Chapter Two: Harry Granger

The next morning, Harry lurked outside the Gryffindor common room, watching several students walk by—he garnered a few curious looks, though most everyone left him with little more than a shrug before dismissing him. It was remarkable, he mused, how easy it actually was to blend where you didn't belong by simply pretending hard enough.

"Harry Granger?" a familiar voice asked, though not whose he was looking for. James Potter made his way from the portrait hole, flanked as seemingly ever by Sirius Black and trailed by what had to be a young Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew. Remus was a gangly, stretched thing, having obviously hit his growth spurt before the others. Meanwhile, Peter reminded Harry a bit of a brown-haired Neville Longbottom, round-faced and watery-eyed. All four were wearing heavy coats and scarves, obviously planning a bit of snowy fun on a Saturday morning.

"Are you waiting on someone?"

"I was actually hoping to speak to Lily," Harry said. James frowned a bit at that, eyebrows knitting together.

"What for?" he asked, an almost possessive note in his voice.

"Got a secret plan in the works I need her help with," Harry said with a grin, ignoring the huffy moment. "Seems I'm stranded here for the time being, so I need to enroll as a student without revealing where I've come from."

"And where have you come from?" Remus asked, his voice thin and reedy, with a hint of an adolescent bleat already. Harry wondered if the full moon was coming soon; he looked a bit peaky.

"I'm actually an investigator from America," Harry said, coming up with a backstory on the spot, "sent here to gather intelligence on the educational standards in Britain and see if it's up to snuff."

"That's not true," Peter huffed while Sirius snickered next to him.

"Nah, look at him, mate," the boy said. "He's here to make sure we're all taught proper-like."

"It's true," Harry said with a knowing nod, "but the professors can't find out. That'll skew the result, get it?"

"You're obviously lying," Remus insisted matter-of-factly, and Harry couldn't stop an amused chuckle at how very young he was—the adult Lupin's exasperation and longsuffering mannerisms were endlessly more amusing coming from a teen. Meeting the boy's mossy green eyes, Harry tried for his most reassuring smile, channeling again the same energy he'd often directed at Mafalda when calming her from one of her dithers.

"I'm not here to hurt anyone," he insisted. "I want to help you lot."

Remus stared back for a moment, though he seemed unable to hold Harry's gaze for long, ducking his head and letting a quiet huff.

"Alright, fine," he mumbled.

"I like him," Sirius said. "Seems like a trustworthy bloke."

"Can we get going?" Peter spoke, now laboriously attempting to wrap his scarf around his face. "I'd like to get some snow fun in before it all melts."

"Yeah, yeah, keep your scarf on," James said, snagging up the scarf and winding it around Peter's head to cover his eyes.

"That's a lovely look for you, Pete," Sirius drawled. "Really brings out your eyes."

"It covers up my eyes," Peter protested in a muffled voice, though he giggled a bit as he attempted to navigate with his new look, hands out zombielike in front of him. He found Remus's face, fingers jabbing into his cheeks.

"Oi, watch it!" Remus chuckled.

"What are you lot doing now?" Lily's voice spoke, and the boys all looked toward the portrait to see Lily, Mary, and Marlene all emerging. Lily's eyes caught Harry's and she brightened up considerably at the sight of him. "Oh! Good morning, Harry!"

Breezing forward through the crowd of boys and pausing in front of Harry, Lily peered up at him with a positively radiant smile.

"You're still around, are you?" she asked him.

"I could go, if you feel I should – "

"Oh, don't be daft," Lily huffed at him, and Harry found himself grinning right back. "You stay right here, understand?"

"I plan to," Harry said. "In fact, I could use your help on that front, if you don't mind."

"What d'you need?" Lily asked in near breathless tones, clearly pleased that Harry was coming to her for help.

"An alibi," Harry said.

…

While Madam Pomfrey had been fairly unchanged from 1973 to the time that Harry had spent at Hogwarts, it turned out that Minerva McGonagall was an entirely different story—and Harry wasn't entirely sure how to cope with it. While he wasn't privy to the exact date of the deputy headmistress's birth, the woman he met upon knocking on the door to her office looked to be (at the very most) in her mid-thirties and aging gracefully at that. Her hair was a much more vibrant shade of red (though still pulled into the same severe bun), and her face lacked the faint lines and other such signs of aging that it would eventually bear in the future.

She was, in Harry's estimation, actually rather pretty—and that was a disturbing thought that he decided never entertain ever again.

"Can I help you?" McGonagall asked, her voice just as crisp if not quite so brusque as it had been—or would be.

Time was a bit funny right now.

"Well, er…" Harry collected himself; there was a plan, and that hinged on confidence. "I was hoping to apply to Hogwarts."

"…Apply?" McGonagall asked him, her brow kitting together. Harry could understand her confusion; one didn't normally apply to Hogwarts. The students were selected through some unknown means (he really needed to start reading more books about things), and the letters were sent out and responded to.

Hogwarts found you, not the other way around.

Still, there had to be some process in place for a prospective student to join up in later years, and who better to put such a thing into motion than the deputy headmistress of the school? Certainly not Dumbledore, who could probably…read minds or something. Harry really didn't trust the man not to complicate things, especially knowing that he was a self-confessed meddler and manipulator. If Harry fell into his sights—a time-traveler who had been instrumental in defeating the dark lord currently on the rise—he'd never have a moment's peace during his jaunt to the '70s.

No, if he could just slip into the student body under the headmaster's crooked old nose, Harry could get settled in and begin phase one of Operation: Sort Out What the Bloody Hell I'm Doing.

The name was still being workshopped.

"Please, have a seat," McGonagall spoke, and Harry shook himself from his ponderings to settle into place across from her. "So, then, Mister…"

"Granger, Ma'am," Harry said, putting on his most polite face. For once, his years placating the Dursleys with honeyed words and a docile façade were paying off. "Harry Granger."

"Well, Mr. Granger," McGonagall said, "I must admit to some confusion. If you were a fit for our school, you would have received a letter at the age of eleven, or even been paid a visit by myself if you're a muggle-born. To have you simply turn up at my office door is…highly irregular."

"Forgive me, Professor," Harry said. "I've…been rather avoiding this school, actually. The abilities I have, they sort of scared me at first. I don't think I was ready to…deal with them."

"Well, that's rather understandable," McGonagall said with a small and sympathetic smile, obviously a practiced expression. "It can be overwhelming for some. It's good that you saw your way back here. But how did you get here?"

"Knight Bus," Harry said. "I've been…keeping in touch with a friend that goes here, a neighbor of mine. Lily Evans."

McGonagall's expression brightened at that, her professional smile even growing a bit fond. "Lily is one of our brightest new students," she said. "She's been a joy to teach. She's never mentioned any sort of correspondence with you before, however."

"I asked her not to tell anyone," Harry explained. "Suppose I was a bit embarrassed by it all."

"And now, you wish to join the school?" McGonagall asked. "In the middle of February?"

"Once I realized what I wanted, I rather…couldn't wait," Harry said with an attempt at a sheepish smile. "I suppose it was a bit headstrong."

"I can sympathize with that," McGonagall said with an amused sound. "Nonetheless, we will need to fill out some paperwork in order to enroll you. And we'll have to administer a few simple tests to determine where precisely to place you."

Harry was a little surprised that it had gone so smoothly thus far; he had expected McGonagall to ask about his parents' outlook on the whole thing—he hadn't exactly had a response planned, either.

He'd never been the planning sort.

McGonagall stepped into a back room of her office, returning a moment later with an intimidatingly thick stack of papers, which she placed in front of Harry. A second later, a quill and ink were added.

"I do hope you haven't made any plans for the afternoon," she said in faintly amused tones.

"Oh…fantastic," Harry muttered.

…

Thankfully, Hogwarts in 1994 seemed to be a bit ahead of Hogwarts of 1973, as Harry found most of the questions actually quite easy. At several points, he even had to hold himself back from being a bit too thorough in an answer; he was in fact pretending to be a self-taught novice who had simply dived into the literature upon deciding to join Hogwarts.

Alluding to knowledge of the particulars of a patronus charm would probably be unwise.

In spite of the ease of the test, however, it was still an arduous process; test-taking had never been his forte. A practical exam was infinitely more preferable to a quill and parchment any day. It was a necessary means, however, in order to keep a low profile. As he scrawled answer after answer, Harry amused himself by pretending he was a spy of sorts, infiltrating the enemy organization and planning to climb the ladder to sabotage them from the inside.

In a way, he supposed, that was what he was planning, albeit in a much less sinister context.

A plan had been forming in his head, one nebulous and rather more of a vague idea than anything. Perhaps it was a goal, and he needed to plan to get there. Either way, he knew there was (or would be) a New London in America, where refugees from the upcoming war with Voldemort would eventually flee. All he needed to do, then, was move the timetable up. After all, Voldemort's followers hadn't simply come from nowhere; from everything Harry had heard in the past (future), the government of the Wizarding World of Great Britain had always had an unfavorable view of muggle-borns and muggles, due in no small part to the rich and influential purebloods running the show either through bribery or holding direct positions of power. If he could just expose this fact, make the new generation (or the old one; bugger, this was confusing) aware that this world was not one worth dying to save, that it would only limp onward afterward and sink right back into its old ways—maybe he could effectively starve Voldemort's first movement.

After all, what good was an iron rule with no one to rule over?

To that end, he needed Hogwarts, and he needed to adequately pose as a student and execute his plan under the nose (and lack thereof) of the two most powerful wizards in the land. If Dumbledore found out, the aforesaid meddling would take place, and if Voldemort found out about Ellis Locke and his super-secret flying laboratory full of potentially world-changing goodies…

Well, Gideon Graves would be the least of their worries.

"All finished?" McGonagall asked as Harry leaned back and pressed his hands into his eyes. Even with them shut, he could still see words and numbers and pages of text swimming in his vision.

"I don't want to read another word for at least forty-eight hours," he groaned. McGonagall let an amused sound at that, collecting the stack of papers.

"Perhaps not Ravenclaw, then," she said. A few soft taps could be heard, and Harry peered from behind his hands to see her muttering a few spells at his tests. As he watched, a series of multicolored dots floated up, flashing green before disappearing. "Well, full marks on the multiple choice. Well done, Mr. Granger."

"Always had the best luck with those," Harry said.

"That's what I hear quite often," McGonagall muttered, sifting through the stack. "Let me take a moment to consult some of these questions, and I'll be right back."

She withdrew again into a small room off of her office, and Harry watched her go while wondering at the tedium that must be the life of a teacher. An endless cycle of talking to snot-nosed kids or bratty teenagers like himself, administering tests and grading papers, dealing with hovering parents—it was likely unbearable at times, if not always.

No wonder McGonagall was so terse in his time; it had to have taken its toll on her.

A tapping on the nearby window met his ears, and he looked up, jolting to see two familiar faces. James and Sirius sat astride a pair of brooms, waving at him through the window. James flashed him a double thumbs up, and Sirius held up a sign that said 'You can do it!' with a grin. Rolling his eyes, Harry shooed the pair, who flew off with matching cackles that he could just hear through the window.

Kids…

"Well, Mr. Granger, for being self-taught, you certainly know your stuff," McGonagall said, striding back into the room with his stack of papers in one hand and a familiar tattered old hat in the other. "I daresay we'll be able to slot you right into the crop of fifth-years next year."

"There's still a whole term of this year left as well," Harry said. "Couldn't I start right away?"

"So eager to dive into your studies?" McGonagall asked, though her expression was approving as she leaned against her desk. "I suppose we could start you off right on Monday, see how you fare. It would be the easiest way as well to see if you don't need remedial lessons in a particular subject."

She lifted the Sorting Hat, which caught the white light coming through her window—as ever, the shadows cast over it seemed to form a face pulled into an intensely thoughtful expression.

"Do you know what this is?" McGonagall asked, and Harry nodded.

"The Sorting Hat," he said. "Er…Lily told me about it. It's not going to sing me a song, is it?"

"I should hope not," the professor muttered, reaching out to settle the hat onto his head. "Let's see where you fit, hm?"

The hat settled onto his head, and Harry noted that it felt oddly smaller than the last time, not quite landing on his ears and fitting comfortably in place instead. Moments later, the fabric shifted, and a voice filled his ear.

"Oh, late to the party, are we? No bright-eyed child here; this one's been on his share of adventures, that's plain as can be. And it looks like I've found you in the midst of yet another. Planning a bit of an uprising?"

Well, it was more of an outgoing, but Harry supposed it was a difference in semantics.

"Bright young lad, certainly clever, but a thinker is not always an academic, is he? You're quick on your feet, and no stranger to diving headfirst into trouble. Goodness, lad, Godric would adore you, he would. A chip off the Gryffindor block."

Well, it would certainly make this whole process easier to be on familiar ground, Harry mused, and the hat gave a chuckle.

"I daresay, this should be an interesting year, surely. I can't wait to see what you get up to in GRYFFINDOR!"

"There's no need to shout, it's only the two of us," McGonagall huffed as she whisked the hat away.

"It's only procedure, Deputy Headmistress," the hat told her, and Harry could have sworn he saw the creases and shadows in his "face" shoot a wink in his direction. McGonagall set the hat carefully on a shelf nearby before turning to Harry.

"Well, Mr. Granger, welcome to Hogwarts and welcome to Gryffindor house," she said. "Shall I show you to your common room?"

"Absolutely," Harry said, getting to his feet.

…

Harry was led along the familiar route he had been shown in his first year, and it was the smallest bit unbearable not to take the usual shortcuts and shave a few minutes off the commute. Instead, he trailed along after McGonagall, half-listening as she explained a few of the rules he had already known (and had broken on multiple occasions in the past) and told him the names of the Gryffindor prefects. One in particular stuck out to him—one of the new fifth-year prefects, Frank Longbottom. Neville's father, most likely? Harry didn't know much of the boy's family situation, only that his parents weren't in the picture and he lived with his gran.

Perhaps something about that could be changed this go-around.

"Well, then, Mr. Granger, if you have any more questions, feel free to speak to any of the prefects," McGonagall said. "And, of course, my office is always open if you've any concerns you wish to bring to my attention."

"Thank you very much, Professor," Harry said. "I can't wait to get started."

And that much, he knew, was true.

Inside the common room, Harry experienced a strange sort of nostalgia. It had in fact been some time (relatively) since he'd been back at Hogwarts or in the common room, nearly two months now. Glancing about, he half-expected (with a small and sad pang) to see Hermione with her nose in a book and Mafalda positively bouncing in her seat eager to see him again. Maybe Ron would be nearby ready to challenge him to a game of chess, or Ginny would sidetrack him for a chat about the Holyhead Harpies and their chances of taking the Cup this year.

What he found instead was something familiar and yet quite different as well; the Gryffindor common room was very nearly identical to the one he'd called home, but he recognized none of the faces mingling about.

Well, except for one…sort of.

"Oi, you Harry Granger?" A boy stood waiting for Harry as he strode into the common room proper. His eyes were the same color as Neville's, and there was something recognizable in the nose and his chin. Judging by the prefect badge on his chest, Harry had to assume this was Frank Longbottom.

"I am," Harry said.

"I'm Frank," the boy said. "Frank Longbottom. I'm a prefect. McGonagall got in touch with me, said you're new and might need showing around?"

"Harry!" a joyful little voice squeaked, and Harry was suddenly quite surrounded by Lily, Mary, and Marlene, who happily babbled along at him all at once.

"You got in!"

"And you're a Gryffindor!"

"Are you going to join the quidditch team!?"

"Can we watch you try out?"

"What classes are you going to take?"

"Do you need any help finding your way around?"

"Oh! You can sit with us at meals!"

"What's your favorite breakfast food?"

"Ladies," Frank finally cut in. "Let the bloke breathe, won't you?" He shot Harry an amused grin. "Seems I might not be needed after all."

"You can't fault their enthusiasm, can you?" Harry chuckled, and Frank fixed the girls with a small but indulgent smile.

"Can I trust you three to make him feel welcome and help him find his way?" Frank asked them. Harry snorted at the boy.

"Throwing me to the wolves already?" he asked.

"Better you than me," Frank muttered back.

"We'll take great care of you!" Lily insisted, while Mary and Marlene once again took hold of his arms.

"Come on!" Mary chirped.

"Let's go build a snowman!" Marlene insisted.

"I need to be seen to my dormitory first," Harry said. "And I'm rather sure I need to get some school shopping done."

He made the mistake of looking down at the trio, only to find three sets of puppy eyes fixed up at him in what had to be some sort of coordinated assault. Lily in particular seemed to have mastered some manner of lower lip pucker that was noticeable without crossing the threshold into exaggerated levels of pout. If Mafalda were here, she'd surely be taking notes.

"That is not fair."

"You know, we can continue the tour later," Frank said with a snicker. "I can talk to McGonagall about getting you a pass to go to Diagon Alley tomorrow."

"Well, that's settled, then," Mary said, already dragging Harry toward the door. "C'mon, it's time for a frolic!"

"You do look quite in need of a good frolic," Lily said sagely.

"And everyone knows the best way to go about frolicking is to do it in the snow!" Marlene added.

"That's quite an ironclad argument you've made there," Harry said flatly, and the three girls chorused a giggle at him. With one last glance at Frank Longbottom, he sighed but allowed himself to be whisked away.

It had been too long since his last frolic, actually.

…

Harry learned a lot about his mother and her friends while building not merely one but a half-dozen snowmen alongside them that afternoon. Lily, of course, was seemingly the head of the group, not the leader as much as she powered forth and the other two were often drawn inexorably along. Marlene was an excitable thing, often bullying Harry into magicking some snow into a drift and then climbing a tree to dive into it. Her little head bursting forth with a gap-toothed smile demanding a rating on a scale of one to ten was undeniably charming. Mary seemed content to linger back next to Harry and watch the other two scamper, occasionally fashioning a snowball and lobbing it at one of them when they drew near.

"When will you tell us what's really going on with you?" she asked, her breath puffing into the still and cold air as Lily and Marlene got into a shrieking contest to see who could climb a tree the highest. "I'm alright with covering for whatever sort of madness is going on because you seem a decent sort, but there's definitely something very strange about you."

"Is there?" Harry asked. "I suppose that's true enough."

"Not to mention, you look quite a lot like James Potter," Mary added.

"Maybe a bit," Harry nodded.

"But you have Lily's eyes," Mary went on.

"Well, not hers specifically," Harry said. "Or she wouldn't be able to see."

Mary giggled softly at that, peering up at Harry with her dark eyes—he was reminded strongly of Hermione, of the lurking intelligence behind that gaze. Harry was a mystery, and Mary was itching to solve it, even if she did trust him for the moment.

"Are you familiar at all with chronomancy?" she asked, and Harry chuckled a bit.

"That's complex stuff for a twelve-year-old to be studying," he told her. She fixed him with a beady eye, her mouth puckering thoughtfully.

"Once I found out about time-turners, I was rather fascinated by the whole thing," she explained. "Turns out, there's not much about time-travel in the library."

"Hardly something they'd teach here," he said. "Don't want a bunch of kids causing time paradoxes and the like because they forgot to finish their Potions essay."

He glanced down to see her still peering up at him searchingly, before she sighed and scooped up another snowball and lobbed it toward Lily as she scaled the tree. Shrieking as she was pelted by the icy projectile, Lily clutched fast to the branch she'd been standing on, glaring back at her friend.

"Mary! You nearly made me fall!"

"Oh, Harry would have caught you," Mary said with a grin. "He probably knows some spell he could use."

"I actually do," Harry said.

"Wait, do you, really?" Lily asked, her face lighting up. "Wicked! Catch me!"

With that, she leapt from entirely too high up, and Harry scrambled to get his wand from his pocket.

"Arresto momentum!"

Lily's descent slowed to a leisurely float that had her alighting oh-so-gently into a snowdrift…or it would have, had Harry not cancelled the spell with a flick to send her dropping unceremoniously down from about six inches.

"Ah! Do it again!" She sprung from the drift, covered head to toe in snow, and took off for the tree once again, her contest with Marlene completely forgotten. Having settled onto a bough to watch, Marlene only rolled her eyes.

"Lily…"

"Marlene, try it!" Lily shouted, climbing with renewed vigor. "It's a gas!"

"Well, they'll never let you stop now," Mary said with an amused sound, and Harry chuckled, now whipping his wand to slow a giggling Marlene's fall into a bank. He scarcely had time to make sure she had emerged safely before a whoop from Lily announced her next jump.

"Suppose it's a sort of reflex practice," he said. "Keeping two mad girls from breaking their necks."

"I swear, they build off each other," Mary grumbled. "You'll have them diving off the Astronomy Tower to try to get you to catch them next."

"Don't say that too loud," Harry cautioned her, wand now trained on Marlene once more. "I don't know if I could work it from that high up."

…

A surprise awaited Harry as he strode into the fourth-year boys' dormitory that evening. For a moment, he was sure he was seeing Fred and George Weasley lounging on one of the beds while a wireless played on the bedside table. Upon closer inspection, he saw that the pair of ginger boys poring over a quidditch magazine were in fact not identical, though they were clearly related.

"Oh, alright?" the taller of the two asked. He was broad and brawny, with a mop of curly hair and a thick covering of freckles. "You're the new student, yeah?"

"Harry," Harry said, sticking a hand out. The brawny boy grinned at him, reaching out to give his hand a shake with a massive grip that dwarfed Harry's.

"Gideon," he said, gesturing to the other boy. "That's my twin brother, Fabian."

"Charmed," Fabian said, also shaking Harry's hand. Fabian was lean, though in a wiry way, composed of pure muscle. His hair was kept short, and he bore only a light spattering of freckles compared to his brother.

"You two twins?"

"Yeah," Gideon said. "Fraternal, though. Not the sort that look the same."

"Worked that bit out for myself, funny enough," Harry said, and the two chuckled at that.

"You're alright," Fabian said, gesturing at the radio. "Like muggle music?"

"Love it," Harry said, leaning against the bedpost. Listening, he found he actually recognized the song that was playing. "I like the Rolling Stones."

"Hey, looka this, Gid," Fabian said, nudging his brother with a grin. "He actually knows his stuff."

"Just had this one in the mail from Mum and Dad for Christmas," Gid told him. "They don't understand the big deal with muggle music, but we like it loads better than the wizard stuff."

"Wizard music's too clean," Harry agreed. "Too neat and tidy. Music has to be a bit messy."

"Yeah, exactly!" Fabian burst out. "Blimey, we're gonna be good friends, aren't we?"

"Sure hope so," Harry said, glancing around. "Is it just us three in fourth year?"

"Well, there's Malcom McGonagall, that's the Professor's nephew," Gideon said. "He's the quidditch captain. Youngest one in years, so we're told."

"Good at it, he is, at least," Fabian added.

"You two are on the team?" Harry asked them, and both grinned.

"Keeper," Gideon said. With his broad frame, Harry couldn't help but think he wouldn't even need to move to block all of the hoops. "Fabi's a chaser, top in points for the past two years."

"I don't even need to brag, he does it for me," Fabian chuckled.

"You lot need a seeker?" Harry asked. The twins shared a glance, and Fabian shrugged.

"Travis's been ducking out a lot these days, dodging practice," Gideon said.

"Getting really serious about his OWLs," Fabian said. "He's not bad at the sport, but it's never been his top priority. It's why Malcom got the captaincy."

"Suppose you can't blame a bloke for having different priorities than you," Harry said.

"Fair enough, yeah," Gideon said. "Puts us in a right spot, though—Slytherin's got a new seeker this year, Rabastan Lestrange. He's good."

"He's also a bloody ponce and a bigot to boot," Fabian sneered.

"Dealt with those before," Harry muttered, feeling a strange sense of déjà vu.

"You trying to squeeze in on Travis's spot, then?" Fabian asked him.

"Long as I'm not stepping on any toes," Harry said. "I'm the new guy after all."

"Sometimes toes need to be stepped on to keep our priorities in order," a new voice spoke, one thick with a familiar Scottish brogue. The three boys looked to the door to see a boy with auburn hair and a severe expression worthy of any McGonagall on his face. He was a bit shorter than Harry, though broad in the same way as Gideon—with a muscular physique befitting an athlete.

"Oi, Malcom," Gideon said. "This is Harry. New student."

"Malcom," the boy introduced himself needlessly. "Did I hear you wanting to join the team?"

"I'm a fair seeker, I'd say," Harry said, not even sure himself why he was pushing the matter so much. It would be quite foolish in fact to draw attention, to show up out of nowhere lacking any sort of reasonable explanation for his presence (or his undeniable resemblance to James) and then make a spectacle of his skills as a seeker.

But he also really missed playing quidditch—what was an irresponsible teenager to do?

"Alright," Malcom said, giving him a once-over and seemingly agreeing with what he saw. "Next practice is Friday afternoon. Show up, we'll have you run a few drills. Maybe it'll scare Travis into shape."

"Or he'll think he's calling your bluff and quit," Fabian snickered.

"Then we hope our lad here's not all talk," Malcom said simply.

"Malcom's ruthless," Gideon told Harry, who let a single laugh.

"A good team captain has to be, doesn't he?" he said. "You go soft, they'll eat you up."

"He gets it," Malcom said with an appreciative nod. "Right, Friday, after lessons. Come down the quidditch pitch and we'll see what you've got."

"I'll be there," Harry said. "Er…soon as I get a broom."

"Yeah, that bit's important," Gideon said.

"Unless you can jump really high," Fabian added.

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