appears they were not the only ones with this thought process, however, as when they get to the Great Hall they find a plethora of other students eating at the staff table, as well as most of the faculty. Harry hears gasps as he and Ron walk toward the Gryffindor table, a buzz passing through the room as everyone turns to stare at him, whispering that Harry Potter is there, look, see him?
Harry and Ron eventually take seats near Percy, who was evidently wide awake and chattering to another fifth year student, and Harry bows his head, focusing on serving himself breakfast and feeling heartily embarrassed.
"Just ignore them," Ron advises, doling spoonfuls of scrambled eggs onto his plate, "they're all nutters."
The two boys grin at each other, tucking into the best English sausage Harry had ever tasted. Ron's mood darkens significantly, however, when Hermione Granger comes down with a rather cornered-looking Neville Longbottom, and the two join them at the table, Hermione talking incessantly about how much she was looking forward to lessons. Harry was excited too, but he felt this girl took it to a whole other level, and he and Ron exchange looks of annoyance.
At about 8:15, when the table is full of students chattering to one another, Professor McGonagall comes down from the staff table, passing out little sheets of parchment with their schedules on it. Harry glances down at their class list, seeing that today's schedule includes Transfiguration, Charms, and History of Magic.
"You will need to bring all your textbooks with you to class today," Professor McGonagall announces to the new students. "Your professors will instruct you in the protocol for their particular class when you see them."
Harry and Ron groan in unison, thinking how heavy it will be to lug that many textbooks around all day, but nevertheless, they stand and climb the seven floors back to Gryffindor tower to collect them.
The parchment with their schedules tells them the classroom locations as well, but Harry and Ron quickly find that this doesn't help them as much as anticipated, as they still don't know where the locations are. They skid into the Transfiguration classroom a minute late, earning them a stern glare from Professor McGonagall.
"Your seats, please," she says, motioning for them to sit at the unoccupied desks in front of her. "As I was saying, Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts. Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned." She gives Harry and Ron a pointed look, and they both grin back at her sheepishly.
"Today, we will begin by attempting to change matchsticks," Professor McGonagall states, waving her wand so a small match appears in front of each of her students, "into needles, like so." She demonstrates by twirling her wand, and the match she was holding up turns into a perfect silver needle. With yet another wave of her want, an incantation appears on the board behind her, and she quickly instructs them in the proper want movement. After that, they are on their own, attempting, and largely failing, at their first transfiguration.
During their break for lunch, Hedwig flutters through the open windows behind the staff table, landing on Harry's shoulder with a hoot. She drops a small, folded piece of parchment in his lap, which he picks up and scans over immediately.
"Its from Hagrid," Harry tells Ron, looking up with a grin. "He asked if I want to come have tea with him tomorrow afternoon."
"Sounds nice," Ron answers, more focused on stuffing his face than plans for tomorrow.
"Want to go?" Harry asks, a little nervous. He had never had a real, true friend to invite along to things before. Ron gives him an odd look before answering.
"Yeah, alright," he says at last, returning to his lunch.
The afternoon passes in a haze of sleepy lessons – Harry quickly discovers that eating a large lunch heavy foods is not such a good idea, as all he can focus on for the rest of the afternoon is his desire to take a nice long nap in his four poster bed. Charms is a blur – the only Harry remembers is tiny little Professor Flitwick falling off his pile of books when he squeaked Harry's name during roll call – and Defense Against the Dark Arts is even worse, the heavy garlic odor only adding to Harry's stupor. He stuffs himself again at dinner, wolfing down the delicious food almost as fast as Ron, after which they head upstairs, relaxing in the Gryffindor Common Room before going to sleep rather early.
Harry wakes early again, leaving a note for Ron to meet him in the Great Hall for breakfast, and decides to take a slightly meandering route down, wandering the halls of the castle and trying to make a mental map. He gets a little lost, however, and it takes him longer than he anticipated to make it to breakfast, so much so that by the time he arrives, Ron is already there, tucking into a plate loaded with sausages and scrambled eggs.
"Oi, where've you been then?" Ron calls through a mouthful of eggs.
"Just walking around," Harry answers, taking the seat next to him and piling food onto his own plate. "You weren't up yet, so I figured I'd take my time."
Ron nods absentmindedly, adding a second helping of hash browns to his plate.
"What have we got today?" Harry asks, rummaging through his bag.
"Double Potions with the Slytherins," Ron answers, cutting viciously into a sausage. "Snape's Head of Slytherin House. They say he always favors them – we'll be able to see if it's true."
"Wish McGonagall favored us," Harry muses, thinking of the lengthy homework assignment she had doled out yesterday and the points she had taken from Seamus for setting fire to the desk with his match.
At quarter til, he and Ron make their way down to the dungeons with the rest of the Gryffindors, finding the Slytherin students already situated in the classroom, eyeing them with dislike as they walk through the door. Harry and Ron take a seat at one table, joined shortly after by Neville and Hermione (Ron lets out a disgruntled sigh), and they await the arrival of Professor Snape. It doesn't take long – within five minutes, the students are startled by the abrupt slamming of the dungeon door as Snape, clad in billowy black robes that remind Harry distinctly of a bat, strides in. He stands at the front of the classroom, eyes raking over the students in front of him, and when his stare alights on Harry, a sneer crosses his face.
"Ah, yes. Harry Potter. Our new celebrity," Snape says, his mouth curling ominously, and Harry does not miss the unmistakable tone of dislike. He turns his attention to the class as a whole, continuing, "You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking. As there is little foolish wand waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching minds, ensnaring senses," he pauses for dramatic effect, "I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death – if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach." His eyes linger on Harry once more. "Potter!" Snape barks suddenly, catching the young boy by surprise. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
"I don't know, sir," Harry replies, feeling extremely confused.
"Tut, tut – fame clearly isn't everything," Snape sneers. "Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"
"I don't know, sir," Harry says again, his cheeks beginning to feel a little warm.
"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh Potter?" Harry can feel the flush spreading as his temper rises quickly. He had actually opened several of his books and asked his father and Remus and Sirius questions, but he hadn't remembered everything. "What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
"I don't know," Harry answers for the third time, feeling his temper get the better of him, "I think Hermione does, though, why don't you try her?"
The class is in uproar – The Gryffindors, who have already established within five minutes their dislike for Snape, are cheering, thrilled by Harry's daring, while the Slytherins hiss, surprised by his boldness and eager to see him punished.
"Sit down, Snape commands the class, before turning his hateful gaze back upon Harry, black eyes glinting with malice. "For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well?" He shouts, looking around the class. "Why aren't you all copying that down? And a point will be taken from Gryffindor for your cheek, Potter."
Harry stares down at the table, biting his tongue to keep from saying anything.
"You will now begin, in pairs, attempting to brew a potion to cure boils. Follow the instructions on the board," Snape commands, flicking his wand over his shoulder, and a list of ingredients and directions writes itself.
About half an hour into brewing the potion, Neville's begins bubbling in a very sinister manner, and Seamus' cauldron begins to melt, oozing onto the floor and spreading rapidly around the room. A particularly violent bubble burst coats Neville's face in the foul smelling liquid, and he begins to whimper pitifully.
"Idiot boy!" Snape curses, striding over to their table as students all over the classroom stand on their stools. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire? Take him up to the hospital wing," he adds to Seamus. "You, Potter, why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That's another point you've lost for Gryffindor."
Harry opens his mouth, on the verge of telling Snape to bugger off, but Ron kicks him sharply in the shin.
"Don't push it," Ron mutters under his breath, "I've heard Snape can turn very nasty."
The rest of the lesson passes infuriatingly slowly, and Harry is itching to leave. When Snape finally dismisses them, Harry and Ron practically sprint out of the room, stuffing their belongings in their bags as they go.
"Cheer up," Ron says, clapping Harry on the back as they trudge across the lawn to Hagrid's hut, "Snape's always taking points off Fred and George."
The thought that losing points perhaps isn't such a big deal does cheer Harry up slightly, but he thinks privately that, from what he's seen of Fred and George so far, they probably deserve it slightly more than he had.
They reach the door of the hut and knock, met with a chorus of loud barks.
"Back, Fang, back," they hear Hagrid call from behind the door. "Hang on, back, Fang." The door opens to a large, one room cabin, a dining table in one corner and a Hagrid sized bed in the other. There's already a kettle going in the fireplace. "Make yerselves at home."
"Thanks, Hagrid," Harry says with a smile. "This is Ron."
"Another Weasley, eh?" Hagrid answers, giving Ron an appraising look. "I spent half me life chasin' yer twin brothers away from the forest." The red-haired boy frowned, looking glum for reasons unbeknownst to Harry. "So how were yer firs' few lessons?"
"Rubbish," Harry answered, and Ron nodded, even more downtrodden. "We couldn't manage to transfigure our matchsticks, I've no idea what happened in Charms, Professor Quirrell's classroom smells like garlic, and I'm pretty sure Snape's got it in for me."
"I doubt it," Hagrid answers dismissively.
"But he seemed to really hate me," Harry counters, frustrated that Hagrid is treating like a child.
"Rubbish! Why should he?" Hagrid brushed aside Harry's concern's turning his attention back to Ron. "How's yer brother Charlie? I liked him a lot – great with animals."
Harry doesn't listen to Ron's melancholy response, focusing on a recent edition of the Daily Prophet sitting on the dining table. One article in particular catches his eye, and he picks up the paper to read it.
GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST
Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown. Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day. "But we're not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what's good for you," said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this afternoon
"Hagrid!" Harry bursts out, brandishing the paper in front of the man's nose. "That Gringotts break in happened on my birthday! It might've been happening while we were there!"
"Tha's not sommat fer young boys ter worry about," Hagrid replies gruffly, snatching the paper away and tossing it in a bin behind him.
"But –" Harry starts, but Hagrid cuts across him.
"It's gettin' late, you two'd better finish your tea and be off before you're missed."
Harry and Ron exchange an odd look, perplexed by Hagrid's response and sudden eagerness to be rid of them. They drain their cups quickly and Hagrid ushers them out the door, waving enthusiastically to them as they trudged away, and then shutting himself in his hut.
"What do you think that was all about?" Harry asks Ron, feeling more curious than ever.
"No idea," Ron replies, still sounding glum.
"Something wrong?"
"Huh? Oh, no," Ron answers, trying to force a smile. "Just gets old, having so many brothers, that's all."
"Oh," Harry states, unable to think of anything else to say. They walk the rest of the way in silence, each in their own little world of thought.
The second week of classes passes much as the first had – with plenty of confusion and plenty of homework. Harry feels consistently frustrated at struggling with even the simplest of spells, while Hermione doesn't seem to have any trouble at all, almost always completing the class' assignment by the end of the period, if not halfway through. He at least takes heart that Ron is struggling as much as he is, and if neither of them is ever able to quite produce the desired results, that's still better than some of the other students. Seamus almost always causes whatever he is working on to erupt in flames, while Neville is particularly prone to knocking things over and generally making a mess. It's all much harder than Harry had thought it would be judging from the ease with which his dad, Sirius, and Remus cast spells. There is some comfort, however, in the fact that of all their classes, Gryffindors only have Potions with the Slytherins, so Harry is able to keep his dealings with Draco Malfoy to a minimum. Until, that is, Ron points out a notice on the corkboard of the Gryffindor Common Room stating that flying lessons, with Madam Hooch, would begin on Thursday, and the Gryffindors would be paired with the Slytherins.
"Typical.," Harry groans. "Just what I always wanted, to make a fool of myself on a broomstick in front of Malfoy."
"You don't know that you'll make a fool of yourself," Ron reassures, pushing Harry toward the portrait hole (and breakfast). "Didn't you fly with your dad sometimes? Anyway, I know Malfoy's always going on about how good he is at Quidditch, but I bet that's all talk."
"Not really since I was a little kid. We never got another broomstick after I outgrew my last toy one," Harry shrugs. "I asked for one for Christmas once, and I know Sirius wanted to get it for me, but I overheard him and Dad talking one night – Dad said it was too risky, someone might see and then what would we do?"
"Mum used to worry about the same thing, but we live far enough from any muggles…" Ron says, cocking his head to the side. "Besides, she always made sure we stayed in the orchard, and Dad put a spell on that to keep muggles from wandering over."
They made it to breakfast in time to see a tawny owl drop a package into Neville's outstretched hands, which he then fumbled, sending it bouncing along the table and into a pitcher of milk, which sprayed all over the poor boy. Harry and Ron sat across the table from him, laughing with the rest of the students as Neville pulled the soggy package out of the milk jug.
"I think I'll be having the pumpkin juice today," Harry jokes as Hedwig flutters down to land on his shoulder, holding out a letter from his father.
"It's a Remembrall!" Neville exclaims excitedly. "Gran knows I forget things – this tells you if there's something you've forgotten to do. Look, you hold it tight like this and if it turns red… oh…" As he squeezed the little glass ball, the billowing smoke inside turned a bright crimson.
"You've forgotten something," Seamus finishes for him, and Neville nods glumly.
Malfoy walks over, followed by Crabbe and Goyle, entirely unwelcome, and grabs the little ball, sneering. Harry rises halfway out of his seat, but before any of them could say anything, Professor McGonagall was upon them, one eyebrow flying up into her hairline as she eyes the group.
"What's going on?" she asks sternly.
"Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor," Neville answers, looking torn between trying to handle the situation themselves to avoid being a tattletale and desperately wanting a professor's intervention.
"Just looking," Malfoy mutters, dropping the little ball back onto the table; Dean barely manages to catch it before it hits the table.
The three Slytherins stalk off, Malfoy casting an oddly threatening glare over his shoulder at Harry, who narrows his eyes in response before returning to reading his letter.
Thursday arrives much faster than Harry thought it would, a warm, breezy day with plenty of sunshine and not too many clouds. The Gryffindors troop out across the great sloping lawn together toward an open area not too far from the Quidditch pitch, finding the Slytherins already gathered there with a hawk-like woman who could only be Madam Hooch.
"Well, what are you all waiting for?" she barks at them practically the minute the Gryffindor students arrive. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."
Harry selects a broomstick near the end, Ron to his left and Hermione Granger to his right, Neville past her.
"Stick your right hand over your broom and say, Up!" Madam Hooch commands, and the students hurry to obey.
"UP!" choruses around the lawn, two dozen voices all shouting the same.
Harry's broomstick jumps into his hand after only a slight hesitation, as though it was deciding whether or not to listen to him, but as he looks around, he sees that almost none of the others are having as much luck. Hermione's broomstick merely rolls over and Harry can practically feel her frustration as she fails at the task – finally something books can't teach her. Ron's sits resolutely still before jumping a little too exuberantly into his hands, so that his has to catch it somewhere around his head instead of his waist. Harry nearly keels over laughing when Malfoy's broom tips up from the tail end, smacking him in the shoulder hard with the handle when he gives the command. When, at long last, they have all got their broomsticks in hand, Madam Hooch gives them further instructions.
"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," she tells them. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle – three, two –"
But Neville, who seems to have no control of his broomstick, already kicked off nervously, and is now floating higher and higher, unable to figure out how to get back to the ground.
"Come back, boy!" Madam Hooch cries, but it's a useless command since the clumsy boy has no idea how to achieve the task. He tries to lean forward as she had instructed, but he greatly overestimates, and it tips so far forward that he falls right off the end, falling about twenty feet and hitting the ground with a large THUD. He lets out a cry on impact and holds his hand up, limp, cradling it close to his chest, and Madam Hooch comes closer to inspect it. "Broken wrist. Come on, boy – it's alright, up you get," she says, pulling Neville to his feet and steering him toward the castle. "None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing!" she calls over her shoulder at the remaining students. "You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say Quidditch. Come on, dear."
"Did you see his face, the great lump?" Malfoy sneers, and a few of the other Slytherins laugh with him.
"Shut up, Malfoy," Parvati Patil says boldly, her cheeks flushing a little pink.
"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" Pansy Parkinson shrieks with mirth. "Never thought you'd like fat little crybabies, Parvati."
"Look! It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him," Malfoy grins, holding up Neville's remembrall with a mischievous look.
"Give that here, Malfoy," Harry speaks up, stepping forward.
"I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find – how about, up a tree?" Malfoy laughs maliciously, reaching for his broomstick.
"Give it here!" Harry repeats.
"Come and get it, Potter!" Malfoy calls, pushing off hard from the ground and soaring high into the air. Harry, to his dismay, notes that Malfoy was not at all making things up when he boasted about being a good flier. Even so, he reaches for his own broomstick, mounting it and getting ready to push off when Hermione grabs the sleeve of his robe.
"No!" she squeals, horrified. "Madam Hooch told us not to move! You'll get us all in trouble." Harry shakes her off, soaring into the air anyway. He surprises himself with how easily it all seems to come back to him, and the rush of air on his skin feels amazing.
"Give it here, or I'll knock you off that broom!" he shouts, sounding far more confident than he really feels.
"Oh, yeah?" Malfoy taunts, holding up the gleaming bauble.
"No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Malfoy," Harry points out, and Harry watches with satisfaction as the realization flickers across Malfoy's face.
"Catch it if you can then!" he calls, and he throws the ball as far as he can.
Harry streaks past him, chasing the little glass ball. He's closing in on it, but not fast enough – the castle wall is fast approaching, and Harry has to execute a tricky maneuver, flipping his broom up on its tip while pivoting so he is facing away from the wall and then letting it fall in an arc to the side, all while holding the glittering bauble he had caught just in time. The danger of crashing into the castle averted, Harry flies gracefully back to his classmates, alighting to cheers from the Gryffindors and hisses from the Slytherins.
"HARRY POTTER!" He turns at the sound of his name to see Professor McGonagall marching toward him, looking absolutely livid. "Never… In all my time at Hogwarts… how dare you… might've broken your neck –" she splutters, seeming to have trouble getting the words out through her fury.
"It wasn't his fault, Professor –" Parvati hurries to explain, trying desperately to defend Harry.
"Be quiet, Miss Patil," Professor McGonagall snaps, and Parvati shuts her mouth quickly.
"But Malfoy –" Ron interrupts, but he is silenced too.
"That's enough, Mr. Weasley. Potter, follow me, now," she commands, turning sharply on her heel, and Harry follows, still holding the broomstick in one hand and the remembrall in the other, and he casts a miserable glance over his shoulder at his best friend.
Professor McGonagall leads him through a meandering maze of passages, and at first Harry assumes that she is either taking him to her own office or Professor Dumbledore's so that they can expel him, but he soon finds himself, much to his confusion, standing outside the Charms classroom.
"Excuse me, Professor Flitwick," McGonagall interrupts, poking her head in through the door, "could I borrow Wood for a moment?"
A tall, lanky boy with hair the color of a broomstick emerges from the classroom, the look on his face about as confused as Harry feels.
"Follow me, you two," McGonagall instructs, ushering them down the hall and into an empty classroom. "In here. Out, Peeves!" The impish poltergeist that Harry tries very hard to avoid blows past them with a rude gesture. "Potter, this is Oliver Wood – Wood, I've found you a Seeker."
Her tone is incredibly proud, and Harry and Oliver Wood both gape at her.
"Are you serious, Professor?" Wood asks, giving Harry an appraising look that makes him very uncomfortable.
"Absolutely," McGonagall grins. "The boy's a natural, I've never seen anything like it. He caught that thing in his hand after a fifty foot dive. Didn't even scratch himself. Charlie Weasley couldn't have done it." Wood raises his eyebrow appreciatively, and turns to pay more attention to Harry.
"Ever seen a game of Quidditch, Potter?" he asks, and Harry nods, his stomach squirming unpleasantly. He had thought he was going to be punished, expected detentions or to be sent home, not to be made Seeker for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. He realizes the unpleasant feeling in his gut is nerves, and he tries to push it aside.
"Wood's captain of the Gryffindor team," Professor McGonagall explains, a tad unnecessarily.
"He's just the build for a Seeker too – light, speedy –" Wood says, eyes raking over Harry again, "we'll have to get him a decent broom, Professor – a Nimbus Two Thousand or a Cleansweep Seven, I'd say."
"I shall speak to Professor Dumbledore," she whispers excitedly, "and see if we can't bend the first year rule. Heaven knows, we need a better team than last year. Flattened in that last match by Slytherin, I couldn't look Severus Snape in the face for weeks…" She turns to look at Harry, the stern deputy-headmistress look returning to her features. "I want to hear you're training hard, Potter, or I may change my mind about punishing you."
"Seeker?" Ron gasps at dinner, even pausing as he brings his chicken wing up to his mouth. "But first years never – you must be the youngest house player in about –"
"A century," Harry interrupts. "Wood told me. I start training next week. Only don't tell anyone, Wood wants to keep it a secret." He looks around to see if anyone else heard, but it appears that no one else was listening.
"Well done," comes the sound of two synchronous voices, while four hands clap Harry on the back.
"Wood told us," Fred explains. "We're on the team too – Beaters."
"I tell you, we're going to win that Quidditch cup for sure this year," George adds, sounding positively gleeful. "We haven't won since Charlie left, but this year's team is going to be brilliant. You must be good, Harry, Wood was almost skipping when he told us."
Harry feels his stomach churn with nerves again as he nods.
"Anyway, we've got to go," Fred states, a mischievous glint in his eye, "Lee Jordan reckons he's found a new secret passageway out of the school."
"Bet it's that one behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy that we found in our first week," George replies, and the four of them grin.
"See you," the twins chorus together as they walk away waving.
"Having a last meal, Potter?" Harry hears Draco Malfoy sneer from behind him. "When are you getting the train back to the Muggles?"
"You're a lot braver now that you're on the ground and you've got your little friends with you," Harry observes, noting Crabbe and Goyle back in their standard positions on either side of him.
"I'd take you on anytime on my own," Draco challenges. "Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel – wands only, no contact."
"You're on," Harry answers, not particularly wanting to duel Malfoy, but not wanting to seem like a coward either.
"I'm his second, who's yours?" Ron asks, casting a slightly wary glance at the two behemoths behind Malfoy.
"Crabbe," Draco answers after taking a moment to consider his options. "Midnight alright? We'll meet you in the trophy room; that's always unlocked." He doesn't wait for a response before he turns on his heel and leaves the Great Hall, Crabbe and Goyle following behind like loyal pit bulls.
"Excuse me," says a very bossy sounding voice.
"Can't a person eat in peace in this place?" Ron groans loudly, clearly not caring if he's heard.
"I couldn't help overhearing what you and Malfoy were saying…" Hermione Granger continues, looking very disapproving.
"Bet you could," Ron mutters, and Harry smiles, but Hermione doesn't seem to notice as she bowls right on.
"…and you mustn't go wandering around the school at night, think of the points you'll lose Gryffindor if you're caught, and you're bound to be. It's really very selfish of you."
"And it's really none of your business," Ron replies, rather rudely, but both boys are beyond caring.
"Goodbye," Harry says cheerfully, and the two of them stand up (Ron grabbing another chicken wing for the road) and leave, making their way back to the Common Room.
Some material borrowed from Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, pp 98 - 115