"Who's Thana Grey?"

It was a slip of the tongue brought on by his stress and lack of sleep which had led him to foolishly pose this question to one Blaise Zabini.

They'd been walking back from their last class of the day and between the chattering of Pansy Parkinson and Sally-Anne Perks from behind him, the hum of the headache above his brow, and the obnoxious way Goyle kept chewing on an obscene amount of cockroach clusters, Draco was ready to scream.

It didn't help that his deal with Grey sat heavily on his mind or how he'd failed to find the charge he'd been given by the said fourth year.

How hard was it to find one little first-year girl?

Apparently, very.

And thus, the question had slipped out without him realizing it for three whole seconds.

For the pandemonium it caused, it was enough.

The moment he realized it, he cursed inside his head something that his father would no doubt scold him for.

"Did you just ask about…" Blaise trailed off, stunned as he halted in his tracks in the middle of the corridor.

"Thana Grey?" Theodore finished with a pale look on his face.

Even Daphne Greengrass had turned to stare at him, eyes wider than he'd seen since she first learned occlumency.

"What on earth would you want with her?" Pansy's shrill voice hit his ears.

Draco regretted his life choices as he turned to face them with a begrudging look.

"None of your business, Parkinson," He snapped. He turned to Blaise, irritatedly.

"Who is she?" He demanded from the Italian boy.

Blaise frowned, contemplating, and then turned to Theo, who shrugged, and Daphne, who looked away uncaringly. He sighed.

"I can't believe you haven't heard about her by now. She's infamous in our house."

"She's a first-year. It's only been a week and a half since school started. How could she be infamous?" Draco said skeptically.

"Exactly," Blaise nodded.

"She's a brat," Pansy poked in, huffing with her arms crossed. "A no-good disrespectful chit with no sense or values of a real Slytherin-"

"Enough," Daphne eyed Pansy, who huffed. "Someone could hear."

"You just hate her 'cause she whipped your arse-" Tracey Davis, Daphne's closest friend laughed into her sleeve.

"Shut up, half-blood," Pansy snapped.

Daphne's stern glare made the girl fall silent though.

"Thana Grey is the Heiress of the House of Grey. She's also not the most pleasant soul to be around. The teachers especially dislike her which has caused quite some problems for us." Daphne stated.

Blaise snorted, "That's a kind way of putting it. She's lost Slytherin house almost 40 points so far. We're lucky our Seventh years are putting in overtime to make up for it. We're in third place because of her."

"She got into a fight with Bole and Bletchley yesterday," Theodore shook his head, "It got ugly."

"She's out of control," Pansy said smugly, "About time someone put her in her place if you ask me."

"Please, like you have the nerve to take her up again. Madam Pomfrey only just managed to get those chunks of your hair back in." Tracey smirked at her.

Pansy gasped, hand automatically going to the back of her straight and coifed black hair, "How dare you? At least my hair isn't a filthy rat's nest like yours-"

"Quiet!" Draco snapped, rubbing a hand against his forehead.

"Why'd you ask about her anyway, Draco?" Blaise eyed him.

Draco debated answering but ultimately decided it was too much of a hassle to lie.

"It's not your business," Draco stated coldly, "Where can I find her?"

That answer, as it turned out, was about to land in his lap as they approached the common room. Outside the room stood their fifth-year Prefect, Mervyn Wynch.

She stood at the portrait entrance like she was guarding something even as they approached.

"I wouldn't go in there if I were you," Wynch said, looking at her nails.

"Why?" Theo asked, curiously.

The sound of a loud crash through the wall was answer enough.

Wynch sighed, "Stupid little girl tried to take on Sykes."

"You don't mean…" Tracey paled, "the sixth year, Sykes?"

Wynch nodded.

"Serves her right," Pansy huffed, crossing her arms and turning away. "I told you that girl needed to be put in her place."

"It's Grey?" Theodore exclaimed, eyes wide, "A first-year tried to fight Sykes?"

Wynch winced as what sounded like glass shattered into pieces. Sounds of screaming came from inside.

"Shit," Draco cursed as he turned to the portrait. "Alihotsy."

Salazar Slytherin's portrait raised an eyebrow but swung open and Draco pushed through to enter what looked like a warzone.

A crowd of people stood on the sidelines, some chanting and jeering and some just watching silently. Draco pushed to the front line and spotted two figures.

Chairs and couches were overthrown and destroyed, and the stuffing and pillows were thrown everywhere. The decorations on the walls were half-destroyed and even burnt to pieces while in the middle of the chaos was a very tall figure.

Alexander Sykes. Though he had made sixth-year prefect, it had only been at Snape's request so he could keep a better eye on him. After he killed one of his fellow sixth-year's cat when they were first years and hung it from the rafters for him to find, nobody messed with him.

Unless you were stupid.

Just like his opponent.

A short girl with long smoky gray hair and a thin build, her wand clutched in one hand. She's clearly been overpowered due to the various wounds and curses sticking to her skin.

This was a bloody match and Alex Sykes remained virtually untouched except for a single cut on his cheek.

He sneered down at the tiny first year, twirling his wand in one hand.

"You're lucky I don't kill you right here," Sykes snarled.

Between her wheezing pants which Draco suspected she had a broken rib, she grinned, showcasing her bloody teeth as she taunted, "Why not? You don't have the balls, asshole?"

Does she have a death wish?

That was Draco Malfoy's first impression.

But despite all the bruises and blood, she got to her feet, head still raised high as she stared down Sykes.

"You just don't know when to quit, do you?" Sykes tsked. He shook his head as he began to wave his wand in a familiar jagged pattern.

Draco's eyes went wide as one of the few who recognized the motions.

The girl stood still, a rebellious look on her face as she looked down at the end of his wand like a soldier ready to die for a great cause.

Draco moved before he knew what he was doing. His own hand snapped out to grab Syke's much large wrist, preventing the last movement of the spell.

With a strength he didn't know he had, Draco's silvery eyes darkened as he stared at Sykes.

"Don't." He warned him.

The hole in his chest widened as Sykes stared down at him in fury.

"Out of the way, Malfoy," He snarled.

"I know that spell, Sykes," Draco leaned in to whisper to the older boy despite him being almost a head and a half taller. Syke's eyes went wide.

"I can call Professor Snape to deal with this now or you can walk away, no harm done," Draco said seriously and calmly.

Sykes grit his teeth as he jerked his arm away. With an arrogant glance at the crowd around them and the destruction of their common room, he turned to the girl still standing despite her injuries.

"Mess with me again and I will finish that spell," Sykes threatened before heading out the common room door.

"And clean up this mess!" He barked before disappearing.

Draco glared at the crowd, who began to fix up the place with magic. He turned to the girl, who he now knew was the girl he had been looking for.

Killian was right. She was a timebomb.

Thana wheezed and fell to one knee, holding a hand against her chest.

Draco looked down at her coldly, arms crossed as he debated what to do with her.

"Should've let him kill her," Pansy sneered on her way to the girls' dorms. Sally-Anne Perks sent the first year a sympathetic glance but Thana only bared her teeth at them, a mixture of her blood and saliva dripping from her lips.

Sally-Anne squeaked and hurried up the staircase.

"I didn't need your help," Thana wheezed, glaring up at Draco, "I could've taken him."

Draco scoffed. "Considering how you just nearly got yourself killed, I'd argue you couldn't."

"Maybe you should learn a few spells before picking fights with people bigger than you," Blaise suggested casually to the girl as he passed by. "That way nobody else is stuck cleaning up your mess."

Thana flushed, cheeks heating up with color.

"I didn't force you to clean up!" She staggered to her feet with an indignant look. "Just stay out of my business!"

"I'd love to," Draco sneered, "but unfortunately for both you and me, your brother wants you unharmed and that job has fallen to me."

"Brother?" Her face twisted in confusion then it morphed into anger. It all happened in an instant.

Her fist collided with his mouth with more strength than Draco had ever been expecting. Even injured, the force was enough to slam his upper teeth into his lip. He tasted the metallic blood in his mouth as he fell back onto his back, holding his injured jaw.

"I don't know what game you're playing at, you pompous twit but just leave me alone!" The gray-haired girl stood over him, something crackling like lightning around her.

And then she spun around and limped out of the common room.

"That went well," Daphne said coldly.

"Shut up," Draco snapped, furiously, eyes darkening.

Ego now bruised, Draco regretted ever making a deal with a Gray.

As the first week turned into the second, things were not looking up for the Gryffindors in the slightest.

Ron's wand was still malfunctioning, turning practically every spell of his into a disaster and making Ron spend more time under the watchful eye of Professor McGonagall, who dragged him to extra lessons every other evening after dinner.

It didn't help that when Ron and Mara had been paired up for charms class one morning, Mara's helpful suggestion was to hit it against the table until it started working again. The wand shot out his hand and hit poor Professor Flitwick right between his eyes, leaving a rather large, throbbing green boil.

Green was not Professor Flitwick's color.

Not to mention, the group had found a new tagalong to practically every class and back.

Colin Creevey seemed to have memorized the second-year schedule because around every corner there he was lurking just out of sight, waiting for a moment to pop out with an "All right, Amaryllis?"

Despite her increasing exasperation, Mara simply didn't have the heart to tell his large starstruck, and innocent eyes to go away.

And as he followed them around, rambling question after question to his particular hero and showcasing his very full binders full of news clippings about her, Harry could only suffer.

Ron, on the other hand, found it hilarious, even fun to tell outlandish stories to the boy and watch him add them to his binders, no matter how untruthful they were. Colin now believed that Mara owned a small quidditch fleet in Papua New Guinea and charmed nearly a dozen mopeds to fly to sell to orphans.

Not to mention the growing list of mythological creatures she'd supposedly defeated with the other's help. Not even their common room was safe from the little Gryffindor, as he waited at the staircase for her to come down in the mornings and waited until she went up in the evenings.

Mara had taken to the 'Smile and nod' approach, no matter how much he could see her dying inside a little bit more every day.

Harry mostly ignored it but even he was getting annoyed by the little chatterbox. Luckily though, Hermione and he had taken refuge in the library which Mara never went to unless necessary. It proved effective and though their research was slow-going, they gained some peaceful time to relax from the chaos that was their friends.

Until Saturday that was when he was awoken before sunrise by a very eager sixth-year. Oliver Wood, Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team was dedicated, to say the least.

Harry had never seen someone so obsessed with the sport, even his father and Uncle Sirius were nothing compared to the five am sharp Captain. Harry was only lucky that Angelina Johnson, their chaser had managed to argue for five am and not four as Oliver wanted.

Fred and George were already on the field, looking much too used to this by their identical mischievous grins. This was their third year as beaters for the team for the fourth years. Nobody could match their telepathy as identical twins.

Harry was only slightly jealous that he didn't have the same connection with his sister, Mara. But then again, he isn't sure he wanted to know what was inside her head.

The three chasers on the team were all girls- Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet were fellow fourth years with the confidence to run rings around the boys of their team. Katie Bell was only a third-year who'd joined last year but she'd proven herself during Gryffindor's only win last year.

With Oliver as the keeper, there was only one spot left unfilled.

Seeker.

Last year's Seeker, Terrence McElroy had failed disastrously. The team had only one win out of the year and that was due to an altercation in the stands that may have been Neville's fault. Terrence had failed to catch the snitch in all three matches he played in and even gotten himself brutally injured in his last match with Ravenclaw.

The poor third year had made it very clear he was not returning as Seeker. Which left the spot up for grabs.

After a weekend-long series of try-outs, the new Seeker for Gryffindor had been decided.

Harry himself.

Now Harry liked quidditch well enough but mostly, he just liked flying. His sister's repeated pestering for him to join the tryouts however was merely a whim. He didn't expect to actually get chosen.

But there he was, standing in his first practice at five in the morning with a hazy glow of pink just over the mountains.

There was still a thin mist across the field as Oliver Wood gathered them all up.

Despite it being so early, Hermione was sitting in the stands, partially covered in Mara's fuzzy blanket she'd dragged along with her.

Mara, wrapped in her own fuzzy blanket, yawned into her hand, sandwiched between Hermione and Neville and using Harry's phoenix, Aura as a hand warmer. Ron sat at the end, probably still asleep from how he was leaning on Neville's shoulder.

Harry could swear he could hear his snores even from the pitch.

After Wood's incredibly long, boring game plan and explanation of their new training regimen, they finally got out on the field right as the sun began to rise.

"Let's do some practice rounds!" Oliver shouted, hovering on his broomstick.

Harry suppressed a yawn as he effortlessly mounted his broomstick and kicked at the ground, soaring into the air. The gust of cool air and the adrenaline were more effective than any kind of tea or coffee to wake him up and after a few rounds around the pitch at full speed, his blood was pumping.

Fred and George started a race which Harry ended up winning though they only complained about his fancy custom broom. Sure enough, Harry had brought his broom from home, finally glad not to have to ride on the school brooms which were so outdated they verged on dangerous.

Harry was sure they were the same brooms his dad had used as Captain.

Unfortunately, they didn't get very far before the sound of an annoying clicking noise followed them.

Harry groaned, recognizing it as the click of Colin Creevey's camera. And sure enough, there he was down at the stands snapping photos of the team and more specifically- him. Every once and a while, he'd turn to snap a photo of Mara.

"What's going on?" Wood flew up beside him with a frown. "Why's that first year taking pictures? He could be a Slytherin spy, trying to find out about our new program."

"I doubt that," Harry said firmly. "Plus, he's in Gryffindor."

"And the Slytherins don't need a spy, Oliver," said George.

"What makes you say that?" Wood said testily.

"Because they're already here," George pointed to the open field.

Several people in green robes were walking onto the field, broomsticks in their hands.

"I don't believe it!" Oliver hissed in outrage, "I booked the field for today!"

Wood shot to the ground, landing harder than he meant to as he staggered off his dismount. This left the rest of his team to follow.

"This is not gonna be pretty," Alicia said.

"Ten galleons Wood can take Flint," Fred said getting off his broom.

"I say twenty he slugs him," Angelina smirked, crossing her arms.

"Flint!"

Harry sighed at the bellow of their Captain.

"This is our practice time! We got up specially! You can clear off now!" Oliver bellowed at the Slytherins.

Marcus Flint took the word burly to a whole new meaning. He stared at them with an arrogance Harry was beginning to associate with the Slytherins.

"Plenty room for all of us, I'd say, Wood," Flint replied, looking over at the girls as they matched Oliver's stance.

There were no girls on the Slytherin team which seemed mighty sexist but was probably due to the Slytherin's need for tradition. In many of the pureblood's eyes, Quidditch was the men's sport and many had objected to making it co-ed in the first place.

"But I booked the field!" Wood protested.

"Ah, but I've got a specially signed note here from Professor Snape," Flint handed out the parchment, which Oliver snatched irritatedly and read out.

"I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practice today on the Quidditch field owing to the need to train their new seeker." Oliver read out, bitterly then looked up at them bewildered, "You've got a new Seeker? Where?"

"Probably uglier than the troll they had last year," Fred whispered to them.

But what stepped out from between the six, tall figure was not a troll but a familiar smaller boy.

Despite his pale look and split bottom lip, there was no mistaking the smirking face of Draco Malfoy.

"Malfoy," Harry sighed, "I don't recall Slytherin holding tryouts for the new seeker."

"Potter," Draco nodded. Despite the obvious disheveled look to him compared to last year, Draco was every inch his father's son as he preened under the glares of the Gryffindors like the peacocks his family was known for, "There was no need. I was the only obvious choice."

"Obviously," Harry drawled sarcastically. Harry still owed the Malfoy a favor from last year- for not ratting them out for sneaking a dragon out of school and so for this time, Harry carefully backed down, leaving this to his new Captain and team.

"Malfoy? Aren't you Lucius Malfoy's son?" said Fred, looking down at the second-year Slytherin with dislike.

"Probably where they got the obvious bribes," a new voice stepped forward. Hermione stood there, hands on her hips and a scowl on her lips.

"Bribe?" Lucian Bole, one of the beaters snickered, "I think you mean generous gifts."

All seven of the Slytherin teams were holding polished, brand-new broomsticks with fine gold letting spelling 'Nimbus Two Thousand and One' gleaming in the morning sun.

"Latest model. Only came out last month," said Flint, flicking imaginary dust off the end of his own, "I believe it outstrips the old Two Thousand by a considerable amount."

His eye on Oliver's Nimbus Two Thousand was obvious.

"As for the old clean sweeps," He smiled nastily at Fred and George who were both clutching their old Cleansweep Fives - "Well, it sweeps them away."

By the stunned looks on the Gryffindor team's faces, Harry knew this wasn't going to be good. He was lucky that Mara and Neville had stayed on the benches, sleeping away but Ron and Hermione, who'd ventured down to stand by him, were very unhappy.

"At least nobody on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in," Hermione said sharply, "They got in on pure talent."

Malfoy's smug look dropped into a snarl at her biting words.

"No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood," Draco spat.

And hell broke loose.

Ron surprisingly moved first. Wand in his hand, he shouted, "You'll pay for that one, Malfoy!" And the spell shot out of his broken wand.

"Ron, no!" Hermione cried but it was too late as a jet of green light flew out of the wand but the wrong way. It hit Ron dead in the stomach, sending him reeling back a good five feet.

"Ron! Ron, are you alright?" Hermione went rushing past them to check on them but Harry's eyes were on Malfoy, blood boiling.

Alicia screeched "How dare you!" and Fred and George threw down their brooms, jumping at the second year.

Flint dove in front of Malfoy, taking the brunt of the hit of the Weasley twins, and Bole and Pucey dove in to grab Fred and George by the arms. Oliver stepped in to help but was cut off by Warrington and Derrick while Bletchley sneered at Angelina and Alicia with a "Don't want you pretty things to get hurt!"

"I'll show you hurt, you son of a-" Angelina lunged forward, punching Bletchley firmly in the skull before being held back by Alicia and Katie despite her struggling. Fred and George were pinned to the ground but all the chaos left Malfoy unprotected.

Before Harry realized he'd even moved, his wand was in his hand pointed down at Malfoy's chin, a spell on the tip of his tongue, hand glowing a bright green in front of the entire group of Slytherins.

Draco looked curiously and warily at Harry's glowing hand but didn't move to defend himself. He didn't need to as a powerful jaw latched onto his leg, pulling Harry right onto the grass and dragging him away.

Harry tumbled across the lawn with the wind knocked out of him. Malfoy stood untouched on the pitch, eyes exhausted and uncaring at Harry's fallen form and the blank look on his face reminded him sternly of a different one.

In front of him was Draco's familiar. The black dog's teeth bared as it stood protectively in front of Draco.

The rose-pink eyes stared down at him, blood on her tongue and apathetic as she looked down at her.

Harry struggled to take in a gasp, the face of his twisted sister looking down at him as she murdered Quirrel merging with Draco's now.

Then Aura cried in response to his fear. He felt hands on his back, lifting him up to one knee.

Aura screeched from above, and a flash of her wings and fire scorched across the grass in a line, separating the fighting students.

The lions and snakes were divided by the burning line of fire that scorched the blackened grass.

"What on earth is going on here?" Madam Hooch shouted across the field, running as fast as she could toward them.

The fire went out in a puff of smoke, leaving only a line of burned weeds behind. Madam Hooch looked between them furiously.

"Someone explain what happened right now!"

Flint and Wood opened their mouths at the same time but it was Hermione's screech of worry that came first.

"Harry! Something's wrong with Ron," She called out hysterically.

Ron lay on his back, groaning on the grass and holding his stomach with both hands.

"Ron!" Harry leaped to his knees beside him, eyeing the Slytherins in case they tried anything else while looking at Ron's green complexion.

"I don't feel so good," Ron moaned.

"Here," Harry lifted him to sit up hoping it would help but instead, disgustingly, Ron gave a huge belch, and out came a massive slug out of his mouth and into his lap.

The Slytherins burst into laughter with Filch hanging onto his new broom for support. Pucey was on all fours, banging his fist on the ground but the Gryffindors were gathered around Ron, who kept belching large, glistening slugs.

"I'm gonna be sick," Alicia said looking pale.

"We'd better get him to Hagrid's. It's closer," Harry said to Hermione, who put on a brave face, trying desperately not to look at the pile of slugs now piled in Ron's lap. They pulled him up by the arms and that's when Neville and Mara met them.

Mara rubbed her eyes of sleep, looking dazed as she asked "what happened?"

"What's that?" Neville asked with wide eyes, "What-"

But there was no time. Ron burped again, spitting out a slug onto the grass, groaning.

"Ooh," Colin said, raising his camera, "Can you hold him still for a picture, Harry?"

"Get out of the way, Colin!" Harry snapped, patience finally snapped as he and Hermione supported Ron out of the stadium and down to the edge of the forest towards Hagrids.

"What did we miss?" Mara questioned as she followed.

"A lot!" Harry bit out, struggling to support Ron without getting any of the slugs on his clothing. He cringed as Ron belted out another slug.

"Can you go get Ron's wand? I think it broke again!" Hermione said hurriedly, "Then meet us back at Hagrids."

Neville took one look at Ron with a slug dribbling down his lips and nodded, grabbing Mara's arm and forcing her back to the pitch.

"Wait, what? What's going on?" Mara said confusedly but Harry and Hermione were already rushing down.

They were right in front of Hagrid's house and Harry reached up to knock but the front door opened. It wasn't Hagrid though.

"Professor Lockhart," Hermione squeaked, blushing as the man faced them with a huge grin.

He was wearing the pale mauve robes today, hair still perfectly coifed as he looked down at them with a grin.

"What a surprise!" Lockhart grinned.

"We don't have time for this," Harry growled, "Out of the way."

"Excuse me?" Lockhart placed a hand over his heart, offendedly.

"You're excused." Harry snapped.

"Harry!"

"In all my years, I've never met someone so rude-"

Harry still hadn't forgiven him for the cornish pixies and was ready to tear the man out if it weren't for Ron's sickness but it was the boy himself who made the decision for them.

He looked up at Lockhart, looking mighty green, and leaned out of Harry and Hermione's arms to spew slugs all over Lockhart's robes.

Harry struggled not to laugh as Hermione went pale and Ron wiped his mouth with his sleeve, with a weak, "Sorry, Professor."

"Oi, are those slugs?" Hagrid said from behind Lockhart, pushing him out of the doorway to let the three go inside.

Fang burst out from behind him and leaned down to lick at the slugs on the doorstep.

Lockhart leaned over the railing and threw up into the bushes.

Hermione winced at his retching as he straightened himself, took one look at Ron, and rushed down the steps and back to the castle, screeching inhumanely.

"He'll hate us forever," Hermione whimpered.

"A mighty blessing if ya ask me," Hagrid snorted, "You three best come in. I'll make some tea."

Harry and Hermione supported Ron over the threshold and into one of the chairs by the fire. Once Ron was settled, he leaned his arm out of the door to let Aura settle on it, bringing her indoors. She went to settle inside the massive black pot in the fire. She chirped happily, curling up in the pot for a nice nap.

"Better out than in," Hagrid said cheerfully, plunking a large bucket into Ron's lap. "Best to just get 'em all out, Ron."

"I think it's best to just wait until it stops," said Hermione anxiously. "That's a difficult curse as it is and with a broken wand…"

"What did Lockhart even want from you, Hagrid?" Harry asked, scratching the slobbering Fang behind the ear.

"Giving me advice on getting kelpies out of a well," Hagrid growled, setting down the teapot on his busted cluttered table, "Like I don't know well enough myself. Kept banging on about some banshee he banished. If one word of it was true, I'll eat my kettle."

Harry sent a smug look to Hermione, who bristled under even Hagrid's criticizing of Lockhart.

"I think you're being quite unfair," Hermione said in a higher tone than normal, "Dumbledore obviously thought he was the best man for the job-"

"He was the only man for the job," said Hagrid, offering them a plate of treacle fudge which they politely declined due to Ron's well-timed squelching into the bucket.

"Nobody else applied?" Harry asked disbelievingly.

"Getting difficult to find anyone fer the Dark Arts job, Harry. People aren't too keen to take it on see. That jinx is starting to really get to people after last year. Haven't had many teachers die on the job." Hagrid sat down in his large chair built for the half-giant, a cup of tea in his hands.

A pang of guilt went through Harry. Even despite knowing the full story behind Quirrell's death last year, knowing that he'd willingly let himself be possessed by Voldemort, Harry still hadn't wanted him to die.

Especially not like he did.

Harry clutched Fang's wrinkly fur, calming himself from thinking about those unpleasant memories. Aura popped out of the pot, their bond ringing with her soothing concern. He let the bond calm him until he felt under control again.

"So, tell me," Hagrid jerked his head at Ron, who spit up a new round of slugs, "Who was he trying to curse?"

The reminder was just as unpleasant.

"Malfoy," Harry said darkly, suppressing the urge to find Malfoy and curse him like he should've done.

Aura trilled disapprovingly from the fire and Harry begrudgingly settled back, running his hands over Fang's fur. If he got the chance in the future, however, he'd take it.

Malfoy would pay for this one.

"He called me something. I think it was really bad," Hermione said anxiously.

"It was bad," Ron lifted his head from the pot, pale and sweaty, voice hoarse, "He called her Mudblood, Hagrid-"

Ron threw his head into the pot as another wave hit him.

"He didn't!" Hagrid gasped, outraged.

"He did," Harry growled.

"I don't know what it means though. I could tell it was rude but-"

"It's not just rude, Hermione," Harry said as gently as he could with the fury in his blood, "It's one of the worst things you can call someone. It's a derogatory term for those with non-magical parents."

"Like me," Hermione said quietly.

"The Malfoys are purists, Hermione," Harry said grimly, "They track their lineages to prove they have nothing but magical blood for generations so they can claim a title as a 'Pureblood'. People like that think they're above everyone else just because of that. They think those with non-magical parents have 'dirty blood'."

"Oh," Hermione said, lowering her gaze to her hands as the meaning of the word dawned on her.

"The rest of us know it doesn't make any difference at all," Ron said from his bucket, "I'm pureblood, and Neville's pureblood but you're better at magic than both of us combined."

Harry nodded in agreement, "Not every pureblood family is a purist. The Weasleys are equalists. They believe blood shouldn't matter and often have muggles or muggleborns mixed into the lineages. Though Ron is pureblood, by purist standards, he's considered a blood traitor for associating with muggleborns and muggles. It's all ridiculous. If we hadn't married muggles, we'd have all died out."

"And Neville?" Hermione lifted her head to ask.

"The Longbottoms have long been a neutral stance. Neville's father was the first to take a side during the wizarding world but once he died, Neville's grandmother decided to become neutral again. It's up to Neville which side he wants to take when he becomes the Head of the House. But Neville is firmly on the equalist's side. He doesn't look down on anybody, especially you."

"My Pop is Head of our house," said Ron, "Nona made Bill the heir after my Dad refused."

"And my Dad is the only descendant left of the Potters, he's Head of our house and since I was born first, I'm the heir," Harry explained.

"What about Mara?" Hermione asked, curiously.

"She didn't want to be Heiress," Harry snorted, "She's not enough political clout anyway."

"So, not only am I friends with two Heirs but the younger brother of another Heir and a famous celebrity?"

"Yeah, that about sums it up." Harry nodded.

"With friends like you guys to back me up, Malfoy can't scare me," Hermione smiled kindly.

Ron and Harry grinned back until Ron wretched into his bucket again, dripping more slugs.

"I don't blame ya for trying to curse him," Hagrid nodded, "But maybe it was a good thing your wand backfired. Spect that father of his would've come marching up to the school if you cursed his son."

Harry snorted in amusement at the thought. "Well, now I wish you had," He grinned at Ron, "I'd like to see your Dad finish his fight with him."

Ron snorted with laughter and two slugs sprayed out of his nose and onto the floor.

"I'll get me mop," Hagrid sighed, lifting from his chair.

After cleaning up Ron's mess, they left Ron inside as Hagrid was eager to show them his massive pumpkin patch out back. Each of the pumpkins was the size of boulders, bigger than any of the three twelve-year-olds.

"An engorgement charm?" Hermione said halfway between amused and disapproval. Harry eyed Hagrid's pink umbrella he always carried with him.

Harry knew Hagrid had gotten expelled from Hogwarts in his third year but never learned for what. Ron speculated he was raising acromantulas in his dorm room but there was no mention of it. Harry suspected, at the least that Hagrid kept the broken pieces of his wand inside his classic pink umbrella.

"You've done a good job on them," Hermione inspected them fascinated.

"That's what your little sister said," Hagrid nodded to Ron, who joined them outside, clutching his bucket tightly. "Met her just yesterday. I think she was hoping to run into somebody."

Ron and Harry snorted.

"Hey!" Mara came running down the path, waving at them.

Speak of the devil, Harry thought.

Neville ran behind her, panting as he tried to catch up.

"Here's your wand, Ron," Mara said brightly as she held out a bunch of broken wooden shards and what looked like remnants of burnt unicorn hair.

"My wand," Ron murmured pitifully.

"We tried to gather all the pieces but I think we were still missing a few."

"IT took you that long?" Harry asked incredulously.

"Ah, no," Mara smiled awkwardly, her enthusiasm dying down.

Neville straightened up, looking glummer than usual. "We got stopped by Professor McGonagall."

"About what?" Hermione asked smugly, eyes twinkling in satisfaction.

"Our detentions have been decided," Mara slumped, shifting on her feet.

"You and I have to polish the silver in the trophy room without magic," Neville told him.

Harry winced. There was a lot of silver in the trophy room.

"What about Mara? She was there too?" Hermione said, outraged.

Mara almost had tears in her eyes as even Neville reached over to pat her on the back, looking sympathetically.

"She has to help Lockhart answer his fan mail," Neville said grimly.

The room went silent.

Not even Hermione had the nerve to tease the poor redhead for her tragic fate.