Chapter 4

Quidditch and Conspiracy

The morning after their astonishing 'strategy meeting' with Hermione, Harry, Ron and Dean found themselves traveling down to the Lake, bright and early, for their two laps around, in accordance to the new Quidditch stratagem that Harry had introduced to the team the evening before. Normally, being out and about the Castle this early – what was it, five in the morning? – would have been the most effective way to buy a week's worth of detention but Harry, having shown his plans to McGanagall, had gotten the whole Gryffindor Quidditch team approval to do their exercises consequence free, so long as running was all that they did. Students were typically only allowed to be in the corridors as early as six in the morning.

'I'm beginning to regret this.' Ron muttered a bit grumpily as they passed the final flight of stairs up to the entrance hall.

'Seconded.' Dean muttered in much the same vain.

'Sorry mates. Why don't you run back up to the Dorms real quick and put your tampons on. I'll wait here.' Harry smirked at both of them.

Typically crap in the mornings; Ron and Dean were such easy targets. It was extremely easy to throw a quick jibe at them before they had their breakfast, which was something Harry had found to be extremely entertaining on the few occasions that they had snuck out of Gryffindor Tower early to have a few rounds around the pitch before breakfast. Ron would usually shoot back something hideously weak, but venomous all the same, while Dean would grunt irately. It was when they were wide awake, though, that Harry would have to keep his guard up.

Harry wasn't particularly tired. He managed to nod off somewhere around eleven, while the other two boys stayed up discussing the brilliant plan Hermione had given them (For the first time ever, he couldn't wait for Double Potions today!). He wasn't sure when they went down, but judging by the foul humour they were in at the moment, Harry figured it would probably take a spot of breakfast before Ron and Dean rejoined the realms of the non-whinging.

'Sod off, Potter.' Ron growled, his sleep-laden voice reminding Harry vaguely of a muggle lawn mower. Dean responded with his typical, protesting groan and scowl.

They turned another corner into the Grand Foyer. Harry chuckled as they walked through large, double doors and into the fresh morning air.

'Ok. You guys stay here and I'll go grab 'em for ya.' As if making to double back up the stairs, the Boy-Who-Was-Cruising-For-An-Arse-Kicking ducked and chuckled heartily when Ron picked a stone up off the gravel trail and chucked it at his head.

'Harry,' It was too damn early to be acting like a prat, Ron grumbled, 'has anyone told you before that you're a real prick?'

'Oh yea! Loads of times!'

They were nearly at the Lake now. The birds were chirping, the trees were singing as the wind lightly ruffled their branches and the sun was blazing brilliantly as it made its ascent over the Forbidden Forest – it was the perfect day! As if that weren't perfect enough, Draco Malfoy's fall, pending for the middle of Double Potions in t-minus four hours, was the absolute cherry on top. Harry couldn't help but grin.

'Hey, stop sulking like a couple of women! Today's going to be great!' Harry attempted to raise the flagging spirits of the exhausted two boys beside him. When they didn't even make an attempt to smile, Harry frowned slightly. Couple of moody arses…

Had he been looking close enough, he might have noticed the devious exchange of looks between Ron and Dean. They both seemed to read one another's minds as they came to the Lake. As usual before a jog, Harry began to stretch, which was what they were counting for. When he pulled up his ankle after a couple squats, his balance being compromised, both boys immediately flanked the Raven Haired Morning Prick, and went to toss him into the freezing water.

'Oi, what the hell are you doing? Get off me!' Harry attempted to flail his way to freedom as Ron grabbed him by his arms and Dean easily hoisted him up by his legs.

Although he fought, he secretly knew it was useless. He was a Seeker trying to fight against a Keeper and a Beater, not to mention that aside from Seamus, Ron and Dean were the two strongest blokes on the team. Therefore, as he neared the water with this knowledge in mind, Harry decided that his attempts to rescue himself were useless and instead let up a silent prayer to whatever god was listening. Please let it not be freezing for once!

Dean and Ron gave him a few swings then, letting him go, watched as their Captain made a healthy SPLASH in deep end of the Black Lake. Like a drug, the sight of Harry flailing about for a moment before he swam back to the shore restored both their good humours. They both laughed as Harry remerged with a death glare painted across his face that promised retribution later.

Whipping his wand out of his back pocket, Harry muttered a warming charm to battle the teeth-chattering cold seeping into his bones then, placing it back into his pocket, turned his attention back to Ron and Dean. Those two wankers were going down!

'Why look at that, Thomas,' Ron's obnoxious, full-of-himself voice assaulted him, in retribution for how he'd ribbed them not but three minutes ago, 'A sopping-wet, strapping bloke just washed up on the shore!'

'Indeed, Weasley. Wouldn't it be great for a couple of women like us to see him in his skivvies?' Dean grinned deviously and Harry, channeling Hermione and giving them one of his best 'Don't you dare!' looks, bent his knees defensively.

Ron's eyes narrowed and, stooping forward and hiking his shoulders up defensively with Dean, once again bringing up the right in a similar fashion lunged at Harry. Doing his best to beat them back with a few wildly placed elbows, he might have been successful were it not for Thomas overwhelming him and pinning his arms to his back. Not a second later, Ron gave a mighty tug and down went the shorts of the Boy-Who-Lived!

Both boys immediately took off like a shot around the Lake leaving Harry behind as he quickly hitched his shorts back up. He took a moment to look around, and was relieved to find that no one was on the grounds but them, yet. Ron and Dean might have considered counting just how blessed they were that no one else was around to see that.

He set off in fast pursuit of the two boys, who by then were about a quarter of the way around but Harry, being the faster of the two, quickly caught up with them and with as mighty a shove his smaller, wiry Seeker's build could muster, he successfully pushed a sprinting Ron into the shallow side of the icy lake. Ginger down! Now that leaves the other tosser. His eyes leveled menacingly on the dark-skinned boy just a few paces away.

'Harry, mate,' he huffed, as if his cowardly pleading was somehow going to change his mind, 'I swear on my life I didn't-'

But it was too late for Dean Thomas as Harry whipped his wand out from his back pocket and with an expert swish, banished the man/boy to join his other friend in the water. He smirked at them as they scrambled back to their feet, shivering. If vengeance was pumpkin juice, Dean and Ron had just drunk a mighty large goblet full of the stuff.

Ron was the first to get back on his feet. With a mighty roar, the mischievous redhead sprinted after Harry and let off an indignant shout. 'You are so dead, Potter!'

Forty minutes and approximately five dips in the Black Lake later, all three boys emerged through the Portrait Hole and trouped back to their Dorm in a dripping mess. It was still early and as they trudged up the stairs, Harry spotted a few people from the Quidditch team either lacing up their trainers or pulling on t-shirts through the open doors of the dorm rooms. He was pleased that they were following their example and following the training schedule.

It hadn't been met with a standing ovation, true, but when Harry pointed out to his teammates that these exercises would give them a massive advantage over the Slytherins – who didn't invest nearly as much time in physical training – their opinions suddenly changed. He wouldn't say that they were suddenly very keen on the idea of getting up before the bloody birds to take a couple turns about the Lake, but if it meant that they could more easily embarrass their snakely contenders, then let the sweat fall!

When they arrived back in their Dorm room, a satisfied Harry sat his damp but drying form onto the edge of his soft, down four-poster. He leaned over his trunk and began to fish out the white, pristine oxford shirt and black slacks of his school uniform, which he placed beside him, along with his toilet bag. Hearing the sound of the shower starting in the shared shower room, a quick scan of the room told him that Dean had gone in. Ron – the slowest of the boys when it came to getting things arranged – was still rummaging around in his trunk for whatever it was he was looking for. He assumed it was the boy's ever-elusive uniform shirt. Harry couldn't help but smirk as he pondered his best friend for a moment; Ron's predictable lack of organizational skills made for killer prank material.

One particularly hilarious memory was when he, Seamus and Dean had set him up on a scavenger hunt for all of his trousers while he was in the shower one morning. That had been bloody hilarious – especially the particularly priceless image of Ron storming down the stairs into the Gryffindor Common Room with nothing but a towel around his waist, angrily demanding his clothing back. That had gotten a right good laugh from everyone in the Common Room, and even button-happy Colin Creevy had managed to snap a photo of it!

'What the bloody hell are you staring at?'

Harry, somewhere in the middle of his memories, must not have noticed that he was staring at Ron with a particularly devious smile on his face. The redhead in question's eyes were narrowed in suspicion; trust Harry to pull a fast one over him while he wasn't looking and if the devious glint in those emerald eyes was anything to go on, it was highly plausible that he was plotting Ron's newest headache. In gruesome detail.

Harry, not feeling like giving Ron that satisfaction or inner ease of a straight answer, merely shrugged and waltzed past him – chipper as an ickle firsty who had just survived their first encounter with Professor Snape – to the showers, his clothing and toilet bag in tow.

Besides, he did feel a bit devious today to begin with for who could ever forget the day Draco Malfoy met his match?

Hermione Granger was not a happy camper. Sitting in the Great Hall by herself (Harry and Ron had yet to arrive, despite being up three hours earlier than everyone), she couldn't ignore the obnoxious sniggers and whispers of every student that passed by her seat. No doubt they were having a good laugh at that blasted, idiotic nickname Harry had unwittingly bestowed upon her yesterday.

Thinking about that just made her livid against her best friend again. Of course, she couldn't exactly blame the full scope of her current predicament on Harry alone. He had merely opened his stupid, prat mouth and come up with the name; it was Draco Sodding Malfoy who had eaves-dropped and spread the word abroad to the entire school with a fervor that made Lavendar and Parvati's gossip spreading skills look heinously inadequate. And unlike Malfoy's usually witless, universally offensive remarks, this was one thing that the entire student body could have a good laugh about because not only was it true but – were she not the one stuck with it, she might have found it too – pretty hilarious in being so true to form.

She looked up at the Slytherin table, where Mister Bollockless Git himself was smugly chatting it up with his Slytherin pals. He was completely oblivious to the Head Girl's murderous eyes trained on him and the vicious mantra that was going through her head: Say your prayers, Malfoy. Say your prayers… She was now more anxious than ever to get this pranking business under foot.

The sound of two people dropping heavily into the vacant spots on either side of her drew her attention from His Royal Ferretness.

'Morning, 'Mione,' Harry's obnoxiously bright voice chimed as he and Ron proceeded to pile their empty plates high with bacon, eggs and black pudding. His eyes had a mischievous glow to them this morning. 'Ready for Potions today?'

Hermione, knowing what Harry was referring to, felt her heart lighten just a bit at Malfoy's impending doom. 'Oh yes, and I am anticipating it eagerly.'

Ron, who was sitting beside her and tucking in to a plate full of eggs, sounded off from the left. 'I never thought I'd say it but you two are so lucky to be in Potions!' The Gryffindor Keeper enviously proclaimed. 'What I wouldn't give to see-'

'Shh!' Harry abruptly chastised him. Ron immediately went mum and shut up. 'Extendable ears, remember?'

He turned back to Hermione, who had begun gnawing half-heartedly at her toast. Harry frowned. The Hermione he knew, if she wasn't getting on their case about doing homework or studying more, was usually more talkative and cheerful. These past two days, it seemed that her whole personality had gone into a downwards spiral. Except for when she, surprisingly, had helped plan the impending disaster in Potions for this morning, Harry and Ron had seen very little of the cheerful, bossy Hermione they knew and loved.

He figured a change in subject was in order. 'Second Quidditch match is tomorrow. It's against Ravenclaw.'

Hermione, for her part, shrugged disinterestedly. 'So I've heard.'

'And another supporter in the stands could really do good for team moral…' Harry continued to press the issue, hoping that Hermione would accept his invitation. The bushy haired girl was seldom in the stands during Quidditch matches for the regular season and besides.

She seemed to catch on. But rather than give him the answer he had hoped for, she shook her head glumly. 'Sorry, Harry. I wish I could come down but I can't. I have to do revisions for my Arithmancy exam on Wedneday.'

Ron, who had just finished helping himself to another serving of bacon and eggs (running really did make his monstrous appetite even more grotesque) and bristled slightly at her comment. 'Oh come on, Hermione! You're probably the most prepared student in the class with or without your revisions. Tomorrow's match is important!'

'And why is that, Ronald?' She asked haughtily, shooting him a glare. How dare he call the importance of her studies into question!

Ron's comment also caught Harry off-guard. He looked quizzically at his friend. 'Yea, what's up? I haven't heard anything significant about the match either, except that Davies fancies his team as the best all of a sudden. Stupid ponce…'

'It's nothing big,' Ron started defencively, clearly letting slip something he oughtn't have. Harry hung on to his every word as if it were Merlin himself uttering them.. 'Just that I heard from Fred and George a couple days ago that there's supposed to be a scout from Puddlemere United in the crowd. But don't quote me on that!' He finished quickly.

Harry was flabbergasted, teetering on the edge of mirth and explosive excitement. This was the most amazing news in the world! United were a world class Quidditch team! Just getting a scout up to Scotland from their club was a huge achievement since it was a known fact that they usually chose their new Reserves from their own camp. Imagine that, he thought, a scout from Puddlemere. Imagine the possibilities…

'How do you know George isn't just having you on?' It was Hermione who burst his bubble. Despite making up with her, Harry couldn't resist a subtle glare her way as he grudgingly accepted the validity of that question.

Ron's confidence wasn't bruised, however. He plainly pointed it out to her, 'It makes sense. Fred and George are still good mates with Oliver Wood. You know he's their starting Keeper, right? He's the one who told them.'

Hermione – not taken in with Ron's logic as the boy in question was – merely gave her own classic, 'Hrrmph,' and went back to her breakfast.

There was silence for a moment, as Ron glared at the bushy-haired girl next to him with a familiar glint in his eyes. Harry could practically read that expression, as Ron was contemplating whether or not he wanted to press the issue with the Doubting Thomas sitting beside him. Quick to diffuse the tension, it was Harry who broke the silence.

'Do you think we should mention this during practice tonight?' He asked Ron, who then turned his attention to him.

'I wouldn't if I were you,' He nodded, going into his Second General mode that normally came about when they were discussing tactics. 'The older ones could probably take the pressure but the younger ones like Flannigan and Mavis would probably just cock up badly. Best keep this between us, if you know what I mean.'

Harry deemed this logic to be quite sound. He made to respond when he noticed that beside him, Hermione had pushed her plate away and was standing up. He shot her a quizzical look. 'Erm- where are you going?'

'Class,' she told him as she swung her back over her shoulder. 'Potions start in ten minutes. You had better get a move on too, Harry. I don't fancy having to sit by myself today.'

Glancing at the clarion Harry realized, with some disdain, that she was right. He had been so caught up in his discussion with Seamus about Malfoy's Day of Reckoning that he and Ron had been late for breakfast. Of course, he realized, this meant that he would not have the pleasure of watching Malfoy squirm on a full stomach. Pushing his plate away, he realized that he really did need to go, if they wanted to get a seat near Malfoy. Being close to him was crucial to the prank's success.

'Alright, mate, I'll see you later,' he told Ron, who was busily munching away on some toast and bacon. He had a free period until Charms in the afternoon.

'Get him good for me!' He called after them, waving them off with his fork.

The mature part of the day had just begun.

'That potion isn't supposed to be light blue at this stage, Finnigan! Twenty points from Gryffindor!' Professor Snape's oily voice boomed through the Dungeons as he made his rounds up and down the aisles, offering criticism to every working pair he passed whilst he did so.

All the Slytherins sniggered as he chewed out the Irish boy, save for 'poor' Blaise Zabini, with whom he was paired that day. The Gryffindors, on the other hand, all glared daggers into the Potion Master's back while he wasn't looking, house unity binding them together at that moment. Seamus didn't seem embarrassed by the attention being put on him, rather, he looked more annoyed as Snape then proceeded to vanish the contents within the cauldron, having deemed it unsuitable and bestowing the ill-fated pair with a zero for the day.

'Since your incompetence has caused not only your grade but your partner's to suffer as well, Mr. Finnigan, you are now going to be assigned a foot of parchment on the theory behind the Polyjuice Potion and where you went wrong. I expect it on my desk tomorrow at the beginning of class.' He then turned his back on the red-faced Irish boy to address the rest of the class. 'The same goes for anyone else who finds themselves incapable of producing a proper potion. This a N.E.W.T level class so I would expect that all of you would have no trouble brewing one of the less difficult potions you will be assigned throughout the duration of this course.'

Receiving the applause of several sour groans, his black, ominous eyes glittered with a particular caution in them as they scoured the class, as if daring someone to challenge his authority. When he appeared satisfied that his warning had sunk in, Hogwart's resident, human grease ball returned to his desk.

At the back of the classroom, partnered up with Hermione, Harry was inwardly grateful that he had escaped Snape's wrath. No, he preferred to go under the greasy git's radar today, considering that any minute now, Hermione would give him the all-clear and then the real chaos would start. Although he truly felt for Seamus and would normally have stuck up for him, he resisted the urge to point out how glaringly unjust it was that his dorm-mate had to produce that dreadful essay and Zabini got off scot-free. As it turned out, though, he kept his mouth shut and his hand on one of disposable wands Ron had supplied him with from his latest care package with Fred and George.

Beside him, Hermione's eyes were darting from the cauldron, which was now simmering along nicely with the potion at its proper, forest green shade, to Malfoy. The foul, slimy git was sitting at the desk diagonal to them, in the third row on the far right, partnered up with Parkinson. Harry noted with disdain that their potion appeared to be coming along fine as well, which was a testament to both his and Pug-Face's potion making skills. Although, he did rally slightly on the knowledge that their potion – as fine as it was – still wasn't up to the quality standards of he and Hermione's, which was as textbook perfect as it came. Also, in a moment, the Ferrety Git would be wishing he hadn't come to class today.

As it happened, Malfoy and Parkinson appeared to be wrapping up their own brewing session a bit early as the blonde held up a vial and the other Slytherin poured the goopy, not-quite-forest-green contents into it. Once they were done, Malfoy stood up and began to cap it. Harry took this as his cue. He turned to Hermione.

'Shall I add more boomslang skin?'

Hermione, making to look as if she were scrutinizing their perfect potion, nodded and told the anxious Harry with only a bit of satisfaction, 'Yes.'

This was how they had planned it.

Snape's timetable that he had handed out at the beginning of class had stated that they would begin with brewing and the last half would be lecture-style, as they skimmed over the theory of the Polyjuice Potion. Hermione initially wanted to get Malfoy at the end of class whilst he was leaving the Dungeons, which would have been funny enough. Harry, though, in order to ensure maximum hilarity had overridden her idea and deigned that they would carry out the brutal deed just as Draco was going up to deliver his potion. This would ensure that the whole class would see and if they were lucky enough, Snape's perpetual foul mood might cause him to verbally lash out at Draco's coming predicament, resulting in bonus points!

Wand hidden under the desk, Harry aimed at Draco's prone back as he walked over to Snape's desk, vial in hand. His aim true, he muttered the spell.

'Evanesco.'

A loud gasp from Pansy Parkinson vibrating through the semi-empty classroom drew everyone's eyes from their Cauldrons and surely, each one came to land on Draco Malfoy as he stood in the line, yet to truly comprehend what the fuss was about. Until a sudden draught in the Chamber alerted him to the god-awful nature of his predicament.

He looked down in sheer bewilderment to find that his black, finely pressed uniform-regulation trousers had been vanished right off his legs, knickers and all! With a horrified, yelping sound, the vial fell from his hand and shattered to the floor as Malfoy quickly pulled his robe tightly around his body to cover his nakedness. As if on cue, the whole dungeon – even the Slytherins, try as they might to appear po-faced – broke out into raucous laughter.

It was then that Snape chose to come on to the scene. The Potion's Master, clearly not as appreciative of the prank as the rest of the class, scowled daggers and swooped to the front of his class like a great, winged bat. Just him being there did little, though, to calm down the deafening chuckles or the students falling onto the dungeon floor left and right, holding on to their stomachs as if they too might just vanish.

'Silence, all of you!' Snape shouted in a sharp, hissing tone. And it was almost as if there was a Dementor in the room as all the mirth seemed to die and soon, it was just Malfoy standing there in utter bewilderment, the splattered remains of his potion at his feet. Snape was quick to tend to him, though. 'While you are all so juvenile to see the humour in this, I, for one, do not! Now, whoever it is who… pranked Mr. Malfoy, it would be in their best interest to come forward now otherwise I will find you myself and you won't want that, trust me.'

The class was deadly quiet. Harry almost broke out in a sweat that moment as he could feel Snape's eyes drilling a proverbial hole in his head. He clearly believed him to be the guilty party. Which was actually true. But he had no right to just assume that! Luckily, he was clever enough to quickly stash the fake wand in his robes, so if it came to what he thought it would, he wouldn't be found out.

'All right then, have it your way.' Snape declared silkily when no one came forward. Suddenly, he glided over to Harry and Hermione's desk, giving both a momentary startle. Almost predictably, he snapped, 'Potter! Hand over your wand!'

Harry, looking the very picture of innocence, feigned shock and even peppered in a bit of appallment, just to make it look even better. 'Sir?'

Snape wasn't convinced. He held out his hand, palm up to receive what he had demanded. 'You heard me, Potter. Your wand. Now!'

Hermione nervously squirmed a bit, ever so subtly beside him, as Harry obediently stuck his hand into his robe pocket, pulled out his real wand and placed it into Snape's outstretched palm without so much as breaking a quiver. With a sense of triumph, the Slimy Git of Hogwarts held his own wand tip against Harry's and uttered the spell.

'Prior Incantato!'

'So tell me again how you did it! I mean, you actually got him!' Ron was beside himself with laughter, wiping a tear out of his eye as he nearly fell off the bench in the Gryffindor House dressing room.

Everyone on the team was gathered around Harry, as he finished pulling on his shin guards and gauntlets, eager to hear the story that had spread around the school like wildfire: How Draco Malfoy had lost his pants in Potions Class. It was a story that was sure to go down in Hogwarts history; and Gryffindor was proud to boast that the brave hero responsible for all of this was their very own Quidditch Captain, Mr. Seeker himself!

Harry grinned, more than happy to appease his anxious audience with the tall caper of this morning's entertainment. Having pulled his shin guards on, he sat firmly on the bench and, like someone's grandfather would, began to recite the tale as it had happened.

'Well, children,' he started in his mock-patronizing tone, 'I had the idea to do it from Hermione, so if anyone deserves full credit for what happened to our dearly beloved King of Snakes, it is her. I was just the hired wand. But anyway, here's how it went down!'

Everyone leaned in eagerly.

'Ron gave me a disposable wand that his brothers sent him to do the spell since, as you know, I couldn't very well de-pants our little Dragon with my own wand. Risky business, that. So I smuggled it into the Potion's classroom. The first half of the class was brewing so when Malfoy was done cocking up his and Pug's potion…'

No one dared make a sound as Harry, inwardly preening with pride, used the silence to build momentum to the big finish. Wait for it…

'I vanished his trousers and knickers while he was waiting in the queue in front of Snape's desk.'

The whole locker room broke out into applause when he finished. Some of the older boys had taken to banging on the lockers and walls. Ron took that moment to jump up on the bench, triumphantly beaming as he applauded down at Harry, who was grinning a wickedly below him, sat down on the same stretch of oak.

'And everyone saw!' He shouted at the top of his lungs.

'That's it!' Dean shouted from the middle of the mesh of House Quidditch players. 'After practice, we're celebrating! All of us!'

'Bloody right we are!' Seamus seconded that notion.

'Oh yea!' It was Cormac McClaggen who punched his fist into the air. 'Room of Requirement! Midnight! Firewhisky! Be there!'

All the Seventh year boys began to rally around their new cause. As one, the whole team, led by Ron, hoisted Harry up on their shoulders and led their Captain out onto the pitch for the beginning of practice.

Despite the inward nagging in the back of his mind that Hermione would not approve of him letting on her true implications in the whole charade, Harry couldn't help but be taken in by the triumphant swell within him. Today was a proud day for Gryffindor House.