73 – Timing

Dumbledore could only shake his head in shock and admiration at the article in The Daily Prophet. How she had discovered the story left him puzzled.

Well, it really didn't matter who had shared the memory. He had certainly shown it to enough people Wednesday, any one of whom might have been willing to share it to gain some protection from her normally vicious poison pen.

He was quite gratified and pleased to see that while the section describing how the basilisk had been discovered and handled was short, it was factual and only strayed into the fantastical as Rita tried to imagine how the fight between Dumbledore and his three professors against the basilisk might have happened. It ended by leading to another article on the history and rarity of basilisks and cockatrices.

That there was a second article, deeper inside, which exonerated Hagrid, had been surprising.

Rita could not fault Dumbledore's handling of the problem. He had discovered the problem and dealt with it immediately, while keeping the students and staff as safe as possible. She had probably found that exceedingly frustrating.

Below the fold was a second headline taking up half the page, Tom Riddle is He-Who-Must-Not Be-Named! A smaller headline beneath it declared, Half-Blood Orphan Fooled Pure-bloods for a Decade!

The teasers under the headlines on the front-page led to stories inside that were almost completely factual recitations of what he had presented to Amelia, Cornelius, Augusta, and Lucius, and many others, on Wednesday.

Dumbledore was most impressed that Rita had actually talked with the proprietors of Borgin and Burkes, rehashed Hepzibah Smith's death and how their valuable heirlooms had gone missing, and had even managed to hunt down some of the adults who had been children at the orphanage. The history of the Gaunts was also dredged up, with her questioning if things had happened the way everyone had thought.

The surviving orphans' descriptions of the moody, vicious, and decidedly not pure-blood Tom Riddle were very eye-opening. Especially as they all repeated the story of how his destitute mother had died while giving birth the same day she found the orphanage, with no trace of his father except the name, Tom Marvolo Riddle.

All-in-all, Rita made Tom Riddle out to be quite a villain before he became the mass-murder known as He-Who-Must-Not Be-Named.

Still, he decided, the article could have been much worse. It actually did a good job of knocking Tom Riddle down from the pedestal on which many wizards and witches had placed him. Those pure-bloods who had been surreptitiously helping the Dark Lord ten years ago would be dismayed over how the wool had been pulled over their eyes, and regretting every knut they had given him.

A strong wizard he might have been, but to be the leader of the pure-blood movement when he clearly wasn't a pure-blood, and then lying to them about it? That was beyond the pale to many of them. If word got around about how they had been duped by a half-blood, they would never live it down. The ones who had publicly supported him would have to deal with being laughed at by the others for being so gullible.

When Tom returned, he would find it difficult to regain the financial backing he had before. Many families that had supported him would not do so again, simply for the insult of being grossly lied to by him.

It was the next article that had him concerned.

The other half of the page below the fold was the article He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named Lives!

It laid out in clear terms that the Dark Mark worn by all the Death Eaters was a barometer to how close the Dark Lord was to returning, and followed with a history of the Dark Mark and what was known about it. That was fine. That was information he had shared via his memories.

It was that Rita specifically named him as being in the group that discussed this event, and that he had confirmed that the Dark Mark revealed that He-Who-Must-Not Be-Named had not been killed and was lurking about as a spirit. Plus, she had slanted the article to make it look like Lucius had taken a more active part in confirming the facts.

How had she known Lucius had seen this memory, and what he had said?

Dumbledore had not disclosed to any of the others he had shared the memory with Lucius on Wednesday. He knew Amelia and Lucius would never have mentioned what they had seen to the reporter.

Amelia wouldn't simply because it would implicate Lucius and draw his attention to her and her department — and she didn't need yet another reason for him to be attacking her in the Wizengamot! Not to mention that she detested talking to the witch. Rita had written too many stories critical of the department and Amelia's qualifications to head it!

Cornelius wouldn't because he still adamantly refused to believe that Voldemort was a spirit and not dead. And as for Augusta, he couldn't imagine her contacting The Daily Prophet about something that had nothing to do with her family.

Dumbledore knew Lucius would never divulge what he knew about the Dark Mark to someone who didn't already know. The Death Eaters knew what it meant, no one else did. Those that had managed to avoid the Ministry's net ten years ago would single him out and attack him for making public knowledge that should have been kept secret. If everyone knew the Dark Lord was coming back, they would begin preparing.

Fortunately, Rita did not mention how the mark could be used to trace the Death Eaters and to even find the Dark Lord himself! Albus was sure it was because she didn't know that bit of information. He couldn't imagine her not working it into a story pushing the Ministry to track the Dark Lord down and deal with him once and for all.

As it was, she was already raising the baying hounds demanding Cornelius increase the budgets for the Aurors and Creatures departments to deal with this problem.

The first clear pictures of the Atlanteans, with their names, to grace The Daily Prophets' pages were buried way in the back, Dumbledore was relieved to see. The other headlines just over-powered that story.

Dumbledore spent the rest of the morning with his floo locked closed while he thought about everything he had learned this last week. In addition to spending several hours in his pensieve reviewing what he had already knew, of course.

۸-ꞈ-۸

The next morning, Friday, was their Thursday schedule. Harry probably should have been worried that technically it was Friday the Thirteenth, but he was too relieved that even though it was Friday, and the thirteenth, they would not have Potions class today! They had managed to dodge that bullet!

On the other hand, that meant they had their first flying lesson today on Friday the thirteenth. Not exactly an auspicious day to start anything dangerous.

Professor Quirrell had seemed quite annoyed with today's The Daily Prophet, brought by the parliament of owls. The rest of the hall had been enthralled with the in-depth reporting on the events they had missed yesterday while they had been in Hogsmeade. The revelation that Voldemort was a spirit and not dead had been a shock to many. Neville had almost passed out when he read the part about Death Eaters becoming more active the darker the Mark became. He had had to rest his head beside his plate for several minutes.

Even though Harry, Hermione, and the fillies had all heard Twilight say the snake was nearly fifteen celestials long, seeing the picture in the paper had driven home just how big that snake had really been.

During the parliament of owls bringing the post, a barn owl landed in front of Neville. His grandmother had sent him a small package. After opening it, he excitedly 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 in response to Hermione's question. "I forget things, you know — this tells you if there's something you've forgotten to do. Look, you hold it tight like this," he gripped it tightly for a moment, then opened his hand. "And if it turns red — oh . . .," the Remembrall had suddenly glowed scarlet. His face fell, ". . . you've forgotten something . . .."

Harry had been paying more attention to the magical device than he should have, he realized. Draco Malfoy, after opening his own package from home, had walked over to the Gryffindor table, with Crabbe and Goyle behind him, too curious at what Neville's grandma had sent her grandson to stay away. He deftly snatched the Remembrall out of Neville's hand.

Harry, the fillies, and Ron jumped to their feet. Fortunately, Professor McGonagall, who could spot trouble quicker than any other professor in the school, was there in an instant.

"What's going on?" she said frostily, arching an eyebrow.

"Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor."

"Took it right out of Neville's hand, he did!" Ron exclaimed.

McGonagall stared with narrowed eyes at the pale boy. "I would think," she said sternly, "That someone who is so proud of his pure-blood heritage would be above grabbing things like a common ruffian would from another student.

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

"Just looking," he said, and he slunk away with his two bookends.

After the Slytherin had left their table, Harry looked at Ron and then Neville, who was still staring at the scarlet Remembrall with a puzzled and worried expression.

"It's too bad," Harry said, "That someone doesn't report all those stories Malfoy bragged about yesterday to the Aurors. They probably wouldn't take it seriously, but it would be hilarious if they did." He grinned at the other two. "Can you imagine his face when he hears that an Auror wants to talk to him about letting a muggle helicopter see him?" They all snickered at that. "And the moment he says, 'My father,' they'll laugh in his face."

The rest of the day was like the previous, right down to the bragging Malfoy did at lunch about his broomstick prowess.

Harry, the fillies, and the other Gryffindors hurried down Hogwarts front steps at three-thirty, after their regular classes, for their first flying lesson. The day was clear and breezy, ruffling the grass under their feet as they headed down the sloping lawns toward a smooth, flat lawn. It was on the opposite side of the grounds to the forbidden forest, whose trees were swaying darkly in the distance.

The Slytherins had beaten them there, no wonder considering the Gryffindors had eight flights of stairs down from the tower while theirs was only one flight up from the dungeons.

When they got close they saw that there were twenty-four broomsticks lying in two neat lines on the ground.

Fred and George Weasley had complained about the school brooms every time the Equestrians went to the Weasleys' house. They said, depending on which broom you got, that some of them started to vibrate if you flew too high, others flew slightly to the left or right.

Their teacher, who, Harry noted, was not a Professor, was a witch who they were instructed to call Madam Hooch. She had short, grey hair, and yellow eyes like a hawk. She also quickly took control of the class with a no-nonsense attitude.

"Well," she demanded, hands on her hips, "what are you all waiting for? Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up," she finished impatiently.

Harry glanced down at his broom. Unlike his Nimbus 2000, it was old and some of the twigs at the end stuck out at odd angles.

"Stick out your right hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch at the front, "and say 'Up!' "

As the twins had told them when they got their Nimbus 2000s, he and the other animagi there all said, "UP!" in a firm voice. Most everyone else shouted the word.

As Harry had expected, his, the fillies', Hermione's, Ron's, and Ginny's brooms all leapt straight into their hands.

Unfortunately, Neville wasn't as successful. His broom hadn't moved at all. The quaver in Neville's voice clearly said that he wanted to keep his feet on the ground.

Magic required confidence.

Finally, Neville just picked his broom up.

Madam Hooch then showed them how to mount their brooms, how to not slide off the end, and spent some time inspecting and correcting their grips. Her telling Malfoy that he'd been doing it wrong for years was delightful to hear for Harry and the rest of the Gryffindor cohort.

That was, naturally, when things started to go wrong.

Neville, nervous, jumpy, and frightened of being left behind, somehow launched himself four yards or more into the air before crashing down, terrifying them all.

Madam Hooch said he had broken his wrist, to the Gryffindor's intense relief and dismay. She looked at the rest of the class. "You stay on the ground or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.' " she threatened. Then she turned to Neville. "Come on, dear," she said, and took the boy off to the hospital wing.

Malfoy had barely waited for the two to be out of earshot before he burst into laughter. His laughing comment of, "Did you see his face, the great lump?" got the other Slytherins to laugh as well.

Parvati Patil, annoyed at their laughing at someone getting hurt, said "Shut up, Malfoy."

Pansy Parkinson, a hard-faced Slytherin girl, said "Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom, are we? Never thought you'd like fat little crybabies, Parvati."

"Look!" said Malfoy, darting forward and picking up something out of the grass. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him."

He held up Neville's Remembrall.

Harry sighed. Some people just couldn't help themselves, they had to hurt others to make themselves happy. And Malfoy was just like Diamond Tiara in that respect. "Give that here, Malfoy," said Harry quietly, stepping forward and holding out his hand. "I'll give it back to Longbottom."

Everyone was watching attentively.

"You want it back, Potter?" Malfoy jeered, and smiled nastily, "Then come and take it!"

"Malfoy!" Harry said loudly, still holding out his hand.

Instead of returning what was not his, Malfoy jumped onto his broomstick and took off. He hadn't been lying, Harry could see, he could fly very well. Hovering beside the topmost branches of an oak, he called, "Come and get it, Potter!"

Harry started to mount his broom.

"No!" shouted Hermione. "Madam Hooch told us not to move — you'll get us all into trouble."

Before he could move, though, an orange and purple streak shot by him.

Malfoy jinked to the side suddenly, with an almost audible screech. Scootaloo, flapping her wings lazily, hung in the air right beside him, her forelegs crossed. She glared at him angrily.

"Give it back," she said with a hint of threat in her voice, holding out one hoof for the orb.

Harry held his broom tightly, in case Scootaloo needed help. Not that he expected her to.

It took Malfoy a moment to stop staring and shake off his surprise, but he quickly regained his haughty expression. "Do you expect me to listen to the words of a horse?"

Both Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom gasped. They looked as if they were about to go for their brooms and join Scootaloo, to the confusion of the rest of the Gryffindors and Slytherins.

"Oh, Celestia, now he's done it," Harry said quietly. "She'll never forgive him for that."

Draco swung his broom left to fly off in another direction, only to find himself face to face with the pegasus, again. Her posture was barely changed. And she had the same slow wingbeats and outstretched hoof, but now she looked furious.

Loud enough for the crowd below to hear her clearly, she declared, "I said. Give. It. Back."

Malfoy gave an annoyed grunt and swung right instead, then left, then right again. Each time, the pony was in front of him again, her glare unchanged as she easily kept pace with him even when she flew backwards.

A frustrated growl came out of Malfoy's throat. He swung around in a half-turn. "You want it?" he yelled. He drew his arm back behind his head. "Then catch it!" He threw his hand forward as hard as he could.

And almost threw himself off his broom. He scrambled to hold on as he realized he hadn't thrown anything.

His confusion did not last long as he heard the dwindling sarcastic cry of "Thanks" as something flashed past him.

It was Scootaloo, flying back towards the group and holding the remembrall securely in her hooves. She had snatched it right out of his hand.

She landed and handed it to Harry. He stowed it in his pocket and dropped his broom. Smirking, he watched a scowling Draco landed by the rest of the Slytherins.

"DRACO MALFOY!"

Everyone turned to see Professor McGonagall striding towards them.

Draco looked even whiter than usual as he quickly landed

"Never — in all my time at Hogwarts —"

Her glasses flashed furiously as she caught up to the class, "— how dare you —" she said. "Madam Hooch specifically told you all to remain off your brooms while she conducted Neville to the Hospital Wing!"

"But, Professor, Scootaloo was also flying!" objected Theodore Nott.

She turned and looked at the pegasus.

Scootaloo looked down guiltily, but then glanced over at her broom still on the ground. She turned back to face her Transfiguration's professor gave her an innocent smile as she ostentatiously stretched and folded her wings.

After studying the pegasus for a moment, Professor McGonagall turned back to Draco. "But, unlike you, her broom is on the ground, as opposed to the one you are currently holding in your hand!"

"But Scootaloo —"

"That's enough, Mr. Crabb. Malfoy, follow me, now."

Professor McGonagall swept off towards the castle; Draco had to jog to keep up. Harry and the other Gryffindors watched, stifling their laughter at Malfoy finally getting blatantly caught out by a professor. Harry couldn't resist it. He said, in as snooty a voice as he could manage, clearly imitating Malfoy, "My father will not be pleased to hear this."

The Gryffindors finally broke out laughing and giggling while the Slytherins scowled. Although, Harry noticed, Miss Greengrass and her friend Davis seemed to be nearer to smiling than scowling as they watched Draco trailing behind their professor.

They saw Madam Hooch meet Professor McGonagall at the front doors. There was a brief exchange of words, then their flight instructor headed their way. The Gryffindors quickly brought themselves under control as Scootaloo, reluctantly, changed back to a person. They were all standing beside their brooms when she reached them.

As were the Slytherins, still scowling.

The rest of the lesson was fairly straight-forward as those unfamiliar with brooms practiced turning, climbing, slowing, and descending. The more advanced students were allowed to engage in a game of tag, limited to no higher than ten feet. Staying under the limit she gave them for speed was not an issue as the brooms were clearly not going to able to exceed it.

Then, when class was over, she allowed the students to keep practicing as long as they wanted, and provided that they stayed on the front lawn. Scootaloo promptly dropped her broom and started flying as a pegasus.

And that was when things went wrong. Exactly what went wrong differed, depending on who told the story. The Slytherins maintained it was all the Gryffindors' fault. The Gryffindors said it was the Slytherins. Harry blamed the fillies and Ginny.

Tag became sprints competing against Scootaloo and Ginny. Sprints became races, races became stunt-tricks, and the whomping-willow decided the flies buzzing around in front of it were a nuisance. The Slytherins discovered the joys of being sapped, as did the rest of the Gryffindor cohort.

The whomping willow seemed content that the students had been chased away. At least its nervous thrashing had stopped and it looked like any other tree from the forest.

Sap, they discovered wasn't nearly as easy to remove from clothes and hair as it was from skin. A few dozen sourgifies later, a trip to the dorm to change clothes, and the Gryffindor cohort was once more over at the trebuchet. The Slytherins had retreated to the castle to sulk.

Unfortunately, both First-year Houses were restricted to broomstick flying only under Madam Hooch's direct supervision for the remainder of the year.

The first test of the siege engine was perfect — Harry wasn't sure how that had happened — launching Scootaloo across the lake at a more than satisfactory speed. The other Gryffindors were a bit hesitant to risk their lives. But after watching Sweetie Belle, Apple Bloom, and Harry all go screaming happily out into the lake, the rest quickly followed suit — and all seemed well-versed in the art of staying afloat once they hit the water. And hitting the water at fairly high speeds did seem to work well at removing the remaining sap from their hair.

Plus, this time, none of the CMC had sap in their tails and ears!

When Hermione asked why they had transformed into ponies before using the trebuchet, Harry had reluctantly admitted that they didn't know how to swim as people. She started immediately teaching them that valuable skill as they waited their turns at being flung into the lake at foolhardy speeds.

The screaming drew the attention of other students, and, thus, just as in Ponyville, the engine of mass destruction became an engine of mass entertainment. Harry even heard a few older Slytherins saying it was welcome addition to the lake.

Draco was not at dinner that evening, to Ron's glee and Neville's stunned surprise. However, they discovered, he had not been dismissed, as Ron had fervently hoped. Instead, he was at home, carefully considering his decision to directly disobey a teacher's instruction in class. He would, they had been told, return on Monday.

The Slytherins seemed to think it was Harry's fault the boy had gotten into trouble. On the other hand, it did impress upon the entire First Year class that they disobeyed the teachers at their peril! Many who might have been inclined to bend the rules decided that caution was the word of the day, week, and month.

The fillies just resolved to be extra careful in their attempts at finding their cutie marks.

After dinner, and as the tired Gryffindors were tackling their assignments due tomorrow, Harry noticed a new rule listed with the others on the 'ATTENTION ALL GRYFFINDORS!' list:

.

5) Outside of Quidditch matches and practice, pegasi are restricted to a top speed of 40 mph.

...a) Pegasi are not allowed to participate in official Quidditch matches (You must be a person and riding a broom).

.

۸-ꞈ-۸

Fridays — well, it was actually Saturday, but they were having their normal Friday schedule today — would continue to be the bane of the Gryffindor/Slytherin First Years as long as Sweetie Belle was allowed to try to make a potion, Harry decided.

That she was a delightful person was without question. That he was almost always glad to see her, and the other fillies, was equally certain. Sometimes, when he had been alone in his room in Twilight's castle, especially when the Cutie Mark Crusaders were grounded, he had missed them— he missed them so much it almost hurt. Just having them in the same room, or knowing they were in the next room, would have been a relief. During the school year being grounded hadn't been so bad because at least then he got to see them in class. But in the summer? Even distracting himself with magic and reading had only lessened the feeling of missing them at the end of the day.

But not today. Oh, no. He wasn't missing them in the slightest. Uh-uh. In fact, that was why he was currently hiding in the broom-closet on the third floor in the right-side corridor. He was hoping the Fluffy being behind the door that was only a few yards away would be sufficient to keep his pursuers at bay.

He had always wondered what it would be like to be the popular kid in class, instead of at the very bottom and a target for every mean-spirited prank anyone could think up. Even in Equestria he hadn't been the popular kid. His unusual coat colouring had worked against him, just as it did Pipsqueak. Although Pipsqueak, according to the mares and fillies, was "cute." Unfortunately, Harry was not.

It was true Harry had friends — the Cutie Mark Crusaders. Better friends couldn't be found in either world, as far as he was concerned. But he had never been what anyone would call popular.

Until today.

In consideration of today, he decided, being popular was not what he had expected. It was definitely not what it had been described to him as being. Nor like anything he had seen in primary.

Nor, he decided, was it something he would ever really want. Experience was a great teacher.

He shook his head as he remembered how the day had started out — the girls had traipsed into the boys' dorm room through the trunks to see if he was awake yet.

The fillies had been asked a few days ago why they always came to get Harry. They had just stated that they always woke Harry up at home. Which had led the boys to asking if they all lived together. Harry had said, "No, of course not," and then explained that they always woke before he did whenever they slept together.

Which had led to some more embarrassing moments as he had fumbled his way through explaining why they had been all sleeping together. His clarification that they only did that during sleepovers hadn't been well received. His amplification that they always did that as ponies hadn't really helped things at all. His final declaration of, "It's complicated!" had been met with doubtful nods.

The girls' giggling in the background had not been helpful at all. Every morning since then, the other boys just ignored the girls and made sure their curtains were closed when they went to bed. They did not open them until they heard the girls and Harry leave the room.

Harry was getting very good at dressing in his bed. Liberal application of sticking charms let him set out his day's clothes against the headboard the night before.

On the other hand, why was it that not only were the fillies and Hermione coming through to the Gryffindor First Year Boys' room, but it had grown to include Ginny, Parvati, and Lavender?

Still, even this morning the other boys in the dorm were giving him narrowed looks, obviously questioning what they had been told.

۸-ꞈ-۸

Author's Note: Thanks to Senko for impetus to Rule 5.