Harry had never thought he would meet a boy he hated more than Dudley, but that was before he met Theodore Nott, a Slytherin first year with a pointed face and a mocking voice. The first year Gryffindors had three classes with the Slytherins, and in every class Nott made sure to make fun of something the twins and their housemates did. Draco, at the beginning of the year, had said to just ignore the boy and he'd stop, but they were almost a month into school and Nott had yet to let up. The saving grace was that for the most part Harry's acquaintance (or flat out friendship in El's case) with Draco seemed to keep Nott and his cronies at bay when Draco was around, and in class, Slytherins and Gryffindors sat on separate sides of the room, so they didn't have to interact with Nott very much. Or at least, they didn't until they spotted a notice pinned up in the Gryffindor common room which made them all groan. Flying lessons would be starting that Thursday – and Gryffindor and Slytherin would be learning together.

"Typical," said Harry darkly. "Just what I always wanted. To make a fool of myself on a broomstick in front of Nott."

"You don't know you'll make a fool of yourself," said Ron reasonably. "Anyway, I bet most people our age don't actually fly very well at all. I know Malfoy's always going on about how good he is at Quidditch, but I bet that's all talk."

Draco certainly did talk about flying a lot, and had since the first time he'd spent the day in the Alley with the twins. He had complained at length about first-years never getting on the house Quidditch teams or being able to bring their own brooms. He wasn't the only one, though. Nott told long, boastful stories which always seemed to end with him narrowly escaping Muggles in helicopters, and the way Seamus Finnigan told it, he'd spent most of his childhood zooming around the countryside on his broomstick. Even Ron would tell anyone who'd listen about the time he'd almost hit a hang-glider on Charlie's old broom. Everyone from wizarding families talked about Quidditch constantly. Ron had already had a big argument with Dean Thomas, who shared their dormitory, about football. Ron couldn't see what was exciting about a game with only one ball where no one was allowed to fly. Harry had caught Ron prodding Dean's poster of West Ham football team, trying to make the players move.

Neville had never been on a broomstick in his life, because his grandmother had never let him near one. Privately, Harry felt she'd had good reason, because Neville managed to have an extraordinary number of accidents even with both feet on the ground. He didn't voice this thought though, because Neville was sort of his friend and Elowen would've smacked him if he had.

Hermione Granger was almost as nervous about flying as Neville was. This was something you couldn't learn by heart out of a book – not that she hadn't tried. At breakfast the day after the notice was posted, she bored them all stupid with flying tips she'd got out of a library book called Quidditch through the Ages. Neville was hanging on to her every word, desperate for anything that might help him hang on to his broomstick later, no matter what Elowen told him about the book probably being no help, but everybody else was very pleased when Hermione's lecture was interrupted by the arrival of the post.

Though the twins (admittedly, mostly Elowen) had been keeping up their correspondence with Lady Malfoy ("you can call me Narcissa," she'd told them a week before school started), she always sent her letters to Draco and he gave them to Elowen. Harry had a suspicion that this was Lady Malfoy's way of keeping Elowen and Draco from drifting apart (not that they needed the help, they were always off studying together or with Neville, it seemed), but it meant Hedwig had not brought the twins any mail since Hagrid's note in the first week, something Nott was quick to notice. Nott's gray owl was always bringing him packages of sweets from home, which he opened gloatingly at the Slytherin table. He often pointed out whenever a Slytherin got a care package that it was such a shame the twins had no one to send them a package, and how sad that Ron and Neville's families couldn't send them anything. Neville always turned a concerning shade of red at this and more than once, Elowen had threatened to get the Weasley twins to prank Nott.

A barn owl brought Neville a small package from his grandmother. He opened it excitedly and showed them a glass ball the size of a large marble, which seemed to be full of white smoke.

"Ooh that's pretty," Elowen said as she examined it. "What is it?"

"It's a Remembrall!" Neville explained. "Gran knows I forget things – this tells you if there's something you've forgotten to do. Look, you hold it tight like this and if it turns red – oh…" His face fell, because the Remembrall had suddenly glowed scarlet, "…you've forgotten something…"

Neville was trying to remember what he'd forgotten when Theodore Nott, who was passing the Gryffindor table, snatched the Remembrall out of his hand. Elowen's wand was pointed at him in a second as Harry and Ron jumped to their feet. They were half hoping for a reason to fight Nott, but Professor McGonagall, who could spot trouble quicker than any teacher in the school, was there in a flash.

"What's going on?"

"Nott's got my Remembrall, Professor."

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

"Just looking," he said, and he sloped away with Crabbe and Goyle behind him. Elowen, glaring at his back, tucked her wand back in its holster and turned a smile on Neville.

"Your robes, Nev," she reminded. "That's what you've forgotten."

Neville, pinking, thanked her and ran out of the hall. Harry glared across the hall at a laughing Nott.

"This week can't possibly get worse," he grumbled as his sister and Ron laughed.

He was, of course, wrong.

~~~

Thursday dawned bright and cold, and went downhill remarkably quickly. At breakfast, Hermione was once again nervously reciting the quidditch book, much to everyone's displeasure. In Transfiguration, Harry and Ron lost five points each for being late. History of Magic was as boring as usual, except for Hermione Granger stubbornly poking everyone around her who dared to nod off. By the time they were leaving lunch, Harry was actually looking forward to Potions, if only because Hermione wouldn't dare to bug them in that class.

"Oi, Potters!"

Half the entrance hall turned to see the sixth year Gryffindor prefect, Paige Murphy, running up to the twins. She stopped next to them, panting slightly. "Come with me. McGonagall says Dumbledore wants to see you."

"Why?" Elowen asked. "We didn't do anything."

"How should I know?" Murphy answered. "C'mon, let's go! Don't make him wait."

"We have Potions, though," Harry pointed out. "Snape doesn't like people missing his class!"

"Even the Dungeon Bat has to listen to the headmaster," Murphy said, rolling her eyes. "Now would you follow me, already?"

Shrugging, the twins bade farewell to Ron and Neville and let Murphy lead them away. She stopped in front of a gold griffin statue and said firmly, "Fizzing whizzbee."

Elowen was just about to ask her if she'd been hit by some kind of jinx when the statue began to turn, revealing a spiraling staircase. Murphy turned to them.

"All the way to the top, firsties," she said. "Good luck." And she walked off down the hallway.

"If we make a run for it, we could probably still get to Potions on time," Elowen said, already half turning. Harry grabbed her shoulder and started pushing her up the stairs.

"No, we couldn't, Potions is all the way across the castle," he told her. "And it's probably not the best move to blow off the headmaster."

Grumbling, Elowen conceded the point and the twins were soon enough in front of an ornate wooden door. Harry raised his fist to knock, only for the door to swing open. They walked into a large and beautiful circular room, full of funny little noises. Several whirring, puffing silver instruments stood on tables. The walls were covered with portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses, all of whom were asleep in their frames. A shelf held the Sorting Hat and in front of it, Albus Dumbledore sat behind a large, clawfoot desk.

"Ah, my dear twins," he greeted as they entered and he waved a hand at two squashy armchairs. "Please, have a seat. Lemon drop?"

Neither twin took the offered candy. Elowen crossed her arms. "Why did you ask to see us, Professor?"

"I simply wanted to check in and see how you were settling in," was the genial reply. "It must be shock to suddenly be in a whole new world."

"It was a shock," Harry said slowly. "Two months ago. The shock wears off when you spend a month in Diagon Alley." He shrugged at Elowen's sharp look.

Dumbledore's smile faded a bit. "Harry, my boy, do you mean to say that you did not return to your relatives after Professor Snape took you school shopping?"

Harry frowned at the familiarity. "My name is Henry, Professor, not Harry. Only my sister and my friends are permitted to call me Harry."

Dumbledore's smile became strained. "Ah, yes my boy, I wished to speak to you about that. I'm sure you're just mistaken. Everyone in the wixen world knows that you are named Harry."

"I am not your boy, and I don't recall giving you permission to address me as anything other than Heir Potter," Harry cut him off in a frosty tone. "I'll thank you not to act so familiar with me. I've never even met you until just now."

"Heir Potter," Dumbledore corrected with a pinched expression. "I must ask where the two of you got the idea that your name is not Harry."

"Are you implying that we both are too dimwitted to know his name?" Elowen cut in, green eyes cold like ice. "Our parents named him Henry. The goblins have him recorded as Henry. He has been Henry our entire lives." Harry nodded along. It was technically true, even if they hadn't known that until they visited Gringotts. "I do wonder, Professor, how it is that the wixen world came to know him by such a familiar nickname when the Ministry's public birth records call him by his proper name."

"I see," Dumbledore said, leaning back. He smiled gently, eyes twinkling. "You must forgive an old man's memory, my girl."

"Heiress Black," Elowen corrected at once. The twinkle faded.

"Heiress Black," he corrected. "My apologies. I knew your parents quite well, and they only ever referred to young Heir Potter as Harry. I am glad that your Aunt Petunia at least knew your proper name. I fear the letter I gave her when I dropped the two of you off in her care only gave the name Harry."At his revelation, both twins froze. Dumbledore, who either didn't notice or didn't care, carried on. "I must ask why you decided to stay in Diagon Alley rather than return to your home."

Elowen smiled innocently and didn't quite meet his eyes ("Father says that Dumbledore is reading everyone's mind all the time," Draco informed the twins in a hushed tone over ice cream back in August. "He can't prove it, of course, or the old fool wouldn't still be headmaster, but don't look him in the eyes. Father has told me that I should always try to have my Head of House with me if I have to meet with him, but…" He had carried on for sometime. Elowen was glad now for the warning).

"Aunt Petunia thought we should spend some time getting accustomed to the magical world," she lied smoothly. Saying anything nice about Petunia burned. "She said our mother had a hard time adjusting at first and thought it might be better for us here if we were used to daily magic."

Harry cut off whatever reply the headmaster was about to give. "I'm terribly sorry, sir, but I think we should be going. We're supposed to be in Potions right now, and Professor Snape dislikes when we're late or miss class."

"Of course, of course," Dumbledore said. He pulled out a piece of parchment and wrote a quick note. "Give this to Severus, my dears, and you shouldn't have any issue."

The twins walked as fast as they dared from the office, not even acknowledging the overly familiar way the headmaster had addressed them. Halfway to the dungeons, Harry ducked into an alcove and slid down the wall, shaking in anger. Elowen sat down next to him, a comforting familiar heat at his shoulder.

"Everything is his fault," Harry spat. "My name, the way we grew up, I bet even not having our vault keys was his doing!"

"He said he knew our parents," Elowen remembered. "Why would he leave us with Petunia if he knew our parents? That can't be what our parents wanted for us."

"Draco's dad was right," Harry snarled. "Dumbledore can't be trusted."

"Do you think Professor Snape knows who put us with the Dursleys?" Elowen said softly. "He must, right? He's the one who came to get us. Why didn't he tell us?"

Harry leapt to his feet and started storming down the hall. "Let's go ask him!"

Cursing, Elowen scrambled up and ran after her twin.

"Harry!" She fell into step next to him. "Snape is teaching a class right now, one we're supposed to be in. We can't just storm in and confront him." She shook her head. "I can just imagine what Nott would say."

Harry blew out a breath. He knew El was right. "Then after."

"We have Flying, remember?" she reminded him. "I'm sure he has office hours, we can ask him or a prefect. Oh! I'm sure Draco might know when he's free."

Harry looked sideways at her. "Why would Draco know?"

"Snape is his godfather," Elowen said slowly, frowning at Harry's blank face. "Honestly, Harry, I know Draco's not your best friend in the world, but he has mentioned this multiple times."

They'd reached the Potions lab, and slipped in silently. Snape was stalking around the room with a critical eye and he spun to glare at whoever had dared to interrupt.

"Potter One! Potter Two!" he snapped. "I suppose you think you can just waltz into my class whenever you like? Ten points each from Gryffindor for your tardiness."

The twins exchanged looks, trying to figure out who was Potter One and who was Two. Over the last three and half weeks, they'd noticed that it seemed to change based on whichever twin Snape was less irritated by. So far, Elowen had been Potter One most of the time. For some reason, just looking at Harry seemed to irritate Snape.

Elowen stepped forward, holding out the note Dumbledore had given them. "I'm sorry we're so late, sir. Professor Dumbledore wanted to see us."

Snape took the note and read it, his expression becoming more pinched. "Very well," he snapped eventually. "You will observe your classmates brewing the Wiggenweld Potion, and you will write me a 3 foot essay on the effects and uses of the potion to be turned in Tuesday. I will assign you a time to come in and brew the potion to make up for the brewing time you've missed today."

Elowen stood on her twin's foot to keep him silent as she nodded and pulled him over to sit in front of Ron and Neville, who had partnered up since their usual partners, the twins, were absent.

"What did Dumbledore want with you, mate?" Ron asked Harry immediately.

"Later," Harry said shortly. When Ron turned inquisitive eyes to Elowen, she just shook her head. There were too many unwelcome ears around to explain now. She settled in to take notes with a sigh.

With any luck, flying would go well.

~~~

The Gryffindor first years rushed out of Potions to go drop their books in the dorms, and at promptly three o'clock that afternoon, they hurried down the front steps into the grounds for their first flying lesson.

It was a clear, breezy day and the grass rippled under their feet as they marched down the sloping lawns towards a smooth lawn on the opposite side of the grounds to the Forbidden Forest, whose trees were swaying darkly in the distance.

The Slytherins were already there, and so were twenty broomsticks lying in neat lines on the ground. Harry had heard Fred and George Weasley complain about the school brooms, saying that some of them started to vibrate if you flew too high, or always flew slightly to the left.

Their teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived. She had short, grey hair and yellow eyes like a hawk.

"Well, what are you all waiting for?" she barked. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."

Harry looked down at his broom. He didn't know much about brooms yet, beyond what Ron, Draco and other students had said, but even he could tell that the school brooms were far past their prime. The handles were dull and worn from years of students holding them, and twigs stuck out at all angles from the tail.

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

"UP!" everyone shouted.

Harry's broom jumped into his hand at once, but it was one of the few that did. Hermione Granger's had simply rolled over on the ground and Neville's hadn't moved at all. Perhaps brooms, like horses, could tell when you were afraid, thought Harry; there was a quaver in Neville's voice that said only too clearly that he wanted to keep his feet on the ground. Elowen's broom had jumped halfway to her hand then fallen again. Harry could plainly see the annoyance on her face when she looked up to see his had come up instantly and he smirked at her as she rolled her eyes.

Madam Hooch then showed them how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end, and walked up and down the rows, correcting their grips. Harry and Ron were delighted when she told Nott he'd been doing it wrong for years. Draco, who was using the same grip, flushed as she did this and he quickly matched his grip to Harry's before Hooch got to him. Harry pretended not to see this.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said Madam Hooch. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet and then come straight back down by leaning forwards slightly. On my whistle — three, two —"

But Neville, nervous and jumpy and frightened of being left on the ground, pushed off hard before the whistle had touched Madam Hooch's lips.

"Come back, boy!"she shouted.

"Shouting at him is not going to help!" Elowen snapped at her. "You're the teacher! He's scared! Go get him!"

Neville was rising straight up like a cork shot out of a bottle – twelve feet – twenty feet. Harry saw his scared white face look down at the ground falling away, saw him gasp, slip sideways off the broom and WHAM! There was a thud and a nasty crack and Neville lay face down on the grass in a heap. His broomstick was still rising higher and higher and started to drift lazily towards the Forbidden Forest and out of sight.

Elowen dropped her broom at once and ran over to her friend, helping him stand and brush himself off. Madam Hooch ran over as well, looking Neville over, her face as white as his.

"Broken wrist," Harry heard her mutter. Elowen was glaring furiously at her. "Come on, boy – it's all right, you'll be just fine."

She turned to the rest of the class.

"None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say Quidditch. Come on, dear." Elowen started to follow. "Potter, stay with the others."

Neville, his face tear-streaked, clutching his wrist, hobbled off with Madam Hooch, who had her arm around him. Elowen stalked back to stand next to Harry, arms crossed as she watched them go. No sooner were they out of earshot than Nott burst into laughter.

"Did you see his face, the great lump?"

The other Slytherins joined in.

"Shut up, Nott," snapped Parvati Patil.

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

"Look!" said Nott, darting forward and snatching something out of the grass. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him." The Remembrall glittered in the sun as he held it up.

"Didn't your mother ever teach you not to touch things that aren't yours?" snapped Elowen as she grabbed for it. Nott jerked it out of her reach.

"Theodore, really, just let her take it back to Neville," Draco said, stepping up to El's side. Nott sneered at him.

"You've gone soft, Malfoy," Nott spat. "Friends with Gryffindors? The Twins-Who-Lived at that?" He said the title like it was an insult. "Don't think we haven't noticed you going off to the library all the time with Longbottom and Potter. You're a disgrace to Slytherin."Draco paled and stepped back. Nott snickered and tossed the Rememberall from hand to hand. "Can't imagine being so stupid as to need one of these."

"For someone who doesn't need it, you sure do like to take it," Elowen snarled. Nott glared at her.

"Give that here, Nott," intervened Harry quietly. Everyone stopped talking to watch.

"No." Nott smiled nastily. "I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to collect. How about – up a tree?"

"Give it here!" Harry yelled, but Nott had leapt on to his broomstick and taken off.

He hadn't been lying, he could fly well — hovering level with the topmost branches of an oak he called, "Come and get it, Potter!"

Harry grabbed his broom.

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

"If we're getting in trouble anyways, I say he knocks the smug prat off his broom," he heard Elowen mutter. He ignored them both. Blood was pounding in his ears. He mounted the broom and kicked hard against the ground and up, up he soared, air rushed through his hair and his robes whipped out behind him – and in a rush of fierce joy he realised he'd found something he could do without being taught – this was easy, this was wonderful.

He pulled his broomstick up a little to take it even higher and heard screams and gasps of girls back on the ground and an admiring whoop from Ron. ("When did he learn how to do that?" Draco demanded looking between Ron and Elowen for answers. Elowen just shook her head slowly, gaping at her brother. Ron however grinned sharply at Draco.

"He's just a natural! Jealous he's better than you?"

"Shut up, Weasley, at least I can afford a broom."

"Shut up, both of you," was Elowen's dry response. "I don't see either of you flying after Nott.")

He turned his broomstick sharply to face Nott in mid-air. Nott looked stunned.

"Give it here," Harry called, "or I'll knock you off that broom!"

"Oh, yeah?" said Nott, trying to sneer, but looking worried.

Harry knew, somehow, what to do. He leant forward and grasped the broom tightly in both hands and shot towards Nott like a javelin. Nott only just got out of the way in time; Harry made a sharp about turn and held the broom steady. A few people below were clapping.

"No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Nott," Harry called.

The same thought seemed to have struck Nott.

"Catch it if you can, then!" he shouted, and he threw the glass ball high into the air and streaked back towards the ground.

Harry saw, as though in slow motion, the ball rise up in the air and then start to fall. He leant forward and pointed his broom handle down. The next second he was gathering speed in a steep dive, racing the ball – wind whistled in his ears, mingled with the screams of people watching – he stretched out his hand – a foot from the ground he caught it, just in time to pull his broom straight, and he toppled gently on to the grass with the Remembrall clutched safely in his fist.

"HENRY POTTER!"

"HENRY JAMES POTTER!"

His heart sank faster than he'd just dived. Both Elowen and Professor McGonagall were running towards them. He got to his feet, trembling.

Elowen reached him first, and hit his shoulder, then pulled him into a tight hug. "Don't do that again! I thought you were going to crash and die!" She pulled back and hit his shoulder again. "No death defying stunts until I know how to heal your dumb self!"

"No promises," Harry said with a grin, and handed her the Rememberall. "Give that back to Neville, will you?"

Professor McGonagall reached them moments later.

"Never – in all my time at Hogwarts –" The professor was almost speechless with shock, and her glasses flashed furiously, "how dare you – might have broken your neck –"

"It wasn't his fault, Professor –"

"Be quiet, Miss Patil –"

"But Nott –"

"That's enough, Mr Weasley —"

"You aren't even going to listen?"

"I said enough, Miss Potter. Mr. Potter, follow me, now."

Harry caught sight of Nott, Crabbe and Goyle's triumphant faces as he left, walking numbly in Professor McGonagall's wake as she strode towards the castle. He was going to be expelled, he just knew it. He wanted to say something to defend himself, but was there any point? Professor McGonagall hadn't listened when anyone else had tried. Professor McGonagall was sweeping along without even looking at him; he had to jog to keep up. Now he'd done it. He hadn't even lasted two weeks. He'd be packing his bags in ten minutes. What would the Dursleys say when he turned up on the doorstep?

Up the front steps, up the marble staircase inside, and still Professor McGonagall didn't say a word to him. She wrenched open doors and marched along corridors with Harry trotting miserably behind her. Maybe she was taking him to Dumbledore. He thought of Hagrid, rumored to have been expelled, but allowed to stay on as gamekeeper. Perhaps he could be Hagrid's assistant. His stomach twisted as he imagined it, watching his twin and Ron and the others becoming witches and wizards while he stumped around the grounds, carrying Hagrid's bag. At least he'd probably be able to convince El to teach him what she learns but would he even be allowed to keep his wand if he was kicked out?

Professor McGonagall stopped outside a classroom. She opened the door and poked her head inside.

"Excuse me, Professor Flitwick, could I borrow Wood for a moment?"

Wood? thought Harry, bewildered; was Wood a cane she was going to use on him? But Wood turned out to be a person, a burly fifth-year boy who came out of Flitwick's class looking confused.

"Follow me, you two," said Professor McGonagall, and they marched on up the corridor, Wood looking curiously at Harry.

"In here."

Professor McGonagall pointed them into a classroom which was empty except for Peeves, who was busy writing rude words on the blackboard.

"Out, Peeves!" she barked. Peeves threw the chalk into a bin, which clanged loudly, and he swooped out cursing. Professor McGonagall slammed the door behind him and turned to face the two boys.

"Potter, this is Oliver Wood. Wood – I've found you a Seeker."

Wood's expression changed from puzzlement to delight.

"Are you serious, Professor?"

"Absolutely," said Professor McGonagall crisply. "The boy's a natural. I've never seen anything like it. Was that your first time on a broomstick, Potter?"

Harry nodded silently. He didn't have a clue what was going on, but he didn't seem to be being expelled, and some of the feeling started coming back to his legs.

"He caught a Rememberall in his hand after a fifty-foot dive," Professor McGonagall told Wood. "Didn't even scratch himself. Charlie Weasley couldn't have done it."

Wood was now looking as though all his dreams had come true at once.

"Ever seen a game of Quidditch, Potter?" he asked excitedly. Harry shook his head. "No matter, you'll catch on quick."

"Wood's captain of the Gryffindor team," Professor McGonagall explained.

"He's just the build for a Seeker, too," said Wood, now walking around Harry and staring at him. "Light – speedy – we'll have to get him a decent broom, Professor – a Nimbus Two Thousand or a Cleansweep Seven, I'd say."

"I shall speak to Professor Dumbledore and see if we can't bend the first-year rule. Heaven knows, we need a better team than last year. Flattened in that last match by Slytherin, I couldn't look Severus Snape in the face for weeks…" Professor McGonagall peered sternly over her glasses at Harry. "I want to hear you're training hard, Potter, or I may change my mind about punishing you."

Then she suddenly smiled. "Your father would have been proud,"she said. "He was an excellent Quidditch player himself."

~~~

"You're joking."

It was dinner time. Harry had just finished telling Ron and Elowen what had happened when he'd left the grounds with Professor McGonagall. Ron had a piece of steak-and-kidney pie halfway to his mouth, but he'd forgotten all about it.

"Seeker?" he said. "But first-years never – you must be the youngest house player in about —"

"A century," said Harry, shovelling pie into his mouth. He felt particularly hungry after the excitement of the afternoon. "Wood told me."

"Our dad played Quidditch?" Elowen said, eyes wide. Harry nodded quickly.

"McGonagall said he'd be proud," he repeated, "and that he was an excellent player."

"Do you think there are team photos of him?"

Harry shrugged. "I'll ask Wood, he'd probably know."

Ron was so amazed, so impressed, he was just gaping at Harry, still stuck on the Seeker part.

"I start training next week," said Harry. "Only don't tell anyone, Wood wants to keep it a secret."

Fred and George Weasley now came into the hall, spotted Harry and hurried over.

"Well done," said George in a low voice. "Wood told us. We're on the team too – Beaters."

"I tell you, we're going to win that Quidditch Cup for sure this year," said Fred. "We haven't won since Charlie left, but this year's team is going to be brilliant. You must be good, Harry, Wood was almost skipping when he told us."

"Anyway, we've got to go, Lee Jordan reckons he's found a new secret passageway out of the school."

"Bet it's that one behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy that we found in our first week. See you."

Fred and George had hardly disappeared when someone far less welcome turned up — Nott, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.

"Having a last meal, Potter? When are you getting the train back to the Muggles?"

"You're a lot braver now you're back on the ground and you've got your little friends with you," said Harry coolly. There was of course nothing at all little about Crabbe and Goyle, but as the High Table was full of teachers, neither of them could do more than crack their knuckles and scowl.

"I'd take you on any time on my own," said Nott, ignoring Elowen's scoff of disbelief. "Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel. Wands only – no contact. What's the matter? Never heard of a wizard's duel before, I suppose?"

"Of course he has," said Ron, wheeling round. "I'm his second, who's yours?"

Nott looked at Crabbe and Goyle, sizing them up.

"Crabbe," he said. "Midnight all right? We'll meet you in the trophy room, that's always unlocked."

When Nott had gone, Ron and Harry looked at each other. Elowen was watching them, unimpressed.

"So now that you've accepted for Harry," she started in a dry voice, "what, exactly, is a wizard's duel?"

"And what do you mean, you're my second?" Harry added.

"Well, a second's there to take over if you die," said Ron casually, getting started at last on his cold pie.

"Oh good, nothing serious then," Elowen muttered.

Catching the look on Harry's face, Ron added quickly, "but people only die in proper duels, you know, with real wizards. The most you and Nott'll be able to do is send sparks at each other. Neither of you knows enough magic to do any real damage. I bet he expected you to refuse, anyway."

"And what if I wave my wand and nothing happens?"

"Punch him in his smug face," Elowen suggested. Ron nodded in agreement.

"Excuse me."

They all looked up. It was Hermione Granger.

"Can't a person eat in peace in this place?"sighed Ron.

Hermione ignored him and spoke to Harry.

"I couldn't help overhearing what you and Malfoy were saying —"

"You probably could have," Elowen said cheerfully.

"—and you mustn't go wandering around the school at night, think of the points you'll lose Gryffindor if you're caught, and you're bound to be. It's really very selfish of you."

"Granger, honestly, people would like you if you would just relax about the rules," Elowen told the girl, to a huff of indignation.

"And it's really none of your business," said Harry.

"Goodbye," said Ron. They watched her walk away, head held high in annoyance. Elowen pushed her plate away.

"I'm off to see Neville," she announced as she stood and gave Harry and Ron an amused look. "Try not to get yourselves killed while I'm gone?"

~~~

All in all, it wasn't what you'd call the perfect end to the day, Harry thought, as he lay awake much later listening to Dean and Seamus falling asleep (Neville still wasn't back from the hospital wing). Ron had spent all evening giving him advice such as "If he tries to curse you, you'd better dodge it, because I can't remember how to block them." There was a very good chance they were going to get caught by Filch or Mrs Norris, and Harry felt he was pushing his luck, breaking another school rule today. On the other hand, Nott's sneering face kept looming up out of the darkness – this was his big chance to beat Nott, face to face. He couldn't miss it.

"Half past eleven," Ron muttered at last. "We'd better go."

They pulled on their dressing-gowns, picked up their wands and crept across the tower room, down the spiral staircase and into the Gryffindor common room. A few embers were still glowing in the fireplace, turning all the armchairs into hunched black shadows. They had almost reached the portrait hole when a voice spoke from the chair nearest them.

"I can't believe you're going to do this, Henry."

A lamp flickered on. It was Hermione Granger, wearing a pink dressing-gown and a frown.

"You!" said Ron furiously. "Go back to bed!"

"I almost told your brother," Hermione snapped. "Percy – he's a Prefect, he'd put a stop to this."

Harry couldn't believe anyone could be so interfering. At that moment, Elowen came down from the girls' staircase, pulling a blue dressing gown over her pajamas. She frowned when she saw Hermione.

"Have you been down here all night?"

"Yes!" Hermione said firmly. "And now that you're here, you can help me make these two go back to bed!"

Elowen snorted. "I'm not their keeper. Besides, I came down to follow them."

Hermione just stared at her. Harry shook his head and didn't even try to make Elowen stay behind.

"Come on," he said to Ron. He pushed open the portrait of the Fat Lady and climbed through the hole.

Hermione wasn't going to give up that easily. She followed Elowen through the portrait hole, hissing at them like an angry goose.

"Don't you care about Gryffindor, do you only care about yourselves, I don't want Slytherin to win the House Cup and you'll lose all the points I got from Professor McGonagall for knowing about Switching Spells."

"Merlin, Granger, do you ever stop?"

"Go away," Ron added. Hermione sniffed.

"All right, but I warned you, you just remember what I said when you're on the train home tomorrow, you're so –"

But what they were, they didn't find out. Hermione had turned to the portrait of the Fat Lady to get back inside and found herself facing an empty painting. The Fat Lady had gone on a night-time visit and Hermione was locked out of Gryffindor Tower.

"Now what am I going to do?"she asked shrilly.

"Well for one you're gonna keep your voice down," Elowen hissed.

"I can't get back in!"

"That's your problem," said Ron. "We've got to go, we're going to be late."

They hadn't even reached the end of the corridor when Hermione caught up with them.

"I'm coming with you," she said.

"You are not."

"D'you think I'm going to stand out here and wait for Filch to catch me? If he finds all three of us I'll tell him the truth, that I was trying to stop you and you can back me up."

"You've got some nerve—" said Ron loudly.

"Shut up, both of you!" said Harry sharply. "I heard something."

It was a sort of snuffling.

"Mrs. Norris?" breathed Ron, squinting through the dark.

It wasn't Mrs Norris. It was Neville. He was curled up on the floor, fast asleep, but jerked suddenly awake as they crept nearer.

"Neville!" Elowen whisper-yelled.

"Thank goodness you found me!" he said as El helped him up. I've been out here for hours. I couldn't remember the new password to get in to bed."

"Keep your voice down, Neville," Ron said. "The password's "Pig snout" but it won't help you now, the Fat Lady's gone off somewhere."

"How's your arm?" said Harry.

"Fine," said Neville, showing them. "Madam Pomfrey mended it in about a minute, she just kept me in for observation."

"What kind of observation does she need that takes so long?" Elowen asked. Neville shrugged.

"Good," Harry muttered distractedly. "Well, look, Neville, we've got to be somewhere, we'll see you later –"

"Don't leave me!" said Neville, scrambling to his feet. "I don't want to stay here alone, the Bloody Baron's been past twice already."

"Of course we're not going to leave you," Elowen reassured.

Ron looked at his watch and then glared furiously at Hermione and Neville.

"If either of you get us caught, I'll never rest until I've learnt that Curse of the Bogies Quirrell told us about and used it on you."

Hermione opened her mouth, perhaps to tell Ron exactly how to use the Curse of the Bogies, but Harry hissed at her to be quiet and beckoned them all forward.

They flitted along corridors striped with bars of moonlight from the high windows. At every turn Harry expected to run into Filch or Mrs Norris, but they were lucky. They sped up a staircase to the third floor and tiptoed towards the trophy room.

Nott and Crabbe weren't there yet. The crystal trophy cases glimmered where the moonlight caught them. Cups, shields, plates and statues winked silver and gold in the darkness. They edged along the walls, keeping their eyes on the doors at either end of the room. Harry took out his wand in case Nott leapt in and started at once. The minutes crept by.

"He's late, maybe he's chickened out," Ron whispered. Then a noise in the next room made them jump. Harry had only just raised his wand when they heard someone speak – and it wasn't Nott.

"Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner."

It was Filch speaking to Mrs Norris. Horror-struck, Harry waved madly at the other four to follow him as quickly as possible; they scurried silently towards the door away from Filch's voice. Neville's robes had barely whipped round the corner when they heard Filch enter the trophy room.

"They're in here somewhere," they heard him mutter, "probably hiding."

"This way!" Harry mouthed to the others and they began to creep down a long gallery full of suits of armour. They could hear Filch getting nearer. Neville suddenly let out a frightened squeak and broke into a run – he tripped, grabbed Ron around the waist and the pair of them toppled right into a suit of armour.

The clanging and crashing were enough to wake the whole castle.

"RUN!" Harry yelled and the five of them sprinted down the gallery, not looking back to see whether Filch was following – they swung around the doorpost and raced down one corridor then another, the twins in the lead without any idea where they were or where they were going. They ripped through a tapestry and found themselves in a hidden passageway, hurtled along it and came out near their Charms classroom, which they knew was miles from the trophy room.

"I think we've lost him," Harry panted, leaning against the cold wall and wiping his forehead. Neville was bent double, wheezing and spluttering.

"I guess we should've known Nott would pull something like this," Elowen said between gasps of air.

"I – told – you," Hermione gasped, clutching at the stitch in her chest. "I – told – you."

"Yeah, yeah, you were right," Elowen waved away. "Are you happy now that you've said I told you so?"

"We've got to get back to Gryffindor Tower," said Ron, "as quickly as possible."

"Nott tricked you," Hermione said to Harry, causing Elowen to turn away, throwing her hands up. "He was never going to meet you – Filch knew someone was going to be in the trophy room, Nott must have tipped him off."

Elowen grabbed Hermione by the shoulders and looked right in her eyes. "We know. You were right. We don't have time for you to lecture us about it."

Harry, personally, didn't want to admit that. He just knew it would make Hermione insufferable if he did. He pushed off the wall and started down the hall, wand out in front of him to light the way. "Let's go."

It wasn't going to be that simple. They hadn't gone more than a dozen paces when a doorknob rattled and something came shooting out of a classroom in front of them.

It was Peeves. He caught sight of them and gave a squeal of delight.

"Shut up, Peeves," Elowen told the poltergeist, "please, you'll get us thrown out."

Peeves cackled.

"Wandering around at midnight, ickle firsties? Tut, tut, tut. Naughty, naughty, you'll get caughty."

"Not if you don't give us away, Peeves, please," Harry begged.

"Should tell Filch, I should," said Peeves in a saintly voice, but his eyes glittered wickedly. "It's for your own good, you know."

"Get out of the way," snapped Ron, taking a swipe at Peeves. This was a big mistake.

"STUDENTS OUT OF BED!" Peeves bellowed. "STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!"

Ducking under Peeves they ran for their lives, right to the end of the corridor, where they slammed into a door – and it was locked.

"This is it!" Ron moaned, as they pushed and pulled helplessly at the door. "We're done for! This is the end!"

They could hear footsteps, Filch running as fast as he could towards Peeves's shouts.

"Oh, move over," Hermione snarled. She grabbed Harry's wand, tapped the lock and whispered, "Alohomora!"

The lock clicked and the door swung open. They piled through it, shut it, then pressed their ears against it, listening.

"Which way did they go, Peeves?" Filch was saying. "Quick tell me."

"Say please."

"Don't mess around, Peeves, now where did they go?"

"Shan't say nothing if you don't say please," said Peeves in his annoying sing-song voice.

"Oh, we're probably fine," Elowen said with a relieved sigh as she heard this. "Peeves hates Filch, no way he actually tells Filch what he wants to know."

"All right… please."

"NOTHING! Ha ha ha! Told you I wouldn't say nothing if you didn't say please! Ha ha! Haaaaaa!" And they heard the sound of Peeves whooshing away and Filch cursing in rage.

"He thinks this door is locked," Harry whispered. "I think we'll be OK."

"What is it, Neville?" Elowen asked exasperatedly. For Neville had been tugging on the sleeve of her dressing-gown for the last minute as she tried to listen. "Wha— oh. Um, Harry, we have a new problem."

"What now?" Harry turned around – and saw, quite clearly, what. For a moment, he just closed his eyes and pinched himself — surely this was just a nightmare, because this was too much on top of everything that had happened that day.

They weren't in a room, as he had supposed. They were in a corridor. The forbidden corridor on the third floor. And now they knew why it was forbidden.

A monstrous three-headed dog filled the entire hallway, ceiling to floor, and was staring straight at them. Three pairs of rolling, mad eyes; three noses, twitching and quivering in their direction; three drooling mouths, saliva hanging in slippery ropes from yellowish fangs.

It was standing quite still, all six eyes staring at them, and Harry knew that the only reason they weren't already dead was that their sudden appearance had taken it by surprise, but it was quickly getting over that, there was no mistaking what those thunderous growls meant.

"A Cerberus?" Elowen hissed. "Who the hell put a Cerberus in a school?"

"Oh, great, we know what it is," Ron hissed back. "So glad we'll know what's killing us as we die!"

Harry reached wildly behind him for the doorknob — between Filch and death, he'd take Filch. Five bodies fell backwards –Harry slammed the door shut, and they ran, faster than before, back down the corridor. Filch must have hurried off to look for them somewhere else because they didn't see him anywhere, but they couldn't care about that — all they wanted to do was put as much space as possible between them and that monster. They didn't stop running until they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady on the seventh floor.

"Where on earth have you all been?" she asked, looking at their dressing-gowns hanging off their shoulders and their flushed, sweaty faces.

"Could ask you the same thing," Elowen panted. The Fat Lady opened her mouth indignantly.

"Never mind that – pig snout, pig snout," Harry cut off, and the portrait swung forward. They scrambled into the common room and collapsed, trembling into armchairs.

It was a while before any of them said anything. Neville, indeed, looked as if he'd never speak again.

"What do they think they're doing, keeping a thing like that locked up in a school?" said Ron finally.

"Oh, now we can ask that?" Elowen rolled her eyes.

"Yes, now that it's not about to eat us," Ron told her. He shook his head. "If any dog needs exercise, that one does."

Hermione had gotten both her breath and her bad temper back again.

"You don't use your eyes, any of you, do you?" she snapped. "Didn't you see what it was standing on?"

"We were a bit distracted, Hermione," pointed out Elowen.

"The floor?" Harry suggested. "I wasn't looking at its feet, I was too busy with its heads."

"No, not the floor. It was standing on a trapdoor. It's obviously guarding something." She stood up, glaring at them. "I hope you're pleased with yourselves. We could all have been killed – or worse, expelled. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed." Ron stared after her, his mouth open.

"No, we don't mind," he said, looking back at the other three. "You'd think we dragged her along, wouldn't you?"

Elowen groaned as she stood up. "At least you don't have to share a room with her." She shook her head. "Or worse, expelled? What kinda priorities is that?" And she disappeared up the stairs after Hermione.

But Hermione had given Harry something to think about as he climbed back into bed. The dog was guarding something… It reminded him of something he'd overheard Tom say to a patron right around the time of the break-in. Gringotts was the safest place in the world for something you wanted to hide – except for Hogwarts.

It looked as though Harry had found out where whatever had been stolen from that vault was.