"HARRY'S CAUGHT THE SNITCH! GRYFFINDOR WINS, A HUNDRED AND SEVENTY TO SIXTY!"

The crowd was in uproar. The school poured onto the pitch, shouting and screaming.

"He didn't catch it, he nearly swallowed it…!" yelled Marcus Flint.

"But it's in his hand!" someone else, a Ravenclaw, countered.

"It's not like he did it on purpose…"

"Don't you remember Plumpton…?"

"That's right, a sort of Plumpton Pass…."

"A Snape Snatch?"

"A Snape Swallow."

"What was wrong with his broom? Are all Nimbus Two Thousands like that?"

"He nearly got chucked off, did you see?"

"But he didn't catch it!"

It didn't seem to matter. He hadn't broken any rules; he had the Snitch and Gryffindor had won.

Harry blinked dazedly at the object in his hand. It buzzed madly, as if trying to escape—or maybe that was just his head spinning from nearly being "chucked off" his broom….

"Harry!"

Ron and Hermione, closely followed by Hagrid, pushed through the crowd pressing around Harry. Hagrid grabbed Harry by his robes and began to haul him through the crowd, bellowing "Make way, there, make way! We're gonna get yeh a cuppa, Harry, yeh need one after that fright…."

Ron and Hermione followed in Hagrid's wake, each trying to talk over the other one.

"Harry, I was afraid you were going to die, you nearly—"

"Blimey, that was the best catch I ever—"

"How on earth did you hold on? You must have been—"

"But Harry, you should have seen what—"

"We can't tell him now, Ron, wait till we've got to Hagrid's house."

"Tell me what?" said Harry, dangling from Hagrid's big paw.

"What happened to you," said Hermione.

"I know what happened. I lost control of my broomstick. That stinking Potter always makes me nervous."

"No it wasn't that, it was…"

"We'll tell you when we get to Hagrid's," Hermione insisted.

But even after they arrived at Hagrid's little hut, she made Ron wait until Hagrid had poured Harry a mug of tar-like tea and forced him to choke down some rock cakes "tuh git yer strength back". Then she leaned forward, her hair falling in her eyes and her brow deeply furrowed.

"Harry," she said, "you know how you lost control of your broom?"

Harry nodded. "Like I said, I always get nervous when Potter's around. At least this time I didn't actually fall off…."

"No, Harry, it wasn't you," said Hermione. "Someone jinxed your broom."

"What? Hang on, I thought you couldn't do that. I mean, I thought…I read up on it, I wasn't looking forward to hanging onto a stick of wood a hundred feet in the air, so I looked it up, and a broom's nearly impossible to jinx after it's in flight, there's too much magic at work already…."

"It takes powerful Dark Magic, Harry," said Hermione.

"Who would do that, then?" asked Harry, but even as the words left his lips he had a sickening feeling he knew who.

Ron and Hermione exchanged looks.

"Coach Potter," said Ron.

"Rubbish!"

All three of them jumped. Hagrid was eleven feet tall and easily weighed a half a tonne, but they had managed to forget him sitting there like a small mountain.

"Why would Jimmy do somethin' like that?" he demanded now.

They blinked at him.

"Jimmy?" they said, almost in unison.

"Professor Potter," he clarified. "He wouldn't do nothin' o' the sort. He was reffin' the match, fer goodness sake!"

"Yes, but Hagrid…"

Harry, Ron and Hermione looked at one another, wondering what to tell him. After a long deliberation, Harry decided on the truth.

"I saw something…I mean, I found out something, about Ji…Coach," he said. "He tried to get past that three-headed mongrel on Halloween. It bit him. We think he was trying to steal whatever it's guarding."

"Oi, first off, Fluffy's no mongrel."

"Fluffy?"

"Yeah, a'right, he's mine, I bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub las' year—I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the—"

Harry waited politely, but Hagrid checked himself. "Now, don't ask me anymore," he said gruffly. "That's top secret, that is."

"But Coach is trying to steal it."

"Rubbish," said Hagrid again. "Yeh don't know Professor Potter. He's not like that. Anyway, he's a Hogwarts teacher; he'd do nothin' of the sort."

"So why did he just try to kill Harry?" Ron demanded. Any doubts he'd had on the subject appeared assuaged; he now seemed as ready as Harry or Hermione to pronounce Coach Potter guilty.

"I know a jinx when I see one, Hagrid, I've read all about them," said Hermione. "You've got to keep eye contact. I saw him; he was right across from Harry and staring at him and not blinking and not moving and muttering under his breath; he definitely wasn't watching the match!"

"It was lucky he was right next to that stand; you barely caught the end of his robes with your fire thing, Hermione…as it is, you almost fell off the stand and I think you knocked Professor Quirrell over…."

"You set him on fire?" Harry said eagerly, his eyes lighting up.

"Well, just the edge of his robes, I mean, just enough to distract him," said Hermione.

"Now you all listen here!" said Hagrid hotly. "I don' know why Harry's broom acted like that, but James Potter wouldn' try an' kill a student, any student! I tol' yeh once, an' I'll tell yeh again, just you forget it!"

There was silence for a long moment and Harry finished the last of his tea and stood up.

"Thanks for tea, Hagrid," he said quietly. "Ron, Hermione. We've got the rest of the day free; I think it would be an excellent time to have a look round the library."

Something in his tone made Hagrid look at them suspiciously. "What d'yeh want to go to library for?" he asked.

"Don't worry, it's not for school," said Harry. "Ever since you mentioned Nicolas Flamel, we've been trying to find out who he is. Come on, you both. Good-by, Hagrid."

By the time Christmas holidays came around, it felt as though they'd been through every possible book in the library. The trouble was, it was very hard to know where to begin, not knowing what Flamel might have done to get himself into a book. He wasn't in Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century, or Notable Magical Names of Our Time; he was missing, too, from Important Modern Magical Discoveries, and A Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry.

Hermione wanted to go through all the books in the library one by one, but two minutes in the vast literary emporium quickly deposed that idea; there were hundreds of narrow rows, thousands of shelves, tens of thousands of books. So she devised a list of subjects and titles that seemed likely and went through them one by one, getting extra school credit meantime for doing some alphabetising.

Ron said vaguely that he thought he'd heard the name somewhere before. He had started to pull interesting-looking books off the shelves at random and was largely responsible for the books needing Hermione to alphabetise them.

Harry tended to wander toward the Restricted Section—the books full of powerful Dark Magic, the books you needed a specially signed note from a teacher to even look at. He had been wondering for a while if Flamel wasn't somewhere in there. Whenever he thought Madam Pince the librarian wasn't looking he would sidle in that direction, always fruitlessly as he was sure to be intercepted by Madam Pince or some other teacher or, once, Percy Weasley the Prefect.

They'd already agreed not to ask anyone else for help; Potter was on friendly terms with virtually the entire school and they couldn't risk him finding out what they were up to. So it was that help, when it finally arrived, came in the most unexpected shape possible.

The last Friday of term also saw their last Potions class of term. Ron had up to this point been granted his wish to be paired with Harry, as they normally sat together, but today Professor Arbutus decided to change things up.

"Snape, with Thomas," he said. Ron gave a slight groan.

"Weasley, with Malfoy." Ron groaned louder, and Malfoy didn't look any more pleased.

"He's pretty good at Potions, Ron," said Harry reasonably.

"He could be the best bloody Potioneer in England and I wouldn't want to work with him," grumbled Ron, collecting his books and his wand to go and sit with Malfoy.

Longbottom was paired with Parvati Patil, who spent most of her time examining her nails and gossiping with Hermione's partner, Lavender Brown. Neville did his best with the potion on his own, but Malfoy sat right next to him, and his sneering comments kept throwing Longbottom off balance. His potion ended up exactly the wrong shade of violent orange, and it bubbled ominously.

"Your Forgetfulness Potion looks like pumpkin juice, Longbottom," hissed Malfoy. "Getting hungry?"

Longbottom fumbled and dropped his pestle, clearly trying not to burst into tears. Hermione picked it up for him. "Don't listen to him," she whispered. "Just add the Valerian sprigs now, Neville, it should change in time…"

"Ooh, can't even make the most basic potion in the book without Granger's help? I forget why you were accepted into Hogwarts…some sort of charity? Or maybe just to lower the grade curve? I bet it was a coalition of students for the promotion of self-esteem. 'Whatever happens, I can't be worse than Longbottom…'"

"Shut up, Malfoy," said Ron angrily. "Leave him alone."

"Oh, who's gonna make me, Weasley?"

"You're looking at him."

"You? And what army? Oh, I know. All your big tough older brothers, am I right?"

"I could take you on all on my own, if you weren't too much of a coward to come to a challenge."

"A coward, am I? Who was the one stupid enough to be out of their bed in the middle of the night?"

"I don't know. Ask your mum."

Malfoy went pink. "Take that back."

Harry, not looking up from his own Forgetfulness Potion, murmured, "Er, Ron? Malfoy?"

"Shut up, Snape." Malfoy's eyes narrowed as he glared at Ron. "Take it back, Weasley."

"Surprised you even understood it. The way your mummy and daddy treat you, you'd think you were about three years old."

"I forget, which of our mothers had about half a dozen more children than she could actually support?"

"Er, Ron…"

"Shut up, Harry. For some people, one child is about four too many."

"Malfoy!"

"Shut up, Snape! I just don't understand, Weasley. Are your parents stupid or were they just not paying attention?"

Harry tried again. "On the subject of inattention…"

"Shut up, Harry! My parents didn't get involved with You-Know-Who, did they? And then chicken out at the last second?"

"They were probably too busy making babies by the barrelful. Besides, you may notice that my parents were cleared of all charges…."

"And you may notice," broke in Harry, by now thoroughly fed up, "an acrid, burning smell, as of melting plastic. That, Ron, Malfoy, would be your Forgetfulness Potion boiling over. I suppose you just…forgot it."

Malfoy looked at the untended cauldron and swore. Ron yelped and switched the fire off, stirring violently in the wrong direction. Harry sighed, brushed his hair out of his eyes, added two pinches of mistletoe to his and Dean's concoction, and turned around.

"Glacius," he said, and Malfoy and Ron's potion froze, mid-bubble.

"If you'll have a look now," Harry said conversationally, "you'll notice that as well as letting your potion overflow, you added three sprigs of Valerian instead of two. Luckily they're fairly easy to remove. You'll also notice that that nice burning plastic smell has completely evaporated, and should you proceed to unfreeze this potion very, very slowly, you may go on to the next step in the instructions. Now. I suggest that you," pointing at Malfoy, "apologise to Ron and Longbottom for insulting their intelligence, bravery, appetite, and parentage, and that you" he pointed at Ron, "apologise to Malfoy for what you said about his mother."

They both stared at him. "You're daft," said Ron. "You're mad," said Malfoy.

"Oh, very well. I'll just boil this right back up again and you can explain to Professor Arbutus when he…"

"No!" said Ron and Malfoy together. They glared at each other.

"Make him go first," said Ron.

"No, you go first, Ron. His'll take longer."

Ron looked at the cauldron and muttered something.

"Sorry…I didn't hear that," said Harry sweetly.

"Sorryforwhatisaidboutyourmumitakeitback," he said, not looking at Malfoy.

"Now, Malfoy?"

"I have no intention of apologising to scum like this,"

"Oh, very well. Incen…"

"SorryWeasley," said Draco.

"For…?"

"Insultingyourfamily."

"And…?"

"SorryLongbottom. Forinsultingyourintelligence," he added quickly.

"You take it all back?"

Draco looked like he might hurl. "Yeah," he said. "I take it all back."

Harry nodded in satisfaction and returned to his own Potion, which was simmering beautifully under Dean's careful ministrations.

Harry stayed a bit after class to get some clarification from Arbutus, and when he came out he saw Malfoy leaning against the wall, Crabbe and Goyle hulking behind him.

"Snape," said Malfoy, standing up straight.

"Hello, Malfoy," said Harry. "Leaning against a wall waiting for someone doesn't actually look cool, you know." Unless you have a couple of mountain-shaped goons forming your backdrop.

"I wanted to ask you something, Snape," said Malfoy, ignoring him. "Walk with me."

Walk with me? Seriously? He probably got that from his father. He wouldn't have obliged, except that Malfoy apparently was going to follow him whether he wanted him to or not. He did manage to walk fast enough that Malfoy had to jog to keep up, putting him at what people in books called a psychological disadvantage.

"I can't help but feel," said Malfoy, puffing a little, "that you and I got off on the wrong foot."

"Which foot would that be? The one where you went on a blood-purist rant the first time I ever saw you or the one where you bully and humiliate my flatmates on a regular basis? Oh, or maybe the one where you tried to get my…my friend" he relished the word "expelled by goading him into a sham fight? Somehow, I feel there just wasn't a right foot with you, Malfoy."

"On the subject of your friends, Snape. Honestly, maybe you just don't know, but some wizarding families are much better than others. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I blame myself; I should have brought it to your attention weeks ago. But people like that Longbottom, or Weasley, or that Hagrid…or, for heaven's sake, Granger, a Muggle-born! Really, Harry, it's like you have no wizard pride at all!"

Harry mentally wondered if wizard pride demanded the use of nine italics in one paragraph.

"I simply don't understand why you stood up for them. After all, you know that Longbottom's an idiot…."

"Better an idiot than a bully," said Harry. "You can't help being an idiot."

"Very clever, Snape. But really, Harry, you could be great, you know; with your family and your history and your skills, you could be at the top of the social ladder. I could help you there. Being in Gryffindor's no real hindrance, not if you're sensible."

Harry noted the way he shifted from surname to given name depending on whether he wanted to be patronising or ingratiating.

"Why do you care where I am on the social ladder?" Harry asked.

"Just trying to be friendly, Snape. As I say, I believe we got off on the wrong foot."

And it would look great to everyone who believes your family's in league with Voldemort if you become friends with the one who destroyed him, thought Harry.

"Just think about it, Harry. My family is connected with everyone who's anyone. Any named wizard of any repute is a friend of my father's."

Harry hadn't meant to say it. He really hadn't. Until he had said it, he hadn't even known he was thinking about it.

"Like Nicolas Flamel, for instance?" As soon as it tumbled out of his mouth he wanted to kick himself in the head.

Malfoy raised his eyebrows. "The alchemist? Of course. He lives over in Devon, practically next door to our Manor; we invite him for dinner often."

Alchemist.

"But why on earth should you want to know about him?" asked Draco. "That Granger doing some kind of extra-credit research?"

"Yes," said Harry. He'd have to remember that one; it was believable and probably as often as not true. "On great alchemists of the century."

"Well, Flamel is hardly of this century, is he?" said Draco. "He must be five hundred years old if he's a day…"

Alchemist. Five hundred years old. Lives in Devon. That was plenty to go on, thought Harry. He nodded to Draco.

"Well, I do appreciate your advice, Malfoy," he lied, "and I'll certainly think about what you said."

AN: This chapter largely inspired by user Man of Constant Sorrow.