Whispers in Her Hair

by Indygodusk


Chapter 2: Second Year


On arriving back at Hogwarts for his second year, Harry breathed deeply for the first time in months. All summer he'd fought against a jittery hot feeling at being trapped with the Dursleys again, like he'd been seeing and breathing through a smothering hood and only now could rip it off again. It had been awful, not because the Dursley's were more abusive than usual, but because he now knew what he was missing. Even being allowed to keep sleeping in Dudley's second smaller bedroom instead of going back to the cupboard didn't change the fact that to his family, he was only an unwanted freak and good for nothing slave. He wished he could stay at Hogwarts year round, but Dumbledore wouldn't allow that.

At Hogwarts, Harry could do magic and had some control over his life. He had people who liked him and wanted him to be there. Harry didn't like the fame surrounding the whole boy-who-lived thing, but even that was better than being with the Dursleys. He dreamed of one day becoming someone important, powerful, and respected.

To achieve that goal, Harry knew that he needed to get better at magic and fitting into magical society. The way some of the other students looked down their noses at him for how he acted and how certain Slytherin cliques wouldn't give him the time of day made that perfectly clear. Draco's "interventions" last year had only helped so much, especially when they highlighted how much Harry still didn't fit in. Quietly listening in on the strategy sessions held by older students, he realized that he needed to be in charge of his reputation instead of allowing other people to control his image.

Trying to strategize and make plans like a good Slytherin, Harry got out his quill and wrote down some ideas on how to stop being seen as a freakish celebrity. Chewing on his lip, he decided that a good start would be studying more with Hermione in the library this year. Not only would he get to see more of Hermione (definitely a bonus) but he might also improve his grades in Potions enough to get Snape off his back and eventually turn him from an enemy into an ally, as Terence had boasted he'd done with Professor Sinistra. He also couldn't help imagining being better than Draco and seeing his face when people started turning to Harry for answers instead.

However, despite his good intentions and Hermione's delight when he voiced the idea, Harry only managed to study in the library for the first two weeks. He'd somehow forgotten that studying in the library was boring. Hermione wanted to be in the library every night they weren't flying or in Astronomy and she always sat right in front next to Madam Pince's desk. That meant no snacking while studying and not being allowed to talk without being shushed or scolded by a sour-faced Madam Pince, which felt too much like keeping his head down at home while being glared at by Aunt Petunia. It hadn't bothered him as much the year before, but after a lonely and miserable summer, he was starved for social interaction and the freedom to flamboyantly use magic, not to mention the chance to eat whenever he got hungry. He knew he probably didn't need to hoard food now that he was back at Hogwarts, but it was hard to break the habit after a lifetime of hiding scraps for when the Dursleys locked him in and forgot to feed him.

Harry always liked Hermione, but he only sometimes liked studying. It was easier to just do his homework at the last minute in the Slytherin common room with Blaise than to give up an evening's entertainment by doing his homework days or even weeks in advance. He wished Hermione was in Slytherin too so they could eat at the same table and just study together in the common room, but he knew it was a selfish wish that would make things easier for himself and harder on her considering the prejudice in his house against muggleborns. Though maybe it would be harder on him too because he could see himself getting into a lot more fights defending slights to his friend versus the current situation of biting his tongue bloody and trying to ignore the insults to himself.

While Harry was happy to be back at Hogwarts, things weren't exactly easy. Someone had published more books about his "adventures" over the summer, leading to girls he didn't even know sighing when he walked past and asking him to autograph things. Professor Lockhart had made everyone much too comfortable asking for autographs this year. He was also pretty sure that several of his housemates had parents who'd supported Voldemort, leading their children to strike out at him whenever they caught him alone and making him much too familiar with getting jinxed. After a few too many visits, Madam Pomfrey had finally given him a jar of Bruisewort Balm to take with him, though she unfortunately wouldn't part with even a small bottle of the more powerful Essence of Dittany.

After the events of last year, Dumbledore had basically patted Harry's head, given him a lolly, and told him not to worry his little head about such events just yet, as if Harry wasn't having nightmares about what had happened with Professor Quirrel and Voldemort's spirit, as if Harry hadn't killed someone just by touching them and hadn't almost died himself. He respected Headmaster Dumbledore a lot, but he also hated how Dumbledore wouldn't tell Harry about anything until he decided that Harry was old enough. Old enough for what? The whole episode had made him into even more of a celebrity, but the freakish kind people pointed and gawked at, whispering "facts" to each other behind their hands. The new books and Professor Lockhart's overly dramatic presence just made it worse.

One day Harry wanted to be respected enough to be told what was going on, powerful enough to keep himself safe, and popular enough to have loyal friends who genuinely knew him and cared about him no matter what. Right now, he had none of those things. No one needed to know how much that bothered him.

Harry was used to bullying. It wasn't fun, but he knew how to grit his teeth and get through it. However, it was a lot worse when the people tormenting you were people you'd trusted to be friends. The summer break had somehow destroyed most of his hard-won relationships with his roommates. Vincent and Greg going back to being jerks was irritating, but not the end of the world. Theo distancing himself when other people were around and refusing to take his side against the others was disappointing, but not shocking. However, Draco's change of heart into a cruel jerk encouraging others to mock Harry made Harry feel like he'd been punched in the gut and couldn't catch his breath. Harry had thought better of Draco. He'd thought he could trust him to have his back. Only Blaise remained a loyal friend and stuck up for Harry, though as great as Blaise was, he didn't like discussing anything too serious (and all of Harry's problems were serious).

By the end of last year, Draco and Blaise had been his best friends, with Hermione a close runner up. Both boys had helped Harry to get through the traps on the third floor along with Hermione, despite their well-known and vocal dislike of the know-it-all Gryffindor (not that Harry had intended on her coming along, but she'd stumbled upon the group of Slytherins and threatened to report them to a Professor if they didn't let her help, a help that had ended up saving their lives several times along the way). Admittedly Draco had been dragged along by Blaise instead of volunteering, but he also hadn't put up too much of a fuss. Draco hated to be left out of anything interesting and had thought he'd get to prove them all wrong about Snape being evil and have 'I told you so' rights for years to come.

Despite Draco being right about Snape's innocence (at least that one time) and how much danger they'd all been in and the cuts and bruises they'd ended up with, Draco had barely even complained afterwards. Harry had been happily surprised. Draco had also acted perfectly friendly to Harry when they'd parted at the train station, even giving Hermione an awkward nod farewell when she'd politely wished him a good summer.

So it had made his about-face at the start of school unexpected and painful. That first day, Draco had coldly brushed off all of Harry's attempts to talk to him, first on the train and again at the sorting feast. When the two of them had been the first ones back in their dorm room that first night—Harry doggedly following at Draco's heels—Harry hadn't even waited for the door to click shut before opening his mouth. "What is your problem?"

Spinning around with a dramatic swirl of black robes, Draco sneered and crossed his arms. "You're my problem, Potter," he said, practically spitting the P.

The scorn on his face somehow caught Harry off guard, despite Draco's cold attitude all day. "What? Why? You didn't have a problem with me last year. What's changed? Tell me and I'll fix it! We're friends and roommates—being at odds is ridiculous. It's stupid." Harry couldn't keep his voice from sounding upset and hurt.

Draco lifted his chin condescendingly. "The only thing stupid was ever being friends with you."

"That's stupid too," Harry snapped, too upset to think up a decent comeback. "You have to have a reason."

Draco's eyes became ice. "Look, it's simple. My father doesn't like you. I'm not going to be friends with someone my father doesn't like."

"Draco, I don't even know your father!" Harry snapped, throwing up his hands. "And he doesn't know me! Not like you do after everything we've been through together. We're friends! I wouldn't have even gotten past that living wizard chess game last year without your help. You know that the rumors and books about me are all full of rubbish. You know me. What do you think?"

For the first time Draco's arrogance faltered, his shoulders curving forward as he looked down and away, giving Harry some hope that they could get past this.

"C'mon, Draco," Harry said, his chest tight. "Remember how you helped me sneak past a Cerberus and all those other traps? Remember how we stayed up late studying for tests and sat next to each other sharing crisps during Slytherin's Quidditch matches? We're friends."

Shifting, Draco swallowed and licked his lips, opening his mouth as if pulling in a breath to say something… just as Vincent and Greg came thundering down the hall and into the room, sending the door banging back against the wall.

"Out of the way, Potter," Vincent bellowed, knocking Harry into the wall with his meaty shoulder as he moved to his trunk.

By the time a scowling Harry pushed up off the wall, Draco's back had snapped straight and his expression had closed off.

"Yeah, you better watch it." Greg said, looking quickly to Draco before smacking his fist into his hand.

Greg and Vincent pulled out their cleaning potions and pajamas before stomping off for the bathroom. Harry and Draco waited by mutual accord for the other boys to finish up and leave before speaking again. The slamming of the door sounded like the deep tolling of a bell, vibrating through the floor and up into the soles of Harry's feet.

Draco, his grey eyes like chips of ice, spoke first. "My father knows enough." Turning his head, he stared past Harry's shoulder and out the window at the greenish water beneath the Great Lake. The windows were all underwater here in Slytherin. A large fish with bulbous eyes, pale stripes, and spiked fins slowly swam past, illuminated for a moment by the light shining through the window before it reversed back into the shadows. "You probably can't understand, especially since you don't have parents, but I have to obey my father." His hands fisted in the sleeves of his robe and his mouth twisted. "I want to. I won't choose an ignorant loser like you over my family." Moving onto his bed, he snapped the curtains closed, shutting Harry out.

Harry decided that he quite hated Lucius Malfoy. And maybe that he hated Draco a little bit too.

Over the next month, nothing really improved. Blaise stayed sympathetic and kind and Theo distant. Greg and Vincent became generally mean and pushed Harry around whenever they could get away with it, whatever had made them respect and fear him the year before now forgotten as they followed Draco's lead and the directives of their own fathers. As the days passed, Draco either sliced into Harry with the cutting edge of his tongue or ignored him. Their arguments got louder and more heated as Harry's willingness to forgive and not say anything he couldn't take back got smaller. Harry pretended that he didn't care, but he did.

-oo00oo-

After Harry gave up on studying in the library, the only time he really saw Hermione outside of sitting across a classroom was when she came out flying with him. On their first flight after the summer, Hermione gave him a big hug that made him feel fizzy inside, smoothing over a bit of the hurt from Draco's defection, and spoke of her summer travels—first stopping off in Spain for a couple of days to help her dad's cousin settle in after she'd moved away from the rest of their family in Colombia, and then going to her mom's big family reunion in Greece.

Trying not to be jealous of her having that much family all over the world, not to mention all of her fun summer adventures, Harry vented about the strange house elf named Dobby who'd tried to get him kicked out of Hogwarts and how he'd almost gotten stuck when the wall to platform 9¾ wouldn't open for him. At least her strong reactions to his story—even shouting at the unfairness and getting angry at how he'd been treated—made him feel a little bit better. He only spoke of the silly and unusual things that had happened to him, not giving her details about his life at the Dursleys for fear she'd think less of him. He also didn't mention his ruined friendships with his roommates, knowing she was barely civil with them at the best of times and not wanting her to do or say something to make things worse.

For a while he waffled about telling her about the voice of poison and ice he sometimes heard whispering inside the walls of the castle, but in the end decided not to. He didn't want to ruin their nice day or make Hermione think he had cracked and started going crazy. No one else seemed to be hearing the creepy voice talking of ripping, tearing, and killing, so maybe it was just a side effect of touching Voldemort's spirit last year and would go away on its own.

Thankfully Hermione had long since gotten over her initial discomfort with brooms and on a good day would even race him up a vertical surface when he got particularly antsy (though she still balked at racing straight down). She didn't have his speed or reckless disregard for safety, but she wasn't a pushover either. They easily fell back into a comfortable friendship.

After almost a month of seeing each other a couple of times a week to go flying, Hermione hesitantly asked him to join her in the library again so they could hang out more often.

Feeling guilty, Harry shuffled his feet. "I guess I can try. You have to know it's not you, Hermione. It's just that Madam Pince glares at me everytime I open my mouth or even move too fast to get something out of my bag." He wrinkled his nose and huffed.

Hermione took a quick breath and stuck out her chin. "Well, I suppose we can sit farther back where it's harder for Madam Pince to see us. I know other people talk while working back there, but Harry, you need to study more if you don't want to fall behind again! Schoolwork is important and… and I can help you with that." She looked down and tucked a chestnut curl behind her ear. "I like helping you with that."

"And I appreciate that. I do. I'll try, alright? And thanks." And he'd meant it, but the next time Harry made his way to the library, he found a large group of students buzzing around the notice board posted just down the hall and found himself drifting in that direction. Madam Pince was standing just inside the library doors scowling, huffing, and tapping her foot. Hermione was hovering on the fringes of the group, curls escaping her ponytail and falling down her neck, leaning against the wall and sighing a lot.

"What's going on?" he asked her, pushing past two students and leaning over to talk.

Straightening with a crooked smile, eyes a little sad, Hermione jerked her thumb over at the notice board. "You're definitely going to want to read that."

Shoulders tensing, Harry leaned forward. "It's not something about me, is it?" Lockhart had been talking about having Harry join the photoshoot for his next poster and maybe having a few lucky students blurred in the background as adoring fans. Thinking of it made Harry's skin crawl. If this was a call for models or photographers, Harry intended to disappear. Fast.

Forcing a smile, Hermione shook her head and patted his arm. "No, it's something exciting. I promise. Go see." Squeezing once, she let him go with a little shove.

Looking back at her questioningly, Harry wiggled his way through the crowd, almost getting his foot smashed by a bouncing Ron Weasley. A large piece of parchment pinned to the notice board showed brooms, Quaffles, and Snitches zipping in all directions, knocking into each other and sometimes the words in the middle, making the words go crooked and even flipping letters upside down. The enchanted parchment announced that Quidditch tryouts were being held the second weekend of October for all houses, with more specific dates and times to be posted in each common room. Trepidation turning into enthusiasm, Harry shot a big grin over his shoulder at Hermione, who was still leaning against the wall.

In all the excitement, he never did make it past the doors of the library to study with her. He had to go and talk to the current members of the Slytherin team as soon as possible to get advice on how to secure his place. It was rare for a second-year to make a team, but not impossible. Caught up in Quidditch fever, he paused just long enough to tell Hermione that they'd have to reschedule. She didn't seem surprised and, thank goodness, didn't get mad.

"You're the best, Hermione!" Harry told her with a grin before running off, mind already calculating where Terence might be found.

-oo00oo-

Everyone at Hogwarts knew the members of their house Quidditch team. They were respected and looked up to. They commanded attention and always had friends.

Harry desperately wanted to be one of them. There was no way they'd choose a shrimp like him to be a Beater or even a Keeper, and the house had too many good choices for Chasers already, especially since Terence was switching from Seeker to Chaser this year after a growth spurt over the summer. However, Harry was a great flyer, the smallest boy in his year, and had quick reflexes—the perfect traits for the open Seeker position. In casual pickup games, Harry always played the Seeker position and—so far—had always caught the Snitch before the other team. He knew that Draco had been eyeing the Seeker spot for himself and was better at kissing up, but Harry hoped that his talent and persistence would win out.

To that end, he started practicing regularly and tried to make sure he was seen doing impressive dives and fast turns by current members of the Slytherin team whenever he noticed them outside. None of them had said anything about it, but Harry wasn't ready to give up on the tactic just yet.

Trying to be supportive, Hermione even joined him in training or the occasional weekday match with other Quidditch hopefuls when the weather was nice and she'd already finished her homework. She'd become quite the accomplished flyer after spending the last year balancing books while studying on a broomstick. Although Harry was still better at flying, he knew he'd never beat a genius like Hermione in class, especially when it came to remembering an answer or putting together complex ideas, though once he got a spell down he could often cast faster and with more power than she did. While he sometimes floundered on written exams, he often flourished under the stress of a timed practical. Hermione was the opposite, hating to be rushed when giving an answer, though still performing brilliantly for all of that. Nevertheless their weaknesses balanced each other out and when he could get her competitiveness in schoolwork to transfer over to flying, it made her a great training partner. Although not as obsessed as he was, he liked to think that they still had fun together throwing around a Quaffle or searching for the Snitch.

Harry wished that people in Gryffindor could see how great Hermione was so she got more respect and more friends. Some of her housemates had gotten a little nicer, but she still seemed alone more often than not when he wasn't with her. During class, Ron Weasley seemed to blow even more hot and cold towards Hermione than Draco used to towards Harry. He presented a united front against people outside Gryffindor and got her to help him when he got stuck on something, but then turned around and spouted mean things about her for a laugh to his friends. Weasley got particularly bad when he noticed Hermione being obvious about how much smarter she was than the rest of them (which behavior admittedly sometimes even irritated Harry, though he tried to remember that she honestly wasn't trying to make others look bad, just impress the teachers and make herself look good, which could have the same outcome but started with different intentions).

With only two weeks left before tryouts, Hermione agreed to help Harry practice his Seeker skills. He was at the point where he needed someone to race against instead of just catching the Snitch on his own. They set the Snitch to fast training instead of game mode so it wouldn't spend so much time holding still and hiding to make the game go longer. Tied one to one after about twenty minutes of playing, they'd just circled the flapping blue flags above the Ravenclaw stands when Harry saw a glint of gold far below and reacted, throwing himself into a reckless dive. He caught the Snitch, but dropped his glasses onto the ground when he barely missed slamming into an archway leading up a tower staircase.

After enough fussing from Hermione to get embarrassing—though it did secretly make Harry feel warm deep down inside—Hermione gently dabbed the blood from the shallow scrape on his temple and repaired his mangled glasses. She also insisted on teaching him a stronger sticking charm and several other spells specifically designed for wizards who wore glasses and played sports.

"Why do you even know spells like that? You don't wear glasses," Harry finally asked, bewildered.

"Yes, but you do." Before he could decide on how to respond to that, Hermione shook her finger at him. "I'm willing to keep playing, but only if you promise to be more careful with yourself and less insane with your flying."

Harry quickly agreed and they set the Snitch loose and zipped up into the air again. However, when Harry managed to catch the Snitch twice in the span of the next ten minutes, despite restraining himself from steep dives, it led to a score of four to one in favor of Harry and a scowling and huffing Hermione with a pricked ego.

The next time Hermione caught a glimpse of the Snitch, she let her competitive nature take over and dropped into a steep spinning dive that had even Harry choking in worry, his heart in his throat as her curls twirled behind her like doomed sailors sucked down into a whirlpool. Fingers outstretched, eyes intent, Hermione's hand closed around the Snitch just seconds before the edge of her cheek grazed off the goalpost. Listing sideways, the Snitch's wings sticking out from between her fingers, she almost fell off her broom.

"Hermione!" Harry cried, racing to her side.

Cradling her face, she managed to right herself before he reached her. She landed her broom and Harry quickly followed.

"Are you okay? Let me see," Harry demanded.

"Y—yeah, I'm okay," she sniffled, lowering her hand. Harry put his hand on her chin and carefully turned her cheek in his direction to see better. Eyes wet but the fluttering Snitch still held firmly in her grasp, Hermione tried to give him a weak smile. A few slow tears escaped despite her attempt to be brave. Harry felt sick. He wished he knew a healing spell or had tricked Pomfrey into giving him some dittany. Her face was rapidly swelling and had a red welt from chin to cheek. She didn't seem to have a concussion since her pupils looked the same size and she had no problem following his moving finger when he held it up and asked her to focus.

"I think that's enough practice for today. Let's take a break," Harry said softly, putting a hand on her back.

Carefully wiping her eyes, she exhaled shakily and nodded. "Okay."

On returning to the broom shed, they ran into Professor McGonagall, the wide brim of her pointed black hat shading her eyes against the glare of the setting sun. For once her stern face looked almost soft. "Mister Potter, Miss Granger," she nodded to each of them. "That impact looked a bit nasty, Miss Granger, are you alright?"

"Yes, thank you Professor." Hermione looked down, going pink with embarrassment.

"That was very impressive flying from both of you, especially for second years," said Professor McGonagall, straightening her back. "Well done."

Looking up with surprise, Hermione's skin turned from pink to red. "Thank you, ma'am."

"Yeah, thanks," Harry echoed her awkwardly. He didn't have much experience with taking compliments, especially from adults. Grabbing Hermione's broom from her hand, he put it away with his inside the shed.

Coming back out, he found Professor McGonagall still waiting. Harry paused, shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably. She sent him a faint smile and said, "When I first saw the two of you flying so fearlessly, for a moment I was transported into the past. Your father would've been proud of you, Mister Potter. James was an amazing Quidditch player himself."

Harry caught his breath, discomfort forgotten as he stepped closer to see her face better beneath the brim of her pointed hat. "My dad was?"

McGonagall nodded firmly and met his eyes. "He led the Gryffindor team to many victories during his time here." Sighing, she shook a finger at him. "If only you'd been sorted into Gryffindor, I'd have snatched you up last year as Seeker for my team after seeing the way you took to a broom. I reckon I'd have won the house cup from Severus then!"

Hermione giggled and nudged his side. "See, Harry? I told you you were great."

"Indeed he is," McGonagall said, making Harry's cheeks go hot. She turned to Hermione with a faint smile. "Though you aren't too shabby either, my dear. Our reserve team could use someone who dives like you. I reckon Wood could polish you up very nicely indeed, maybe have you playing first string in a year or two. Think about it, and don't forget to see Pomfrey to heal that cheek." Nodding at them both, she turned and walked away.

Laughing incredulously, Hermione shook her head. "Me playing team sports? Is she crazy?" Beneath her words hung a wistful thread.

"I think you'd be great at anything you put your mind to," Harry said loyally, scooping up their bags out of the lockers and handing hers over before closing the door of the broom shed.

His mind bounced back to McGonagall's revelation. "Do you think my dad's name might be somewhere in the trophy room?"

"I don't see why not, considering what the Professor said about him being such a good flyer. We could go together and look." Just then the bell tolled the time in deep gongs that echoed out across the grounds. Hermione listened to the number of notes and grimaced before sucking in her breath and gingerly touched her cheek. "Though not tonight. I have to color code my notes before dinner and then I have astronomy right after. I'm free tomorrow though, especially since my roommates are planning some sort of spa makeover night and I'm not invited." She shrugged and laughed awkwardly.

Still caught up in thinking about his dad being on a house Quidditch team, it took Harry a moment to realize that Hermione was looking at him expecting a reply. "Oh, well, good thing since you hate that kind of stuff, right? Though I'll probably just see if Blaise can come help me search tonight. I don't think I can wait until tomorrow and I already made plans I don't want to break." Harry felt full to bursting at the thought of finding his father's name in the trophy room, a tangible link to the man he was just barely starting to get to know.

Besides which, lately when Draco got bored in the evenings but was too wired to sleep or monologue to Greg and Vincent, he'd started forgetting to be such a prat and fallen back into the habits of last year's friendship. It was almost as if staying enemies was proving to be too much of an effort (at least that was Harry's hope). Yesterday he'd actually stomped up to where Harry was reading on his bed, kicked the mattress, and challenged him to a game of wizard chess without using a single insulting nickname. That thawing of hostilities hadn't extended to the classroom or even the public areas of their dorm, but it gave Harry hope.

That night, Harry had played perhaps the best chess game of his life and beaten Draco. Irritated but unwillingly impressed, Draco had challenged Harry to a rematch tomorrow after dinner to prove that Harry's win was a fluke. If Harry didn't show up, he feared it would set their friendship back to zero again.

Having Draco as a permanent enemy, especially considering how influential the Malfoys were with other important people in the wizarding world, would make his years in Slytherin a lot more difficult. He hadn't realized how much being Draco's friend had helped his status last year when it came to the other people in Slytherin. Harry was working on improving his standing within his house on his own merits, but if he could win back Draco, maybe Draco could convince his father to like and support Harry outside of Hogwarts too. Though even for Draco, he wasn't going to step aside and give up the chance to be Slytherin's Seeker, especially after finding out that he was following in his father's footsteps.

Hermione's smile dimmed. "Sure, of course, though I'll just be hanging out in the library tomorrow—studying like always—if you want to swing by." Looking away, she tucked one of her tangled curls behind her ear and swallowed, making the red welt on her face seem more prominent. "Good luck finding your dad's name." Head down, she trudged back to the castle at his side.

Frowning, Harry noticed that she looked paler than before. "Hermione, are you sure you're alright? That's a nasty looking scratch and you did knock your head," he nudged her gently, trying to get her to look at him. "Though your catch was wicked brilliant. Even Professor McGonagall thought so and everyone knows how hard to please she is."

"Thanks," she said softly, her smile genuine but subdued. "Though she's nowhere near as difficult as your head of house, Professor Snape."

Before he could agree to that obvious observation, a voice drew his attention. "Oi, Harry!" Looking over, Harry saw Terence waving from the edge of a knot of older Slytherin boys. Most of them were on either the main or reserve Quidditch teams. Several looked at Harry with disapproval, though that might've been because he was hanging out with a muggleborn Gryffindor and not just because Harry was Harry. If so, they could just keep on glaring because he had no intention of changing who he chose to be friends with.

Of course, Bole and Derrick were probably glaring because Harry was Harry, the wankers. They always seemed to have it out for him and took every opportunity to mock his ugly scar, muggle manners, and ignorance of magical customs. They also liked to bump into him too hard and jinx him when they found him alone in the halls.

Harry wouldn't have trusted most groups they chose to hang out with, but Terence was always pretty nice and had a higher social standing, so it should be safe enough to go over. Besides, Harry needed to get as many members of the Quidditch team on his side as he could if he was going to beat Draco and win the Seeker position. Terence waved again, getting impatient, his dark blond hair sticking up from his head almost as messily as Harry's usually did. "C'mere!"

"Terence is on the team. I gotta go talk to him if you're okay?" Harry looked back at Hermione, waiting for her to nod.

"Sure, see you tomorrow in DADA," she said quietly.

"Ugh, Lockhart." Harry rolled his eyes and stuck out his tongue in disgust.

"Professor Lockhart," Hermione corrected stiffly, obviously still somehow dazzled by the man.

Shaking his head, eager to know what Terence had to say, Harry left with a wave. "Later, Hermione, and don't forget to go to the infirmary for your cheek!"

Harry trotted over to Terence and his friends, trying to act cool instead of intimidated. When he got there, Terence said they'd seen his match with Hermione. Like McGonagall, Terence and his friends had been impressed. Harry barely restrained himself from dancing a jig. His plan to get noticed by members of the Slytherin team had worked!

"You're a natural in the air!" Terence clapped Harry on the shoulder and pulled him close. Several of the other boys frowned, keeping their distance. "If you can pull off dives like that on an ancient school broom, which is only a squint away from being a stick pulled out of a centaur's bum, then you should shine on a real sports broom. You're almost as good as I was in second year, maybe even a smidge better in reflexes, though ever so much worse in looks." He laughed and ran a hand through his hair.

"Thanks." Harry rolled his eyes. "I think."

Terrance turned Harry to look towards the Quidditch pitch and framed his hands in the air, as if looking at something no one else could see. "Harry, it's time Slytherin became better known for our skill in the skies than for injuring our opponents."

"Not this again," someone groaned in disgust, but Terence stopped Harry from turning to look and see who.

"Harry, this year is our time to shine. I want you to borrow my broom before tryouts to get a real feel for diving at top speed. If you do as well as I expect, I think you could fill my spot as team Seeker."

"Really?" Harry felt his eyes go wide and a grin splitting his cheeks. He didn't know if this day could get any better. "I'd love that!"

"If you keep flying like what I saw today, you're gonna be a shoo-in."

"He's not a shoo-in if Malfoy wants it," that same voice said again a lot louder, probably Bole. Bole never passed up a chance to make Harry feel like dung on the bottom of his shoe.

The hand on Harry's shoulder tightened and Terence's smile dimmed. "Well, even if he doesn't make first string, there's always the reserve team. Besides, nothing's been decided yet." Terence stepped back and turned to look at his friends, keeping a hand on Harry. "I don't know what's going to happen at tryouts, but when it comes to raw talent, my money's on Harry. He's gonna be a winner. He's gonna help us be winners. Whadda ya say, Captain?"

Harry's breath caught as the group parted to reveal Marcus Flint, the current Quidditch Captain. Flint was a big, brawny sixth year with close-cropped black hair, large ears, larger hands, and no scruples. He was willing to do anything to win at Quidditch, up to and including cheating during a match and purposely fouling the other team. More opposing players ended up in the hospital wing due to Flint alone than the rest of the Slytherin team combined.

It was exactly that kind of play that Terence was campaigning against and to Flint's face, which was either suicidal or a clever way of proving he wasn't trying to stab Flint in the back and steal his Captaincy. People who stabbed Flint in the back or—even more idiotically—in the front always ended up as shunned and broken figures skirting around the edge of the room who peed themselves if you looked at them too hard. It was pretty universally regarded as a bad idea.

Flint—whose first name was Marcus though he refused to answer to anything but his last name since he'd supposedly been named after a relative he despised—rarely had much to say unless it was about Quidditch. He also had a scowl so mean that it had been known to stop people dead in their tracks and send them running in the opposite direction. Harry had heard that the other houses used him as a boogeyman to scare new students.

No one crossed Flint.

Which made the other part of Flint's reputation inside Slytherin so confusing. It was an unspoken house rule that you didn't speak of Flint's character, not unless you were feeling exceptionally brave and were inside the most secure part of their basement dungeon underneath the Black Lake.

The truth was that while Marcus Flint was a total bully when it came to the members of other Quidditch teams, he could be protective, patient, and kind when it came to his fellow Slytherins. If Flint hadn't been so willing to do anything to win a game, he'd probably have been a Hufflepuff considering how much loyalty he showed to members of his house. If someone attacked or disrespected him in the halls, Flint would defend himself swiftly and violently, but in the Slytherin common room he was unexpectedly sweet.

That didn't mean he was weak. In Slytherin, Flint was a major power. He'd just also carelessly loan out books, clothing, or money to anyone who asked.

At first, Harry thought it was just a way of making people owe him favors, or because it made Flint feel magnanimous and important, but that didn't explain why Flint also always carried at least two obscenely soft handkerchiefs, or why he regularly switched out the pillows and throw blankets in the common room when they got too stained or fell below his standards for soft and fluffy. He was also always touching people, slinging an arm around someone or ruffling their hair, wrestling with the boys or twirling the girls to get a laugh.

When Flint lay down on the rug in front of the main hearth to flip through Quidditch magazines—a spot usually reserved for only the most important and dominant of seventh years—shy little first year Halle Harper—who was having a hard time adjusting to being away from home for the first time and was being teased ever since someone had started the rumor that she was a half-blood or maybe even muggleborn—would climb on his back and fall asleep to the rhythm of his breathing, and even the most self-important of seventh years didn't dare wake her up and order her away from the fire, much less say a word against sixth year Flint.

Flint would do just about anything for a fellow snake, especially if they came to him with a sob story or he stumbled across someone crying. He seemed to like taking care of members of his house almost as much as he liked making other houses cry at Quidditch matches. Harry had viewed that with skepticism until his own personal experience last year. Flint had found Harry hiding behind a suit of armor on the second floor with wet eyes, dry cheeks, and bloody wounds, clutching his wand in a white-knuckled fist and trembling with impotent rage and resentment after being pushed down a moving staircases by fellow Slytherins Bole and Derrick and then laughed at by a passing group of Gryffindors when he'd landed with his arse in the air. Not saying anything, Flint had sat down next to Harry, tossed an arm over his shoulders, and passed over two handkerchiefs—one for his bloody elbows and knees and one for his running nose and split lip. Once Harry had cleaned himself up, Flint escorted him all the way back to his dorm room, glaring at anyone who thought to look at them funny. The entire time they never exchanged a single word.

Harry didn't expect anything more to come of it, but starting the day after and continuing for almost three glorious weeks, whenever Bole and Derrick saw him coming they left the room or turned around and went the opposite direction. The explanation for their change in behavior was as obvious as it was inexplicable. Flint rarely talked to Harry and barely even acknowledged that he existed. Why would he defend Harry like that? Even the other students and teachers hadn't done anything, though it was possible Snape had been too busy talking to Quirrell to see Harry on the floor as he'd swept by. Possible, but not likely. Flint hadn't asked anything for his help either. Harry couldn't get up the courage to ask him why or even say thanks.

Harry didn't know what to think about Flint. During last year's notoriously vicious Quidditch match against Hufflepuff, he'd almost single-handedly managed to put all of Hufflepuff's main line plus their reserve Keeper and reserve Beater in the hospital wing before Terence finally put them out of their misery and caught the Snitch. Harry usually hated bullies, yet Flint was in Harry's house and had protected him. Harry couldn't hate Marcus Flint. He didn't know what to feel, though mixed in there was discomfort with a whole lot of admiration and respect.

Still holding onto Harry's shoulder, Terence locked eyes with Flint. "Just give Harry a fair chance at making Seeker."

"Scarhead's a loser who wants to be a celebrity," Bole snorted and nudged Derrick. "He's a Lockhart wannabe. Next thing we know he'll be dying his hair, acting out his supposedly greatest moments, and swishing around offering people autographed photos." They snickered.

Harry didn't spare them a glance, shoving down his irritation and reminding himself that they were unimportant to his goals. He kept his focus on Flint. "I want to play quidditch. I want to win." He kept his chin up and his gaze stedy.

Head tilting, expression unreadable, Flint looked Harry up and down and spoke to Terence. "He's small and fast, I'll give you that. I suppose he might have a chance if even the Dark Lord couldn't take him down." The other boys stirred uneasily while Harry's heart jumped in glee. "But Professor Snape hates him and Malfoy's so desperate to be on the team that his father is offering to buy us new brooms. I won't risk offending Mr. Malfoy or turn down new Nimbus 2001s for me and my mates."

Harry's happiness snuffed out like a candle. Clenching his jaw to hide his devastation, angry at the injustice, Harry lifted his chin and stepped forward, looking up into Flint's dispassionate eyes. "I'd be the best Seeker Slytherin has ever had. I'd snap every bone in my body before I let the other team get to the Snitch first. Would Draco do that? He's uneasy going too fast for fear he'll mess up his hairdo." That got a laugh from the group, as Draco's vanity was well-known. "If you want to win, you'll pick me for Seeker. If you love the game as much as I think you do, you'll pick me."

"Big words from a little snake," Flint said slowly, crossing his arms and making his biceps bulge as he looked down his nose at Harry. "Prove you mean it at tryouts. We'll see what happens." Walking past, Flint unexpectedly reached out and ruffled Harry's hair with one of his meaty hands before continuing on towards the castle at a loping pace, the rest of the boys scrambling in his wake.

"You're going to have to really wow us, but I believe in you, Harry," Terence said, walking backwards without stumbling. Cupping his hands, he called, "If you really mean that about the broken bones, go talk to Valeria Basavilbaso about training you. She's mean as a snake in a houseful of snakes, but she taught me all my craziest tricks." Tossing a thumbs up, he spun around and ran off to catch up with his friends.

-oo0oo-

Harry was willing to do just about anything to get on the Quidditch team, even talk to the scary people in his house he'd done his best to avoid up until now. Sixth year Slytherin Valeria Basavilbaso was a petite witch with dark brown skin, close-cropped curls, and exotically uptilted eyes. She'd played Seeker her third year with Flint, almost effortlessly caught the Snitch in every game, and then quit the team after they'd won the house cup.

Blaise had heard that Valeria quitting was due to a lack of interest in playing well with others and, despite her reputation as one of the most talented Seekers Slytherin had ever fielded, everyone had heaved a sigh of relief when she'd quit because she'd put members of her own team in the hospital just as often as members of opposing houses, most notably putting Flint in the hospital wing for almost two weeks. She was powerful because she scared people, not because of followers or alliances. Blaise added that only people who were suicidal drew Valeria's attention before patting Harry hard on the back. "Good luck! I promise to take care of Hedwig after you die and eat a treacle tart in your honor."

Screwing up his courage, Harry found Valeria walking down the corridor leading into the dungeons and approached with hand extended. "Hi I'm—"

Before he could finish his introduction, Valeria flicked her wand and cast a rapid series of spells, flinging him upside-down against the opposite wall with enough force to make him cross-eyed and sticking him there before continuing on at an unhurried pace.

Blaise came by a few minutes later and found Harry still stuck upside-down with his face Gryffindor red from pooling blood and embarrassment. Laughing himself silly, Blaise left to go get help, returning with Miles, who thankfully was old enough and sneaky enough to know how to cancel the spells and get Harry down.

On entering the common room to see Valeria reading in an emerald green armchair in the corner, Harry took a deep breath and set his jaw. He was determined to make the team as Seeker. He wouldn't give up so easily.

Seeing his expression, Blaise scrambled away with a clap on the back and a whispered, "Good luck and don't die!" He took up a safe position across the room to observe.

Deciding bold was better than sneaky when it came to someone so much more powerful, Harry marched straight up to her chair. "Terence-sent-me," he said as quickly as possible in a single breath, hoping it would win him time to explain more fully.

It didn't.

He found himself falling, landing hard on his side with his knees and elbows stuck together by what looked and smelled like wads of greenish-yellow troll snot. He tried not to gag at the stench. "Please train me," he begged thickly. In the background he heard snickering, but he didn't bother turning to look and see who was enjoying his humiliation. It would (hopefully) be worth it if Valeria got him onto the team.

Examining him like he was a bug in her pumpkin juice, at last Valeria closed her book and leaned forward. "Explain, and speak slowly unless you want me to turn your eyebrows into flesh-eating slugs before I walk away." Steepling her hands, she watched him without giving anything away. The flames from the hearth flickered menacingly in her dark eyes.

Sweat trickled down Harry's cheek and his stomach churned with acid. "I want to be on the Quidditch team. Terence said to ask you for Seeker training. I heard that you're the best Seeker Slytherin has had in years and Terence said you taught him all his best tricks. He also said I could use his broom to practice for tryouts. Please train me. I'm talented, a hard worker, and I don't give up."

"Anything else?" She quirked an eyebrow.

Harry's mind raced, looking for arguments. "Professor McGonagall said she'd have put me on her team as Seeker last year if I'd been in Gryffindor. I… I really need to wow Flint at tryouts if I'm going to have a chance against—well, the competition." Harry stumbled, almost telling her about Mr. Malfoy's bribe but stopping at the last moment because he didn't want to seem like he was whining or, even worse, a lost cause. "I want to help Slytherin win the house cup. I want to win."

Valeria sighed and stood up, looking down at him where he lay stuck on the ground. "If you want to impress Flint, you'll need to impress me first. I'll suppose I can give you one week. If you survive, I'll train you the next week until tryouts."

"Thank you!" Harry beamed up at her.

"Not so fast, kid." She curled her lip. "Don't smile at me like that. I'm not nice. I do this, you're gonna owe me."

"Of course," Harry said, willing to agree to just about anything, his heart practically bursting from his chest at getting her to agree.

"You do everything I say when I say it without complaint. You don't flirt, eat, sleep, or take a crap without my say so," she kicked him in the thigh with the pointed toe of her boot, making him wince. It felt like it would leave a bruise. "And you better be as good as everyone says you are or this won't end well for you." Harry gulped at the look on her face, his happiness see-sawing to fear.. "If you're too slow to keep up or irritate me, I'll transfigure your clothing into raw meat and dump you in the forbidden forest to be eaten by acromantulas. If I put in all of this effort and you still don't make the team, thereby reflecting badly on me in front of Captain Flint and Slytherin, I'll make you wish you were the boy-who-died." Harry blanched, feeling like his organs had turned into blocks of ice. "Well?" She arched her brow and tapped a toe impatiently.

"Yes, Valeria," he answered quickly, hoping he hadn't just signed his death warrant.

Valeria flicked her wand, freeing his elbows and knees with a *slurp* that removed the goo but not the stench. She picked up her book and turned to go. "We'll start tomorrow at dawn. If you're late, I'll kill you in your sleep."

Harry wasn't entirely sure that was a figure of speech. He nodded furiously just in case. "I'll be here, Valeria. Promise. And thank you."

-oo0oo-

At dinner, most of Slytherin acted like Harry was eating his last meal. Miles hummed a dirge everytime Harry looked in his direction before breaking into snickers. Much less friendly, Derrick and Bole kept acting out all the gruesome ways they expected him to die. Ever since the letter he'd received that morning from his father, Draco had been too distracted in class and at meals to add his usual witty comments, but Vincent and Greg laughed loudly at everyone else's jokes, especially the really gruesome ones.

Seeing Harry's mounting panic, Blaise patted him soothingly on the back and spooned more vegetables onto his plate. "You're going to do fine, mate. You always do."

When Harry saw Hermione's friendly face across the hall at the Gryffindor table, he raised his arm to give her a big wave, feeling like a drowning man trying to flag down a rescue craft. He desperately needed some encouragement not couched in teasing, maybe even a hug, not that he'd ever admit that out loud. Luckily Hermione was a natural hugger when emotions got high—both her own or others.

Before Hermione could see, Blaise yanking his arm down and slamming it against the table. "No flirting, remember!" Blaise said urgently.

Harry felt himself pale as he looked over to see if Valeria had noticed him waving hello, decided he was flirting without permission, and dropped him before they'd even started his training. Luckily she was too focused on the hissed discussion between Flint and his girlfriend—though it sounded like after tonight she'd be his ex-girlfriend—at the other end of the table and hadn't seemed to notice.

"Thanks," he breathed to Blaise.

When Harry finished eating, arm still aching, he remembered the conversation with McGonagall and snuck off to the trophy room to distract himself. He decided not to mention it to anyone. He was in no mood to put up with more teasing and speculations on his training with the scary Valeria. He also didn't need Blaise's increasingly false assurances about how Mr. Malfoy's bribery wouldn't affect his chances of getting on the team. Harry needed something hopeful and undisputedly true. He wanted to see his father's name on a Quidditch plaque, something to connect him to the past and reassure him that the almost certain pain of the next two weeks training with Valeria would be worth it.

The trophy room was empty of people and brightly lit, glittering on every side from the awards, trophies, cups, plates, shields, statues, and medals that filled the glass display cases. When Harry turned his head just right, the lights glared off his glasses and left him practically blind. In pride of place in the middle of the room hung displayed the list of people who'd won a Hogwarts Award for Services to the School.

Next to it sat a plaque with the names of Hogwarts head boys and head girls, which Harry passed by dismissively until he saw something out of the corner of his eye that made him turn back. He recognized Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall, though the others looked unfamiliar. His eyes caught for a moment on the name Tom Riddle, perhaps because his scar spiked with pain the second he spied it. He wished he knew what was going on with his stupid scar and why it sometimes hurt for no good reason, like with the possessed Quirrell last year.

Rubbing his forehead, Harry was about to move on when his eyes dropped to the bottom of the plaque. His whole body jolted. He took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes hard, and looked again, afraid the words might've disappeared:

1977 - 1978: James Potter and Lily Evans.

His parents. A roaring filled his ears. Feeling weak, Harry dropped to his knees, ignoring the flash of pain when his sore wrist knocked against the floor. His fingers trembled as he traced over the letters. He couldn't believe his luck in finding their names in the overcrowded trophy room. His mum and dad had actually been head boy and head girl together! Were they already in love then? Or had that come later? Had they whispered together about one day getting married and having a son with his black hair and her green eyes? They must've been absolutely amazing to both earn head status, must've been practically perfect.

Breathing rapidly, Harry thought about how his parents had walked these same halls. Because he was all alone, he allowed himself to picture it, picture his parents here at Hogwarts and how they'd be so excited to know that he was here too, picture going to a home they shared and telling them all about it. His vision went cloudy as warm tears trickled down his cheeks. Sniffling, Harry rubbed an arm roughly across his face, but that just made the tears fall faster.

Ignoring the tears blinding his eyes, Harry looked around, needing to show the names to somebody, to share how extraordinary his parents had truly been… but no one was there. He was alone. Just like always, especially when he really needed someone.

By choice, a voice insisted in the back of his mind. Hermione had offered to come tomorrow but he'd refused to wait. He'd also avoided Blaise and everyone else after dinner. It wasn't a problem when he was the one choosing to be alone. He was fine. He didn't need anyone else.

Drying his face on the hem of his shirt, Harry stood up, more determined than ever to find more evidence of his parents' lives at Hogwarts and of their being special people. If his dad had been head boy, then he must've been good enough to win Quidditch awards too. Harry just had to keep looking.

The search took a long time in the large room filled with crowded cases, but at last Harry uncovered a plaque for the winning Gryffindor Quidditch team of 1976. It listed James Potter as one of the Chasers. Harry had been hoping that his dad was a Seeker too, but just seeing his dad's name as a winner was still amazing. Quidditch was something they could share now. It made Harry feel closer to his dad, like maybe he'd gotten more from James Potter than just messy black hair and a need for glasses. Before leaving the room, Harry silently vowed to make his father proud. He would make the Slytherin team, no matter how difficult or scary training with Valeria proved to be.

-oo0oo-

Dawn came very early the next morning. Harry made sure to be in the common room with Terence's borrowed broom early, but Valeria didn't stroll in until almost ten minutes late. Harry bit his tongue just in time. He had a feeling she wouldn't respond well if he mentioned it.

Training started with stretching and a sprint around the castle grounds while holding his broom overhead, followed by shuffling around with his broom clamped between his legs while lifting objects up off the ground or down from trees. After almost an hour of this, Valeria finally allowed him up into the air. What followed was a broom flight full of so many ups and downs and twists and turns that Harry could've turned milk into butter. Luckily his belly was empty or he would've puked at least twice.

When she finally allowed him to land, she made him sprint to and from the dungeons to fetch his day planner and then had him hold a wide-legged crouch she called a thestral stance while holding his broom overhead again. Harry's entire body shook with the effort not to collapse. Valeria went through his schedule meticulously. It was color coded thanks to Hermione's influence. Nodding approvingly at his organization, she filled in every blank space with a task of some sort (a mix between things that sounded useful for his training and useful just for Valeria) before finally releasing him for breakfast. Harry limped into the great hall and collapsed at the table, every muscle in his body burning. His arms barely had the strength to lift his spoon from bowl to mouth. It was going to be a long two weeks.

"You look like death warmed over," Blaise said sympathetically, pouring Harry a glass of juice and pushing it up against his fingers so he wouldn't have to move far. "I told you training with Valeria would be brutal."

"Issa only way I'm gonna make Seeker," Harry slurred, wondering how he was supposed to stay awake through a full day of classes and then go train like that again later this afternoon. Right now his mind was blank. He pulled out his textbook to try and remind himself what he was supposed to be working on today in case he got called on by a teacher. The words swam before his eyes.

"You're doing what?" Draco asked sharply. He must've really been distracted by his father's letter the night before to not hear any of the gossip. Slamming his cup down on the table, sending juice sloshing everywhere, he stood up. "I'm going to be Seeker, not you, Potter," he growled. "And you can just forget about this evening too. I don't waste my time on losers with no family or influence."

"Yeah, Potter's a loser," Vincent said. Greg joined him in snickering.

Harry had actually forgotten about the makeup chess game with Draco. It hadn't been written on his schedule so Valeria had already penned in something else. If he was still alive at that point, he'd have had to cancel on Draco anyway.

Huffing while adjusting the fall of his robes, Draco put a hand on his hip, lowered his chin, and glared at Harry through his pale eyelashes. Maybe he was trying to look imposing or mimic a pose of his father's, but it just came off as silly. Harry was too exhausted to give Draco whatever reaction he'd been hoping for. He just blinked up at Draco blearily for a moment before dropping his eyes back to his book. He mouthed at his cup, trying to slurp the drink from the rim without having to use the aching muscles in his arms to lift it. Nothing on the page looked familiar. Was he even in the right chapter and subject? If his muscles started leaking out his ears could he skip class and just take a nap in the medical wing?

Draco's hand swept over the table, knocking Harry's book and cup onto the floor. Harry sighed and stared down at the puddle. He'd wanted to drink that. His arms were too tired to even reach for his wand or flick the bit of egg on his plate at Draco's face.

"Well?" When Harry still didn't respond, Draco growled through his teeth, arms stiff at his sides, and stomped away. "Are you two baffoons coming?" he snapped. Vincent and Greg stuffed the last of their food into their mouths and scrambled to catch up with him, reaching Draco's heels just as he swept out the doors.

Every spare moment and thought after that was spent doing exactly what Valeria ordered him to do, including several nonsensical tasks that hopefully had a purpose and weren't just meant to waste his time or mock him. None of those extra tasks involved Harry on a broom circling a Quidditch pitch and diving for the Snitch either. He would ask for clarification, but he was too afraid of Valeria's response. Whenever she even suspected she was being doubted or disrespected, she instantly made the task even more embarrassing, brutal, disgusting, and irritating. The one time he'd stuttered a question about the usefulness of her methods, she'd made him go tell Madam Pomfrey that the Slytherins needed more period pain relief potions in the girls bathroom and that they boys wanted more contraceptives, leading to an excruciating twenty minute lecture on how twelve-year-olds were rather too young to be having sex yet, that potions worked much better for birth control than the rhythm method, and the effects of puberty on both body and magic. He'd only understood about half of it and ran away back to the dungeon as soon as he could get away.

Harry thought about quitting a dozen times at least, but then he'd think about his parent's names on those plaques and having his own name on one too, and about all three names living in the same place like a real family, and forced himself to keep going.

At the end of the first week, Valeria gave him a test to see if he was worthy of a second week of her time. She filled the Quidditch Pitch with hundreds of bright blue pixies, released the Snitch, and ordered him to find and catch it. It was insanity. Harry ended up practically deaf from all of their shrill cries, missing several patches of hair, and covered in scratches, bruises, and mysterious lime green stains that he didn't want to know the origin of. He had to go into the whirling mass of pixies to catch the Snitch four different times, though each time he got faster and faster at getting through them to catch it as he learned and adapted to their movements.

"Good enough." While Harry lay prostrate on his broom panting, Valeria spent the next several minutes casting spells to banish and cage most of the pixies (making him wonder if some of them had just been illusions and fakes) before sending him a sharp smile. Harry got a sinking feeling in his stomach. Flying down to a trunk on the ground, she pulled out a tall stack of bags with long loops on the top that looked like they'd attach to a broom and gestured him over. "Pretend the pixies are Snitches. Catch each one, put it in a sack, and deliver them to the Defence classroom without being seen. When you're done, you can have the rest of the day off."

"What?" Harry exclaimed in horror as he stared out across the field. There were still at least fifty of them out there.

Valeria smiled, her teeth gleaming brightly against her dark skin. "You're well on your way to becoming worthy of being a Slytherin Seeker, even if it means a lot of pain for you and pleasure for me. Good luck with the pixies and I'll see you bright and early tomorrow." Turning on her broom, she zipped away.

Harry gave himself a full minute to feel sorry for himself, then he picked up the bags and got to work. The bags kept replicating so he didn't run out. Hermione came by an hour later and offered to help, followed by Blaise a bit after that, but Harry turned them both down, knowing that if Valeria found out he'd be made to regret it twice over. He never would've managed it with a school broom, but Terence's Nimbus 2000 was fast enough to make it doable before nightfall. It may be an awful, mildly dangerous, and irritating task, but if it got him good enough to be on the team it would be worth it.

(It better be worth it.)

Under Valeria's hand, Harry lived, ate, and breathed Quidditch. He even dreamed about Quidditch. He woke up one night with his pillow between his legs and his hand outstretched as if reaching for a Snitch. During meals he was only allowed to eat the food Valeria approved, which did not include his beloved treacle tart, pumpkin juice, or fried potatoes.

No one else seemed to be working as hard as he was, but then again, no one else had so much going against them either. Everytime he walked past them, Derrick and Bole talked loudly about how Harry was too weak and clumsy to ever make the team. Draco openly mocked his bedraggled state and asked if he was competing in class with Weasley and Longbottom for the title of most braindead. Of course, Draco was also confident that his father would make sure he got onto the team. It felt like most people agreed with him. The only people who seemed to think that Harry might have a shot at all were Hermione, Blaise, Terence, and Valeria. Flint, who was the most important vote of all, kept his thoughts to himself. There was no way to know what would happen at tryouts. Harry just had to give it his all and hope for the best. Unfortunately hope—as life had shown him time and time again—was not to be trusted.


AN: Thanks again to my lovely betas Iforgottocall and dizzysappedweak! I'm behind on answering reviews, but I've loved all of them. Thank you so much! With all the stress with the US Presidential election this week and Covid 19, I hope this chapter finds you well.

Originally this story was going to have a reasonably short chapter covering all of year 2, but then I remembered that the basilisk was a big snake, and then I saw a picture of a black Hermione Quidditch player flirting with a nerdy Harry by an amazing artist whose name I forgot—which isn't this story but which gave me thoughts—and then my mental Harry insisted on meeting more Slytherins like Flint and Valeria and playing more Quidditch and having lots of feels about both, but being a self-absorbed kid too as is natural at age 12, and suddenly second year is this huge thing spanning multiple chapters! We fought over the next almost 30k words until I threw in the white flag, accepted that this is going to be better and bolder even if it's also way bigger, and here we are. I plan to update about once a week and I have up to chapter 5 written so far, so stick with me. I hope you enjoy it and please leave me a comment. Cheers!