"Talking/Dialogue"

Thoughts/Spells

'Quotes'

Writing/Text

Tom/Diary

A Friendly Duel

Dumbledore's Office

Friday

October 23rd, 1992

Dumbledore leaned back into his armchair, stroking his beard with a stoic expression.

"I see…"

The headmaster remained quiet after those words, deep into his thoughts. Absolute silence would have befallen the room if not for the soft trilling from Fawkes on his perch, having sensed his companion's emotions. The phoenix was as vibrant and majestic as always, but his feathers were starting to show the smallest hint of grey, a sign he was approaching his Burning Day.

Snape tried not to show his discomfort at the sound, only casting a wary glance to the side as he waited for the older wizard to gather his thoughts. Ordinarily, the happenings in Slytherin house wouldn't produce so much as a raised eyebrow but not anymore.

Dumbledore was concerned, as much as he tried to hide it. And if Snape was being honest, so was he.

When raised voices had reached his ears from inside the potion's classroom, he hadn't wasted any time investigating the source. The first thought he had was that perhaps the unsettling friendship between his godson and Potter had come to an end. It would have made things simpler for him, despite having had to deal with renewed hostilities.

But when has fortune ever favored me?

Snape prided himself on his total mastery over his emotions, but he would have been lying if the sight of Draco and Potter standing side-by-side opposite a redhead hadn't unnerved him. It had looked so familiar, like a mirror into his past, showing him his decisions. His mistakes.

He had met with Dumbledore once news of it reached his ears, urging him to act before Potter became fully ensnared. When the headmaster had asked for patience, he had insisted but to no avail.

Dumbledore wanted more information before choosing a course of action, and Snape was forced to oblige.

"If Draco were lying, I would be able to tell," He said, earning a glance. "Lucius only asked for him to make another attempt at befriending Potter. The letter I received from Narcissa confirmed this."

"No hint of another motive?"

"None. Whatever it may be, they're keeping it a secret from their son."

Lucius was planning something. That much was obvious, but they had very little idea as to what that could be. Since the Muggle Protection Act had passed, the Senior Malfoy had been overly cautious, having been caught on the back foot, but his response was due any moment.

On that front, they could do nothing but wait.

"Perhaps, you should…reconsider taking action in regard to Draco and Potter."

Dumbledore was quick to deny him.

"No," He shook his head. "If we were to forcefully come between them, we risk alienating Harry from us."

"And if I were to tell you they've taken to training together recently?" Snape drawled out.

It hadn't escaped his notice the haggard state his godson sometimes wanders into the common room with. The portraits hanging all around the room offered him a great view of the happenings in his house, which he wasn't above using. He also wasn't above placing a discreet listening charm on Pansy.

Draco really did almost tell her everything.

"Training, you say?" Dumbledore asked.

"Yes. And nothing as simple as learning how to cast a spell," Snape said. "If I were to guess, they've taken to dueling one another."

Nothing truly harmful now…but I know that can change in the future.

If he had any hope of Dumbledore changing his opinion, he was left disappointed by the shake of the head he received.

You're making a mistake.

Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch

Saturday

October 24th, 1992

"No, no, no!" Oliver roared out. "Fred! When Harry drops in to pass over the chasers, you need to step in and mark the opposing seeker!"

"I did step in!"

"Not quick enough! In the seconds it took you to get over there, they could already have seen the snitch and flown away."

A few seconds might not seem like a lot, but it was during a quidditch match.

That's why it was so important for seekers to have the fastest, most lightweight brooms possible. A seeker reaching top speed just a little bit faster than the opposing player was sometimes all that separated victory from defeat. And there was no better broom for a seeker than the Nimbus 2000.

The Cleansweep 5 wasn't slow by any means, but it wasn't designed to be as fast as possible. Instead of outright speed, it offered durability and stability. Exactly what a beater needed as they often found themselves in the thick of the action, but not when they went head-to-head with a seeker.

Harry foregoing his regular duties to join the chasers was considered risky and wouldn't be done unless the team needed to score more points. That's why this play needed to be done perfectly, or they risked leaving the snitch ripe for the taking.

Fred went to speak up again before thinking better of it, flying back to his starting position. Harry went to do the same when the team captain barked out at him as well.

"And you need to make sure one of the twins is near before you head off!

Harry gave him a thumbs up before rising into the air, higher than the rest of the team. He noted each team member's position, bright green eyes darting between them as he tried to recall the play Oliver had decided to run this time.

Six beachball-sized glowing orbs floated alongside them in the air, a nifty spell designed to simulate having a team to practice against. They were very limited in what they could do, more annoyances in their field of vision than anything, but it was better than nothing.

The weather this morning had been proven to be more of an issue. Their goggles couldn't repel the water off the lenses, so they could barely see. The gloves they had on were drenched, so their grip was almost non-existent.

Feel bad for the chasers, though. Must be a nightmare keeping hold of the quaffle in these conditions.

Not that his part had been easy.

The seeker's position had seemed simple enough when Oliver had introduced him to the sport, but that had been just the bare bones. He had thought all he had to do was grab the shiny gold ball before the other seeker. Simple enough.

How wrong he had been.

There were plays upon plays he had to memorize, from the simple to the most complex. And he had to be able to recognize quickly, as timing was crucial.

Harry had to be able to keep his focus on two different aspects of the game, the one involving most of the players and the one involving his opposite number. The better a seeker could do both, the more likely it was that they would win the match.

And that's why professional seekers get paid the most. They're that important.

Harry set off once he caught sight of the three chasers mimicking being caught under a high-press situation, Fred flying just by him. Katie, without even looking, tossed the quaffle straight up into his path, which he caught with one hand, if barely.

He took it down the left-hand side at full speed before dropping it around the halfway line. Alicia swooped in to grab it just as it was about to hit the ground before launching it across with a monstrous throw to Angelina, who tapped into the goal.

"Yes! Now that's what I want to see!" Oliver yelled out.

Harry exchanged a fist bump with Alicia and Katie as they flew by each other, the three withholding groans at the captain's next words.

"Now, everyone, back to your spots! We have more plays to cover, and we're not leaving until they're second nature to us!"

Thankfully, the practice ended only a couple of hours later, Madam Hooch braving the conditions to come out and remind them that their allotted time was nearly up. Oliver seemed about to argue but was quelled by a look from the older woman, who felt three hours was more than enough time.

Not for him… He'd have the team out on the pitch the entire day if he had his way.

As soon as the practice had come to an end, everyone rushed back toward the locker rooms, desperate for a hot shower. Everyone except Oliver, who had decided to do his morning workout in the rain.

The madman.

"The idiot's going to get himself sick," Angelina said, a frown on her face as she looked back. "Which is the last thing we need considering our first game is in two weeks. Against Slytherin no less."

"He'll be fine," Alicia waved off her concerns. "And if by some chance he does get sick, we can always just pump him up full of pepper-ups."

"I'm not sure we would have the option. There's a flu going around that I've heard has Madam Pomfrey's supply running low. She even had to ask for some from St. Mungo's."

Harry was thankful the three chasers had peeled away towards the girl's locker room and the twins had raced off in the beginning, else they would have seen his wince.

He had realized that the potions the practice room had been providing him with weren't being magically produced out of thin air. Every time he had asked for one, the room had taken it from the supply of Madam Pomfrey.

Sometimes it hadn't been just one. On some days, Harry would ask for two or three when he was there, and he had been doing that since the start of September.

No wonder she was running low.

But I don't think I'd be able to handle how tired I would be if I just stopped drinking them. He thought, stepping into the shower, letting out a sigh of relief once the hot water hit his skin.

I can limit myself to one for now.

He didn't think anymore about the matter, washing quickly before shutting the water off. The Dursleys had ingrained into him to be quick as he showered, a habit that hadn't gone away at Hogwarts.

Harry wrapped a towel around his waist before making his way back to his locker, an exasperated sigh leaving him when he caught sight of the shit-eating grins on the twin's faces.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Mr. Muscular himself."

"No longer the scrawny little boy from last year, is he?"

"Not at all. It seems that every time we see him, he's gotten even bigger."

The twins had circled Harry as they spoke, poking his upper torso and arms despite his best efforts to swat them away. All the extra training he had been doing had resulted in him developing a well-defined upper body and legs, something the twins were quick to tease him about once they noticed.

Harry had been embarrassed even further when they hadn't wasted any time in letting the rest of the team, who joined in teasing him as well. Everyone except Oliver, who hadn't tried to hide how proud he was of him, especially once Harry let it known he was following the regimen given to him.

Apparently, only Harry and Oliver had stuck to it after nearly two months.

"Whatcha think, George? Think we should start our schedule? Can't have little Harrikins out doing us now, can we?"

"No need. He might have all the brawn, but we have the brains."

"But Harry has both the brains and the brawn."

"That's a good point…well, we still have our good looks."

"What good looks?" Harry snarked as he started dressing himself, having gotten away from them.

Both the twins clutched at their chests in mock hurt.

"How could you say such a thing! We'll have you know our mother says we're the most dashing pair of twins she's ever had."

Harry just shook his head amusedly. After the confrontation with Ron, he had been worried the twins would treat him differently, but that hadn't been the case, at least not privately.

It was the same for Ginny, who had explained that to him on one of the few occasions he managed to run into her.

"Is there a point why you two are still here? You're usually long gone by now."

The one on his left, who he was pretty sure was Fred, looked at his twin before pulling out a letter from his back pocket.

"Got a letter from our mum, you see. She wants us all back home to celebrate Christmas, including you."

Harry's mood dampened a bit at his words. The thought of staying with the Weasleys during the winter holidays should have filled him with joy, but it didn't. Not anymore. There was very little chance he could spend time at the Burrow now, at least not anytime soon, if ever.

"Oh…does she know yet?"

"Nope. As far as she knows, you're still friends with Ron."

"…We can just say I decided to stay at Hogwarts."

George just shook his head.

"She would have been all over us demanding why we didn't drag you along the moment we stepped off the train before making her way to Hogwarts to pick you up herself."

Yeah, that definitely sounds like something she would do.

Harry ran a hand through his hair, pursing his lips into a thin line.

"There's no way to avoid it, so we're going to tell you what we told Ron," George continued, a serious look on his face. "Send her a letter and explain what happened. She deserves to know."

"I know she does…it's just…I don't want her to be mad at me," Harry said softly, almost in a whisper.

Mrs. Weasley had been the first adult he could remember that had shown genuine care for him, despite having known him for very little time.

"As if. She'd be sad more than anything, but mad? At you? No chance," Fred said, patting him on the shoulder. "Mum has a soft spot for, that's clear as day. She cares for you, just like we can tell you care for her."

Harry let out a shaky breath before nodding at them.

"I'll send her a letter today," He said. "I promise."

Hogwarts Great Hall

Saturday

October 24th, 1992

Blaise wasted no time drinking a shot of espresso as soon as he sat down, ignoring the looks of disgust from Tracy and Daphne across from him. While they could tolerate waking up so early, he couldn't, hence the quick shot of caffeine.

He started serving himself breakfast, a small yawn escaping him as he did.

"You could have stayed in bed if you wanted to," Daphne said. "I didn't ask for you to come."

"Yeah, but she did," Blaise responded, gesturing to Tracy. "She was practically dragging me out the door."

Tracy waved dismissively in response.

"It was necessary. She had that look in her eye."

"Ah."

"Yes. Tell us, Daphne, what kind of plan have you come up with?"

The blonde girl already had a small frown on her face but explained all the same. It didn't escape his notice her quick glance behind him.

"Nothing too fancy," She said, leaning in. "I've been meaning to speak with Potter, but it's hard to find a moment where he's alone. Both Draco and Granger are usually around him, and if they aren't, he's nowhere to be found."

"But not now," Tracy said.

"Exactly, not now," Daphne nodded. "The Slytherin quidditch team just started practice, and Granger is nowhere to be seen."

"The hall is emptier than usual as well," Tracy added. "Lots of people probably decided to have a lie in once they noticed the weather."

Blaise glanced up toward the giant glass windows behind the girls, the sky dark and gloomy as the rain continued to fall heavily.

He sighed.

I could have been having a lie-in as well.

He didn't hold it against Tracy for coming to wake him up. Daphne could be impulsive at times, and it was best to have both of them keep an eye on her. He shuddered to think what would happen if they didn't.

Blaise still remembered the time when they were eight, and she had the brilliant idea to mix a blue and red potion because she wanted to see what a purple potion would do.

Thank Merlin for house elves.

He turned to look over his shoulder, his dark brown eyes landing on the solitary figure of Potter, who was busy writing something. Blaise raised an eyebrow at the sight.

"Where did Wood go?" He asked. "He was sitting with him when we came in."

"Just walked out. So, now's our chance to go over there."

Daphne made to stand up when a hand on her shoulder forced her to sit back down.

"At least tell me you have an idea what you'll talk about before you go over there?" Tracy asked.

"Of course I do," She huffed, crossing her arms. "Remember what Pansy said? About how Potter and Draco have taken to practicing dueling with one another? I want to know how that's coming along. See if he has genuine magical talent and not just a head for basic studies."

"And why would he tell you?"

"Because I asked?"

Daphne's voice seemed to suggest she thought that was obvious, earning a sigh of frustration from the girl beside her.

Blaise spoke up.

"From the few times we've spoken to him, I get the impression that he doesn't like people being invasive about his business, less so if it's in a blunt manner."

"So, I ask again, Daphne. What reason does he have to tell you anything?" Tracy asked.

The blonde girl's silence was all the answer they needed. Her eyes seemed fixated behind him before a scowl crept onto her face.

"He's leaving. We missed our chance."

Blaise turned his head toward the entrance, catching sight of Potter just as he stepped out, a letter in hand.

He let out a quiet sigh, downing another shot of espresso before standing up.

"Chances are he's heading to the owlery. I'll go talk to him. Alone," He added the last part, seeing the two girls about to follow.

The trek up to the West Tower was a quiet one. Only the sound of his footsteps and the rain hitting the windows prevented it from being totally silent.

Blaise had yet to catch sight of Potter but was confident he would run into him soon.

If I didn't, at least I got away before Daphne's foul mood ruined my meal.

His confidence was rewarded when he stepped into the owlery.

"Potter."

He didn't flinch when a wand was pointed in his direction, only raising an eyebrow. Potter lowered his wand after a moment holstering it.

Wand holster? He didn't have one before…

"Zabini. What do you want?"

"What makes you think I want anything? Perhaps I'm sending a letter, just like you."

Potter looked him up and down, the snowy white owl on the perch beside him doing the same.

"Then where's the letter?"

Blaise tilted his head at him, conceding his point. Potter simply stared at him, waiting for him to give his reason.

"Just want to satisfy my curiosity, is all," He said.

More Daphne's than mine, but I don't need to tell him that.

"It must have taken a while to get used to having a wand holster on your wrist. The first few days are annoying, especially the part where you have to learn how to draw your wand."

Blaise held his right arm out in front, a leather wand holster appearing on the inside of his forearm.

"They're not common to see amongst other students. Most prefer having their wands inside their pockets or tucked inside their robe. The few that do own a wand holster are those who have an interest in dueling."

"Then why do you have one?"

"It was a gift from my mother. She was very insistent that I have one, which wasn't really surprising. She was one of the highest-ranked duelists in Europe until she retired."

Well, more like forced to retire.

To the public eye, she had decided to retire gracefully, citing injuries finally taking their toll on her. Behind closed doors, however, she had been caught match-fixing, and it was only due to paying a massive fine that the real reason hadn't been disclosed.

"Any chance she taught you how to duel?" Potter asked.

"She's shown a thing or two," Blaise smirked. "I'm confident I can beat everyone in our year, even those in third-year in a straight duel."

"Everyone?"

"Everyone. Including you, Potter."

He was hoping to spark a reaction from the other boy, and he got exactly that by the way the Gryffindor bristled.

"Prove it."

Zabini had led him to a large, empty room on the sixth floor, feeling the duel should be free of any interruptions. The reason why he had chosen that floor became obvious as they traversed the halls.

Most of the rooms were completely barren save for a few desks, and he got the feeling it had been years since the place had last been used.

Which was why he found it confusing that he found the area familiar to him, a feeling he shook off, wanting to focus on the upcoming duel.

Harry hadn't intended to challenge Zabini so suddenly, but the words he had heard had irritated him. He should have swallowed his pride once he found out how much longer the dark-skinned boy had been practicing compared to him, but he couldn't. Harry had acted on his emotions, wanting to prove him wrong.

That had been a mistake.

"Protego!" He yelled out, a barely passable shield appearing in front of his body before it blinked out of existence as soon as a spell made contact.

Harry was quick to sidestep to his right, narrowly avoiding a spell that had been just behind the first, the silver color letting him know it had been the Tickling Charm.

Leaping over another beam of silver, he returned the favor, sending two Leg-Locking Curses toward Zabini before aiming at the floor he was standing on.

"Spongify."

The stone floor immediately softened, causing Zabini to lose his balance slightly. The boy clicked his tongue in annoyance, dropping to a knee, Harry's Full Body-Bind Curse narrowly missing his head.

That was one of the few times he looked inconvenienced by Harry's offensive, and just like the previous instances, he prevented him from building upon it.

Zabini quickly canceled the softening charm, raising his own shield charm, a much more solid one, to block an incoming Knock-Back Jinx before pointing his wand at Harry.

"Ignis Scintillae."

A small red orb of light zoomed toward him, and before Harry could react, it shattered into tiny specks all over his body, exploding like miniature firecrackers. Sharp, stingy pain soon covered his body, a grunt of pain escaping through gritted teeth.

Try as he might, Harry couldn't muster up the concentration needed to cast a quick shield charm. It would have been weak at best, but it would have given him some measure of protection while enveloped in tiny explosions.

"Everte Statum."

Harry had the air knocked out of his lungs as soon as the spell made contact, the force behind it sending him across the room. A second later, he collided with a pile of old wooden desks, a pained gasp leaving him.

He forced his head up from the floor to look at Zabini, his eyes widening at seeing a red spell heading toward him. Twisting sharply to his side to avoid it, he hissed in pain, having had his shin bang against a wood edge.

Using the desks as a makeshift cover, Harry rose to his feet, throwing Disarming Spells toward his opponent, who was forced to dodge.

"Fac ne Gravis," Harry tapped his wand against multiple chests, making them lighter with the Feather-Light Charm. He lifted all three of them into the air before launching them across the room.

Zabini cast the Knockback Jinx at one of the desks, sending it back toward the Gryffindor while sidestepping the other two.

Harry halted the desk mid-air, intending to send it back with much more force before a wet sensation on his feet broke his concentration. Looking down, he let out a muttered curse at the stream of water that had drenched his legs. A sound like glass shattering clued him in on Zabini's intention.

Still limping, Harry was unable to make his way off the rapidly freezing water, ice soon covering his feet, keeping him in place.

Not wanting to concede just yet, he was about to cast the Fire-Making Charm when a wand was shoved into his face.

"Do you yield?" Zabini asked with his wand remaining trained upon him, another spell glowing on the tip of it.

The urge to swat the wand out of his face was there, but he fought it back, if barely.

"…I yield," Harry responded, not bothering to hide the frustration in his voice.

Three duels. Three losses.

He had been hoping to at least nab one in his favor, but it seemed there was a reason Zabini had sounded so confident in the owlery. The only solace he took was that he had made the other boy put some effort into beating him.

Zabini tried to give the impression of perfect composure, but there was no hiding the sheen of sweat on his forehead, nor could he conceal his quickened breathing.

Harry stumbled a little as he stepped out of the melting ice, trying to regain feeling in his feet as a result of having gone numb. He rubbed at the center of his aching chest, already knowing a bruise would begin to form.

"You put up a decent fight, Potter," Zabini said. "You're probably one of the few that can."

"You weren't holding back, right?" He asked as he made his over to the pile of desks he had crashed into, putting them back where they had been.

"Not one bit. How long have you been practicing dueling?"

"About a month."

Zabini's eyes widened at his words, not that Harry saw it as his focus was on reorganizing the furniture.

"Decent progress, I suppose," He said, having regained his composure. "Keep it up, and you might beat me by the end of the year."

"Might?"

"Might. I won't let myself become complacent, not having seen firsthand how good you are, Potter."

Harry made his back over to Zabini after having finished his self-appointed task, holding his right arm out.

"You can call me Harry."

After a moment, the other boy shook his hand, nodding in respect.

"Then you can call me Blaise."

The Slytherin turned to leave after that, offering a small wave as he stepped out the door, leaving Harry alone in the room.

No longer having to put up a front, he slowly laid himself down on the stone floor. All the physical and magical effort he had exerted from the early hours of the morning until now had finally caught up to him. His whole body ached, and unfortunately, he didn't have a pepper-up potion on hand at the moment.

The floor isn't too bad, at least…much better than the one in the shack Vernon rented out.

Harry's vision was fading. Whether from falling asleep or losing consciousness, he couldn't tell, but he didn't try to fight it. He was all for it as long as he didn't have to deal with feeling like one giant sore.

If I still feel horrible when I wake up…then that's a problem for future me…

His breathing had fallen into a slow and steady rhythm, his eyes softly closing shut as he fell into slumber. The heavy rainfall against the classroom windows and the distant thunder provided the perfect ambient noise as he began to doze off.

"You either get up now, or I'll smash your bloody head in, understand?"

Harry's eyes shot open as a venomous voice reached his ears, dragging his body up into a standing position as fast as he could. Holding his wand out in front, he ignored the prickly sensation on his forehead as his emerald eyes darted around the room frantically, trying to find the source of those words.

"I am, Professor."

"Not fast enough!"

He turned around rapidly, the voices of a boy and a woman coming from behind. His eyes blinked in confusion as only a barren room greeted him.

"Confringo!"

"I wasn't ready!"

"You should always be ready. If I have to tell you that, then you're not worth teaching."

"As if you've taught me anything."

"Then that means you haven't been paying attention."

Taking notice of the pulsing headache that was beginning to form, Harry made to leave the room when more words rang inside the room.

"Stop wasting my time and start casting the spell."

"I'm trying, Professor."

"Trying isn't good enough. I expect results, boy."

"Don't call me boy."

A slimy, disgusting feeling spread across his senses, making his skin crawl. He made to leave the room when a violent throb of pain around his scar dropped him to his knees as if someone had taken a hammer and knocked it against his skull.

Harry stumbled out of the room, clutching at his head. The scar on his forehead now felt like it was on fire, the pain so intense he could barely keep his eyes open.

Desperately, he tried to make his way up to the practice room using the spiral staircase he was lucky to be near. A flash of lightning through a window was all the warning he got before booming thunder assaulted his ears, making the pain even worse.

Harry ignored the curious gazes of a couple of first years he had come across, frantically hurrying his pace as he neared his destination.

The moment he stepped into the room, he collapsed onto the floor, the pain ranking up in intensity.

"Potion…I need…a…potion," Harry forced himself to utter the words through clenched teeth. "To stop…the pain."

He didn't hesitate in downing the potion that had been delivered before him, its effects instantaneous, as he let out a sigh of relief. He felt so weak at the moment, evident by how his body trembled, but he no longer felt the excruciating pain.

Harry made to stand up, barely doing so as his legs shook violently beneath him.

"I need…a bed…,"

It was fortunate he asked for one as he soon collapsed forward, landing on top of it. He fell into a deep slumber, and thankfully, no sudden voices prevented him from doing so.

Hogwarts Great Hall

Saturday

October 24th, 1992

Hermione glanced up toward the entrance of the dining hall, hoping to catch sight of a familiar raven-haired boy. A worried frown crept onto her face as her best friend failed to appear.

Where are you, Harry?

She wouldn't have batted an eye at his lack of appearance if it had been the previous year when he was more likely just staying in bed a bit longer, as most students did on the weekends.

Not this year, however.

Every meal she had so far this term had been done with Harry sitting beside her, a fact she had come to enjoy. Having someone who enjoyed being around her filled her with happiness, a stark contrast to the days in primary school.

"I'm sure he's fine," Neville said from in front of her. "Maybe he's started feeling under the weather and didn't want to risk getting you sick."

"Maybe."

Hermione wasn't entirely convinced that was the case but didn't dismiss the possibility outright.

"He could also be in whatever empty room he usually is in whenever he wants to be alone."

"You still don't know where that room could be?"

"No," The boy shook his head. "Harry says it's whatever random room he finds at the time. Considering how many rooms are in this castle, I'd be lucky to find him."

A small chime sounded in the large room, signaling that the dining hall was about to be closed.

"Come on, Neville," Hermione said, throwing another glance toward the entrance as she stood up from the table. "Let's head to the library. Maybe we'll find Harry there."

Unfortunately, they didn't find him there. She and Neville had searched every section in that enormous library multiple times yet found no hint of the boy.

Hermione let out another huff of frustration as she walked down another row of bookshelves in the back end of the library. The potions section she had just left had once again been devoid of the presence of her friend.

The sound of footsteps behind her caused her to turn her head before stepping out of the way of Zabini, who only spared her a glance.

Honestly, no manners at all…

She shook her head before continuing in the same direction. She figured she could look in three more sections before heading back to Neville.

"…were gone for a long time. Did you end up finding Potter?"

Hermione let out a small gasp before quickly covering her mouth, not wanting to alert whoever had spoken of her presence. She tiptoed closer in the direction where she had heard the voice, slipping in between a pair of bookshelves, and peered through a gap amongst the textbooks.

Beyond the bookshelf were three Slytherin students sitting at the table, a boy and two girls.

That's Zabini. He just passed me a moment ago…that means the brunette is Davis, and the blonde is Greengrass.

Hermione strained her ears, trying to hear as much of the conversation as possible.

"…the owlery. I was right, he was sending a letter."

"Any ideas as to who?"

"The Weasley Matriarch. No idea as to what for?"

To Mrs. Weasley? Maybe to explain what happened with Ron?

Hermione couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness at remembering what had occurred. She hadn't been ignorant of the growing rift between Harry and Ron, but never could she have imagined it turning into an explosive confrontation.

She had been too shocked to take action, only able to watch helplessly as the two boys grew angrier at each other before Harry severed ties with Ron, destroying any chance of a possible reconciliation.

And I don't even blame him…he gave Ron plenty of opportunities to back down.

Hermione shook her head softly, returning her focus to the conversation in front.

"…don't care about a letter. Blaise, did you find out what I want to know?" Greengrass asked.

"Did your mother forget to teach you manners?"

"Blaise. Tell. Me."

"Fine. While I didn't get him to tell me much, I got something much better," Zabini smirked. "I got to duel him. Three times."

What?! Dueling?! Harry, what is going on?!

Hermione kept looking forward despite her surprise, watching both girls lean forward with obvious interest, Greengrass more so than Davis.

"And?" The blonde girl asked.

"And I beat him all three times."

Davis scoffed.

"Blaise, you would beat everybody in our year and then some in the year above us. What I want to know," She gestured to the girl beside her. "And what Daphne really wants to know is how Potter stacked up against you."

Zabini shrugged.

"Couldn't get a proper measure of what he was capable of, to tell you the truth. He looked like he was still tired from having quidditch practice early in the morning."

"So, you outclassed him?"

Even through the narrow gap she was looking through, Hermione could still see the frown on Greengrass's face. Heck, she could hear the displeasure in her voice.

"I didn't say that."

Zabini leaned forward with a serious look on his face before raising his right arm and holding it above the table.

It's trembling.

"I had to put a lot of effort into beating him, far more than I have in a while," He said before lowering his arm onto the table. "And that was Chang, who had her special type of Family Magic to use."

The boy let out a sigh of exhaustion as he leaned back into the chair, almost slouching into it.

"I left the room as soon as I could after beating him the third time. I didn't want him to know how much he pushed me."

"Why not?" Davis asked.

"He was frustrated. For losing, of course, but also because he felt he should have done better. I want it to drive him to be better."

"Based on what you've seen," Greengrass spoke up, a gleam in her eyes. "How far did you think he'll go?"

Zabini turned to stare directly at her.

"If he keeps improving at the rate he is now, there's not a doubt in my mind Potter will be an absolute powerhouse in the future."

"This room you dueled in? Where was it?"

Hermione leaned forward, wanting to know as well.

"Up on the sixth floor by the spiral staircase," The boy shrugged. "If you're planning to go talk to him, don't waste your energy. He's probably already headed back to his common room by now."

"Hmm, shame."

A smile spread across Greengrass's face.

"I'll have my chance soon enough."

Hermione backed away from the bookshelf slowly, having heard more than enough. She walked away silently, her mind racing.

Harry…we need to talk.

A/N:

Another update, and this one was a bit special as it had my first attempt at a fight scene. I tried to keep it reasonable for a couple of second-year students, but I also wanted to paint both Harry and Blaise as much more talented than your average student.

I hope it came across well, along with the other scenes.

That's it for now. Below I have some small notes if you want to read them.

Bye for now. Peace!

Notes:

I looked up whether or not players other than chasers could handle the quaffle, but the only thing I found was a rule that prohibited non-seekers from touching the snitch.

So, for this story, it's allowed, but most teams prefer not to be fluid in how they play. The reason for that is you risk being caught out of 'shape' and vulnerable to the other seeker catching the snitch.

A reference point of pay for professional players is the salaries of players in the English Premier League during 1992.

John Barnes(Liverpool player) was being paid £10,000 per week, the highest in the league at the time

The British and Irish Quidditch League has 13 teams, and I'm assuming they only faced each other once a season, considering how long some games can end up being. So, 12 games per year. A game every month, basically.

In this story, 1 galleon is £50.

10,000 x 4 = 40,000 per month.

40,000 x 12 = 480,000 per year

480,000 / 50 = 9,600 galleons per year for a top quidditch player.