I do not own James Bond, Pepsi, or Dairy Queen.

Chapter 9: The Late Night Excursion

Harry had never believed that he would meet a boy he hated more than Dudley, and he was right. Draco Malfoy did manage to hold a close second, though. Still, first-year Gryffindors only had Potions with the Slytherins, so he didn't have to put up with Malfoy's antics much. Or at least, they didn't until they spotted a notice pinned up in the Gryffindor common room that made them all groan. Flying lessons would be starting on Thursday and Gryffindor and Slytherin would be learning together.

"Typical," said Ron darkly. "Just what I always wanted. To make a fool of myself on a broomstick in front of girls."

Harry had been looking forward to learning to fly more than anything else, and he wasn't going to let the misfortune of learning with the Slytherins get him down.

"You don't know that you'll make a fool of yourself," said Harry reasonably. "Anyway, I know you're really into Blaise, but no one will know how to fly. Will they?"

Ron paled.

Malfoy claimed to be an excellent flier and complained often and loudly about first years never getting on the house Quidditch teams. He also told long, boastful stories that always seemed to end with him narrowly escaping Muggles in helicopters. He wasn't the only one, though: the way Seamus Finnigan told it, he'd spent most of his childhood zooming about the countryside on his broomstick. Harry knew it for a fact, from Seamus himself, that he'd never have had the chance, because his parents made him look after his little sister, Shaina, since he was old enough to walk, despite their one year age difference. Everyone from wizarding families talked about Quidditch constantly. Ron had already had a big argument with Dean Thomas about soccer. Ron couldn't see what was exciting about a game with only one ball where no one was allowed to fly. A few seconds later, he was sufficiently excited when Seamus set a picture of the West Ham soccer team on fire while trying to get them to move by prodding them.

Neville had never been on a broomstick before in his life, because his grandmother had never let him near one. Privately, Harry felt she had good reason, because Neville managed to have an extraordinary number of accidents in physical and magical classes.

Hermione Granger was almost as nervous about flying as Neville was. This was something you couldn't learn by heart out of a book – not that she hadn't tried. At breakfast on Thursday she bored them all stupid with flying tips she'd gotten out of a book called Quidditch Through the Ages. Neville was hanging on to her every word, desperate for anything that might help him hang on to his broomstick later, but everyone else was very pleased when Hermione's lecture was interrupted by the arrival of the mail.

Harry hadn't had a single letter since Hagrid's note, something that Malfoy had been quick to notice, of course. Malfoy's eagle owl was always bringing him packages of sweets from home, which he opened gloatingly at the Slytherin table.

A barn owl brought Neville a small package from his Grandmother. After Neville had fished it out of his juice, he opened it excitedly and showed them a glass ball the size of a large marble, which seemed to be full of white smoke.

"It's a Remembrall!" he explained. "Gran knows I forget things – this tells you if there's something you've forgotten something important. Look, you hold it tight like this and if it turns red – oh…" His face fell, because the Remembrall had suddenly glowed scarlet, "…you've forgotten something…"

Neville was trying to remember what he'd forgotten when Draco Malfoy, who was coincidentally passing the Gryffindor table, snatched the Remembrall out of his hand.

Harry and Seamus jumped to their feet. They were half hoping for a reason to fight Malfoy, but Professor McGonagall, who could spot trouble quicker than any teacher in the school, was there in a flash.

"What's going on?" she asked in her absurdly Scottish accent.

"Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor."

Scowling, Malfoy quickly dropped the Remembrall back on the table.

"Just looking," he said, and he sloped away with Crabbe and Goyle, his bodyguards, behind him.

Professor McGonagall rounded on Neville, "Longbottom! You have ten minutes to be down at the Quidditch pitch for your laps, you had better hurry."

At three-thirty that afternoon, Harry, Ron, and the other Gryffindors hurried down the front steps onto the grounds for their first flying lesson. It was a clear, breezy day, and the grass rippled under their feet as they marched down the sloping lawns toward a flat patch of open grass beside the hedges surrounding Hagrid's hut.

The Slytherins were already there, and so were twenty broomsticks lying in neat rows on the ground. Harry had heard Fred and George complain about the school brooms, saying that some of them started to vibrate if you flew too high, or always flew slightly to the left.

Their teacher, Professor West, arrived. He had short black hair and bags under his eyes.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" he barked. "Everyone stand by a broomstick! Come on, hurry up!"

Harry glanced down at his broom. It was old and some of the twigs stuck out at odd angles.

"Stick out your dominant hand over your broom," said Professor West, "and say 'UP!'"

"UP!" everyone shouted.

Harry's broom jumped into his hand at once, but it was one of the few that did. Hermione Granger's simply rolled around on the ground, and Neville's nailed him at the joining of the legs. Perhaps brooms, like horses, could tell when you were afraid, thought Harry; there was a quaver in Neville's voice that said only too clearly that he wanted to keep his broom on the ground.

Professor West then showed them how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end, and walked up and down the rows correcting their grips. Harry and Ron were delighted when he told Malfoy he'd been doing it wrong for years and that the twigs should face the back.

"NOW WHEN I BLOW MY WHISTLE, YOU KICK OFF FROM THE GROUND, HARDER THAN A CLASSIC NINTENDO GAME!" shouted Professor West. "KEEP YOUR BROOM STEADY, RISE A COUPLE METERS, AND THEN COME STRAIGHT BACK DOWN BY LEANING FORWARD SLIGHTLY! ON MY WHISTLE – THREE – TWO –"

But Neville, nervous and jumpy and frightened of being left on the ground, pushed off harder than Contra before the silly looking whistle had touched Professor West's lips.

"COME BACK, S*******!" he shouted, but Neville was rising straight up like a fat kid sucked up a chocolate pipe – twelve meters – twenty meters – thirty meters. Harry saw his scared white face look down at the ground falling away, saw him gasp, his eyes roll up in his head, and –

WHAM – a thud and a nasty crack and Neville lay facedown on the grass in a heap. Malfoy and his cronies laughed and laughed as Neville's broom suddenly fell and hit his unconscious body.

Professor West checked his watch then pointed his wand at Neville. A bluish sparkle swept across Neville's body and returned to his wand.

"BROKEN A**!," he shouted. "YOU, PRAWN AND YOU, PERVERTED, HAUL LONGA** TO THE HOSPITAL WING! AND DON'T TOUCH HIS REAR! He s*** himself."

As Ron and Parvati lifted Neville by the shoulders and carried him to the hospital wing, doubtlessly causing more harm, the rest of the class wiped the tears from their eyes and tried to catch their breath, while still smiling.

He turned to the rest of the class and resumed use of his outsi – err, voice.

"NONE OF YOU IS TO MOVE WHILE I GO TAKE A PISS! YOU LEAVE THOSE BROOMS WHERE THEY ARE OR I'LL HAVE YOU POLISHING BROOMHANDLES FOR A MONTH!"

Professor West stomped behind the hedge. No sooner was he out of sight than Malfoy straddled his broom.

"Look!" said Malfoy, waving a glass ball clutched in his fist. "It's Longa**'s forgetful ball! I think I'll leave it somewhere fun for him to retrieve it from, like in Hagrid's outhouse!"

"Stop! Bring that back!" Harry shouted, but Malfoy had already begun to fly away. He hadn't been lying, he could fly level with the topmost branches of an oak he called, "Come and get it!"

Harry grabbed his broom.

"No!" shouted Dean. "I want to see Neville dig through Hagrid's s***." Harry ignored him.

Blood was pounding in his ears. Crabbe and Goyle were taking bets. He mounted his broom, and he kicked the ground harder than Contra 2. The gust generated by his kickoff consoled the boys by making the girls' skirts flutter. Hermione Granger took no notice and went on reading her book.

Air rushed through his hair, and his robes whipped out behind him – and in a rush of fierce joy he realized he'd found something he could do without being taught – this was easy, this was wonderful. He pulled his broomstick up a little to take it even higher, and heard shrieks from the girls and groans from the Slytherins.

He turned his broom sharply to face Malfoy in midair. He looked miffed.

"Give it here!" shouted Harry, "or you'll have a broken a**, too!"

"Oh, yeah?" said Malfoy, trying to sneer, though he obviously needed to practice it more.

"No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, genius!" Harry called.

Malfoy went deathly pale. He drew back his arm to throw it to Harry, but nearly fell off his broom and dropped it.

"S***!" he yelled.

Harry leaned forward and pointed his broom handle down – next second he was gathering speed in a steep dive, racing the ball – wind whistled in his ears, mingled with the cheers of the Slytherins – he reached out his hand – a foot from the ground he caught it, just in time to pull his broom straight, nailing Goyle in his sensitive spot. Harry toppled off the broom onto Goyle's back with the Rememrall clutched safely in his fist.

"HARRY POTTER!"

His heart sank faster than he just dived. They all turned toward the hedge, and were surprised to see no one there, then turned toward the castle and Professor McGonagall. Harry got to his feet, trembling.

"Never – in all my time at Hogwarts –"

"I'm sorry, Professor. Malfoy –"

"That was a d*** good catch!" she shouted like a drunken Scotsman. "Follow me, Potter. And Fifty points from Slytherin for fumbling, Malfoy!"

Harry and Professor McGonagall walked up the castle. Harry was proud of himself. He had done something foolish and it had paid off. Professor McGonagall led him to a classroom. She stuck her head inside.

"Excuse me, Professor Lovecraft, could I borrow Wood for a moment?"

Wood was a burly fifth-year boy with short brown hair.

"Follow me, you two," Professor McGonagall said in her ridiculous accent.

"In here."

"You know I'm not gay, Professor," Wood said, turning his head.

"Shut up and get inside."

Professor McGonagall pulled them into a classroom and shut the door behind them.

"Potter, this is Oliver Wood. Wood – I've found you a Seeker."

Wood's expression changed from puzzlement to delight.

Harry frowned, "What's a Seeker?" Harry asked. He thought Seekers might be important, but that was mostly because it was capitalized.

"Are you serious, Professor?"

"Absolutely," said Professor McGonagall crisply. "The boy's a natural. I've never seen anything like it. Well, not since the 1965 World Cup between America and Vietnam. Was that your first time on a broomstick, Potter?"

Harry nodded silently. Best not to overplay his hand.

"He caught that thing after a fifty-foot dive," Professor McGonagall told Wood in her ridiculous accent. "Didn't even scratch himself."

"Well, he probably hasn't even hit puberty, Professor, I kind of doubt he would 'til then."

"Wood is captain of the Gryffindor team," Professor McGonagall explained.

"He's just the build for a Seeker," said Wood, now walking around Harry and staring at him. "Light – seedy - we'll have to get him a decent broom, Professor – a Cleansweep Seven, maybe."

"I shall speak to Professor Dumbledore and see if we can't bend the first-year rule. Heaven knows it wouldn't be difficult to convince him."

Professor McGonagall peered sternly over her glasses at Harry.

"I want to hear you're training hard, Potter, or I may change my mind about punishing you."

Then she donned a very fake smile.

"Don't disappoint me."

"You're joking."

It was dinnertime. Harry had just finished telling the other Gryffindors what had happened when he'd left the grounds with Professor McGonagall. Dean had a piece of olophant steak and kappa kidney pie halfway to his mouth, but he'd forgotten all about it.

"Seeker?" Percy gaped. "But first years never – and I really mean never – get to play! It's completely against the –"

"Rules," Fred and George said simultaneously. "You're always going on about them. Did you screw the rulebook last night?"

"I love rules! I would never seek to break them!"

"No, we mean, literally, did screw them?"

"I start training next week," said Harry. "Only don't tell anyone. Wood wants to keep it a secret."

Fred and George shrugged, "Don't worry about us, we're on the team, too – Beaters. Anyway, it's about time we go. We have to check into a rumor about something naughty."

Fred and George had hardly disappeared when Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle showed up.

"Having a last meal, Whatever-your-first-name-is Potter? When are you getting the train back to the M********?"

"Firstly, what the hell is a M*******? Second, I can see that you're feeling a lot more secure now that your bouncers are covering your flanks."

"I'd take you on anytime on my own," said Malfoy. "Tonight if you want. Wizard's duel. Wands only – no contact. What's the matter? Never heard of a Wizard's duel before, I suppose?"

"Hold on. If you're a wizard, why don't you just call it a duel?"

"Less talking, more agreeing."

Seamus stepped up next to Harry and punched his shoulder. "I'm his second, who's yours?"

"Crabbe."

Crabbe turned to Malfoy with a twisted frown on his face, "Can we vote?"

"NO! We'll meet at midnight in the trophy room. It's big enough for a duel, but not important enough to even get mentioned past book two, and therefore, how the room will look afterward won't matter."

When Malfoy had gone, Ron walked up and put a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Good luck. I'll come with."

"Thanks."

"I'm not going to help. It just sounds entertaining. I'll bring snacks. Got any allergies?"

"No."

"Excuse me."

Harry and Ron turned and noticed Hermione Granger.

"Can't a person conspire to break the rules in peace?"

Hermione ignored him and turned to Harry.

"I couldn't help but overhear that you're planning to fight that p****, Malfoy."

"And?"

"And it sounds fun, I want to come with," she muttered.

"This is rather out of character, don't you think?" Ron wondered aloud.

"Of course, I only want to come with to stop you. Even if I really do want to see Malfoy get his arse kicked and needed an excuse in case we got caught."

"That's devious. Why aren't you in Slytherin? Or Ravenclaw? Either one would better suit your character."

"A couple reasons. I didn't want to be in the same house as Malfoy, because he kept looking up my skirt. And Ravenclaw was out, because I wouldn't stand out in talent among them."

Harry, Ron, and Seamus gaped.

Terry Boot walked over as the three stood there with geese nesting in their open mouths.

"Hey, guys. I heard you were going to fight Draco in the trophy room. Can I watch?"
"Sure, whatever, you sugar addicted Smurf," Ron muttered, trying not to strangle Terry out of sheer frustration.

"Half-past eleven," Seamus murmured, "we'd better go."

They pulled on their bathrobes, picked up their wands, and crept across the tower room, down the spiral staircase, and into the Gryffindor common room. A few embers were still glowing in the fireplace, turning all the armchairs into hunched black shadows. They were almost to the portrait hole when a voice spoke from the chair nearest them, "I can't believe you were going to leave me behind."

"Yeah, sure," Ron snorted.

A lamp flickered on. It was Hermione Granger, wearing a pink nightdress and a smirk.

"Of course, I could tell Percy if you didn't bring me with."

"Welcome to the team!"

"Then let's go!" Harry said, frustrated. He pushed open the portrait of the Big Boned Lady and climbed through the hole.

Ron came next, dropping a couple pieces of popcorn as he stepped out. Seamus followed him. Hermione followed Seamus, then squeaked when a gust of wind up the hall made her nightdress swirl.

"It's cold out here! I should have worn pants!"

All the boys bent their knees visibly.

Hermione pointed behind them, "You!"

They all turned and spotted Terry Boot step out of the shadows.

"Hey guys!"

"Dang it!" Harry muttered. "This is just what we needed!"

"Hold on," said Hermione.

She cast a spell on him. Terry gasped and his eyes shifted out of focus.

"He can no longer say anything. And he won't remember what happens until someone removes the curse."

Ron gaped, "Hermione, you are brilliant."

"I know, right."

"But you're too full of yourself."

She frowned at him and fixed him with a stare of deepest loathing.

"Don't worry," Harry whispered to Ron. "She'll warm up to you by book seven."

The five students made their silent way through the halls. Well, as silent as you can be when trying to stifle laughter caused by taunting someone who wouldn't remember anything. They finally reached the trophy room.

Hermione was about to step in when Harry grabbed her arm, "Hold on a second. This is too easy."

He kicked Terry in the rear. As soon as his foot hit the floor, he turned to stone.

Hermione gasped, "It's a petrifaction spell!"

She removed her spell on Terry, wiping his memory. Then they fled as quickly as they could.

They heard Filch in the hall nearby, coming closer. They could tell it was him because he was muttering a steady stream of swearwords as he walked.

"Look a door!" whispered Ron.

He tried the handle.

"S***! It's locked!"

"Oh, move over!" Hermione snarled. She tapped the wand with her lock and whispered the very prettily named spell, "Aloha Mora!"

The lock clicked and door swung open – they piled through it, shut it quickly, and pressed their ears against it, listening.

"Nothing," Ron whispered, relieved.

Harry turned around to try to figure out just where they were. For a moment, he was sure he'd walked into a nightmare – this was too much on top of what had already happened.

He was looking into the eyes of a monstrous dog, a dog that filled the whole place between ceiling and floor. It had three heads. Three pairs of rolling, mad eyes; three noses, twitching and quivering in their direction; three drooling mouths, saliva hanging in slippery ropes from yellowish fangs.

It was standing quite still, all six eyes staring at them, and Harry knew that the only reason they weren't dead was that it was considering whether to empty its dog bowl first. Seeing a giant plastic bowl with the word "Fluffy" on the side gave Harry the perverse desire to laugh.

Harry groped for the doorknob.

"Ooh! Someone's grabbing my –" Hermione cried.

"Sorry!"

They fell backward – Harry slammed the door shut, and they ran, almost flew back to Gryffindor tower.

They stumbled through the portrait hole and collapsed into the armchairs around the fire. It was a while before anyone said anything. Ron, indeed, looked like he'd run ten kilos.

"What do you think they're doing, keeping a thing like that locked up in a school?" Seamus said finally. "If any dog needs exercise, it's that one."

Hermione had got her breath back and took a moment to twitch her nightdress hem down half a foot.

"You don't use your eyes, any of you, do you?" she snapped.

"Yeah, sure. It was standing over a trapdoor, which it seemed to be guarding. Not to mention it was a Rottweiler, which is a guard dog." Harry wheezed. He wasn't in too good of shape himself.

"And," Hermione added, "It was in the third floor corridor!"

"Hey," said Ron, "That's the place that kids go to to die! Remember what Snape said?"

Hermione stood up, glaring at them.

"I hope you're pleased with yourselves. We could have all been killed. Now, in case anyone's listening, I'm going to bed, still very upset about being shanghaied into going with you against my will."

Ron stared after her, his mouth open.

"I wonder what's in the vault," Harry pondered. "Ron, your line."

"Did you see as she went up the stairs, she really isn't wearing pants!"

Harry turned around quickly, but Hermione was already closing the door.

"Shoot!"

Then he remembered something important.

"Hagrid and I collected a grimy little package from vault seven-something-something in chapter five! The same day that that Gringotts break-in supposedly happened! I wonder what Hagrid did with it… Hopefully, he put it somewhere safe."

Next time on HPMF:

Ron: I'm going to get a ton of candy!

Luna: Can I have some?

Ron: I'm not sharing!

Harry: Who are you talking to?