Thursday, 7th September

It was a crisp September morning, and the Great Hall buzzed with the usual chatter of students settling into their routines. Harry sat at the Slytherin table, idly sipping a lukewarm cup of tea and contemplating the mounting pile of assignments from the first week of term.

Next to him, Blaise was critiquing yesterday's Daily Prophet coverage of some famous Quidditch match or another, while Theo nudged a plate of toast toward him, insisting he eat more.

Breakfast was halfway through when the telltale rustle of wings filled the hall. Hundreds of owls swooped in, dropping letters and parcels to waiting hands. Harry barely glanced up, not expecting anything - until Blaise nudged his shoulder.

"Look alive, Potter" he murmured, nodding toward a sleek, elegant eagle owl that was heading straight for him, "I think that one's got your name on it".

Harry frowned, confused, as it landed gracefully before him, extending a talon with a rolled piece of parchment tied with emerald-green ribbon. The sight of the ribbon alone caused the hum of conversation around him to falter, and Harry didn't miss the flicker of anxiety on Draco's face as he stole a glance at the owl.

"You recognise it?" Harry asked, carefully untying the letter.

"It's- It's mother's" he replied quietly, "Her own, personal owl".

Ah. That explained his uneasy expression. Harry thanked the owl - who adamantly refused the piece of bacon he offered - and then unrolled the parchment, feeling the weight of half a dozen eyes on him. Ignoring them, he focused on the elegant script that sprawled across the page.

Dear Lord Gloucester,

Let me begin by conveying my gratitude for agreeing to correspond with me despite the complexities of the current political climate - I am certain that such an understanding will prove mutually beneficial.

I also wish to express my admiration for your poise during our brief introduction at Madam Malkin's. It is rare, especially in one so young, to see such an understanding of etiquette, let alone a respect for tradition. As I, rather unfortunately, doubt that my dear cousin Sirius taught you such niceties, I confess myself curious as to where you learned it from.

I must admit, I find myself quite intrigued by you, Lord Gloucester. Your reputation precedes you, but reputation and reality are often disparate things. It is my hope that we may explore such nuances in our conversations.

I was initially quite surprised when Draco wrote to me, informing me that you had been sorted into Slytherin. Surprised but not displeased, mind you. Upon reflection, it seems only fitting - Slytherin is a house for those with ambition, power, and cleverness, traits that I suspect you possess in abundance. It is a place where your talents can be nurtured, and I have no doubt you will thrive there, though I imagine this development came as a shock to some of your acquaintances.

Speaking of, I hope you found your time with my cousin Sirius over the summer enjoyable. Though he and I have not spoken in many years - largely because of the circumstances of his disownment - I would not be opposed to bridging that divide, should he be so inclined. Friendship may be too lofty an aspiration, but civility, at the very least, would be a start.

I wonder what your thoughts are on this matter? Having spent time with Sirius, do you share his perspectives and beliefs? His decision to align himself with the Progressives was, of course, a significant departure from our family's long-standing ties to the Conservative party.

As for myself, while I bear the Malfoy name, I was born a Black, and I refuse to let anyone forget it. The House of Black has weathered centuries of trials and triumphs; our legacy endures, and I have no doubt it will continue to do so through you. As Sirius's heir, I wonder in which direction you plan to take the family.

I look forward to hearing your thoughts on these matters. It is rare for me to find a mind worth engaging with on topics of such significance, and I trust you will not disappoint. Do not hesitate to call upon me should you require assistance. The Black family has a long tradition of aiding its own, and I would consider it an honor to extend that tradition to you.

Please do convey my well-wishes to my son as well.

Warm regards,

Lady Narcissa Malfoy

Duchess of Wiltshire

Harry carefully rerolled the parchment and slipped it inside his robes, as equally exasperated as he was impressed. The letter was a masterclass in subtlety. The tone was polite, even friendly, but there was an unmistakable undercurrent of calculation. Every word seemed carefully chosen, every phrase laden with double meanings.

Lady Malfoy had woven personal anecdotes, family pride, and political inquiry into a seamless whole, balancing warmth with thinly veiled challenges. It was impossible not to admire her skill, even as he considered the implications of the exchange.

"Well?!" Draco loudly demanded, "What did she say?!"

"Oh yeah". Harry blinked and reached for his now long cold cup of tea. "Your mum says hi".

Blaise burst out laughing whereas Malfoy's cheeks turned bright red as he squawked with indignation. Harry took a sip from his mug, made a face, and put it back down again, deciding to put the blond out of his misery.

"She's… curious, apparently".

"Curious about what?" Theo asked, slapping Draco on the back.

"Me" Harry replied, allowing himself a small smile, "Though I think she's even more curious about what I could become".

Finally regaining his dignity, Malfoy pinned him in place with a steely-eyed look. "My mother doesn't waste her time, Potter. If she's reached out to you, it's because she sees potential value in an alliance. Do not mistake her interest for altruism!"

"I wouldn't dream of it" Harry replied, meeting his gaze evenly, "But I think we both know that this could be just as advantageous for me as it is for her".

He gave a tight nod, clearly unhappy but unable to argue the point. Next to him, Blaise smirked. "Do you plan to respond?"

Harry let the question linger in the air for a moment, despite them all knowing the answer.

"Of course I do" he finally said with a smile, "It would only be rude not to".

He walked to his first Muggle Studies class with Tracey and Bulstrode, who were the only other Slytherins taking the elective.

Thankfully, the classroom for this subject was on the first floor - walking up to the Astronomy Tower last night had all but killed him. The two girls walked hand-in-hand but politely included Harry in their conversation so that he didn't feel like an awkward third wheel.

"Have you met Professor Burbage before?" Tracey asked.

"No, not yet" Harry replied, "I was tested by a lot of the teachers here before I came but Dumbledore didn't bother testing me on this subject since I grew up in the muggle world".

"Ah" she said succinctly, "Well. You'll get to, uh… meet her for yourself today then".

He gave her a slightly fearful look. "She's not another Binns, is she?"

Bulstrode snorted. "Oh, Merlin no! I mean, she's bad, but she's not that bad".

"She's just… enthusiastic" Tracey said diplomatically, "And a bit fond of… simplifying things, shall we say?"

"You'll see" her girlfriend finished with a rather secretive smirk.

The Muggle Studies room was quite spacious and, much to Harry's amusement, contained a variety of muggle devices like toasters, roller skates, and vacuum cleaners behind glass display cases. There were colourful posters on the walls featuring smiling cartoon wizards shaking hands with equally cheerful muggles, and a large banner hung above the blackboard declaring "Understanding is the Key to Unity!"

Professor Burbage stood by her desk, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. She was an older, Asian woman with short dark hair and even darker eyes and she positively beamed at them as they entered.

"Come in, come in!" she gushed, "Sit wherever you like - no assigned seating here! Let's foster a spirit of collaboration!"

Harry slid into a seat next to Tracey near the middle of the room. A few other students were scattered around, their expressions ranging from bored to mildly curious. When everyone was seated, Burbage clapped her hands.

"Welcome to Muggle Studies! I am so excited to have you all here. This is such an important subject - one that bridges the gap between our magical world and the fascinating, resourceful world of muggles. Together, we'll break down centuries of misunderstanding and prejudice!"

The room remained silent, but she didn't seem to notice.

"Now" she continued, pulling a box from her desk, "Let's jump right into the thick of things! To start off, I thought we'd examine an everyday muggle artefact. Can anyone identify this?"

She held up a battered-looking frying pan, its handle cracked halfway down. Harry exchanged a look with Tracey, who raised her eyebrows. Bulstrode coughed, hiding a laugh.

"It's a frying pan, professor" said a Ravenclaw girl in the front row.

"Yes, exactly!" Burbage said enthusiastically, holding it aloft like it was a rare treasure, "A frying pan! A prime example of muggle ingenuity. Did you know this remarkable device can cook eggs to perfection in mere minutes?!"

Harry leaned toward Tracey to whisper, "Because clearly, wizards have been eating raw eggs for centuries".

She quickly covered her mouth with her hand, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

The professor continued, completely oblivious. "And that's not all! Muggles have found other ways to cook without magic - ovens, microwaves, even something called a… a slow cooker! Imagine the patience that must require!"

Harry couldn't help it. He raised his hand.

"Yes, Mr…?"

"Potter" he said, internally wincing as her eyes immediately widened, "I just wanted to ask if we'll be discussing broader topics, like muggle governance or modern technology beyond everyday household appliances?"

"Oh, absolutely!" Burbage said, with a beaming smile, "We'll touch on all of that eventually, but I think it's important to start with the basics. After all, how can we understand muggles if we don't understand their daily lives?"

He nodded, biting back a sigh. On Tracey's other side, Bulstrode leaned over.

"Buckle up, Potter. It gets worse".

True to her word, the lesson veered wildly between enthusiasm and inaccuracies. Professor Burbage passionately explained how Muggles "relied entirely on candles until electricity was invented in the 1700s and they all started using it!" - prompting Harry to murmur, "Tell that to Victorian England" - and waxed poetic about the marvel of the bicycle as the "pinnacle of muggle transportation!" while completely ignoring cars, trains, and planes.

Tracey raised her hand at one point, delicately pointing out a factual error about how muggles communicated over long distances.

"Ah, well, yes, the 'telly-phone', as they call it!" Burbage said brightly, "Very clever, though I confess the specifics escape me. Strings and wires, or something of the sort?"

Bulstrode let out a heavy breath, muttering, "Well, at least she didn't say carrier pigeons".

By the end of the class, Harry felt a mixture of amusement and frustration. While he appreciated Professor Burbage's genuine passion for promoting muggle rights and understanding, the sheer number of misconceptions and oversimplifications was staggering.

As the students began packing up their things, Burbage called out, "Before you go, I want you to write a short essay about a muggle invention you find fascinating. Be creative!"

Walking out of the room, Tracey sighed. "Do you think she's ever actually spoken to a muggle?"

"Maybe once" Harry replied dryly. "But I'm guessing they didn't talk about much beyond eggs and bicycles".

Bulstrode snorted. "At least she means well. You should've seen the professor we had before her! He thought muggles still believed in witch hunts!"

"So, hey, on a totally unrelated note, I don't suppose either of you know who's in charge of Hogwarts' evaluations, do you?"

"Evaluations?" She frowned. "What evaluations? What even needs to be evaluated here?"

Harry stared at her. "... The quality of education we receive?"

"That's a thing?"

He abruptly turned to Tracey. "Please tell me you know what Ofsted is".

"The Office for Standards in Education and… Children's… something or other?" she said, half-answering him and half-asking him, "I don't really know what it stands for".

"But you know what it does, right?"

"Sure - it's some sort of government agency or organisation or whatever that's in charge of checking out schools and making sure they're up to health and safety standards and that none of the teachers are ex-criminals and that the various different subjects are taught to the level they want and stuff". She shrugged. "They send a guy out every few years, I think".

"Yeah. To muggle schools" Harry replied, "But not to Hogwarts! Isn't there some sort of magical world equivalent?"

"Not that I know of". Her nose scrunched up as she thought. "Actually, now that you mention it, I'm not even sure if there's a magical version of the Department for Education".

Harry stopped dead in his tracks. "There's no what?!"

"Yeah, no, I don't think that's a thing" Bulstrode said, "Do muggles really have an entire department just for their school?"

"Schools plural! There's thousands of them!" he exclaimed, "So of course there's a Department for Education! Who else would make sure everyone's learning what they need to know?!"

"Uh… the Headmaster?" she replied slowly, "Who else would decide what subjects we learn?"

"Well, what if the Headmaster's biassed?" he shot back, "I mean, your family's Dark, isn't it? And you're in Slytherin! You know exactly what subjects used to be taught here that we don't get to choose from anymore - all because of Dumbledore and ex-headmasters like him! Does that sound fair to you?"

"Well, no, but you're starting to sound like a Hufflepuff to me" she replied, "It's not fair? News flash, Potter! Life isn't fair!"

Tracey gave her an admonishing look before turning back to him.

"It does sound rather… well… stupid when you put it like that" she admitted, "Dumbledore should have to answer to someone, and it isn't right that he gets the final say in what we can and can't learn".

"Does he though?" Bulstrode shot back, "I mean, look at Umbridge! She won't even let us use our wands, for Salazar's sake! No matter how I feel about the Headmaster, I doubt that he'd think that's a good idea".

"Yeah, but Umbridge is an exception, isn't she? The Ministry sent her; it wasn't Dumbledore who decided to give her the DADA position".

"Maybe not, but it is his fault that the DADA position was open for the Ministry to fill, in the first place!"

They turned right to take the stairs up the Charms corridor.

"So there's really no formal evaluation for Hogwarts?" Harry asked, frowning, "Like, at all?"

"Not that we know of" Bulstrode replied, "Although I can see where you're coming from, Potter. It'd be nice to have actual competent professors every once and a while".

"Harry, not Potter" he corrected lightly.

"Millicent, then" she returned with a smirk, "Or Milli, if you're feeling brave".

"Well, Milli, the general consensus is that I should've been in Gryffindor, so I've got to have some courage in me".

"But it's usually overruled by your sense of self-preservation?" Tracey teased, and he snorted. "Yeah. Something like that".

After Charms, they had Defence Against the Dark Arts again, for which Harry had thoroughly prepared himself - both academically and mentally.

He would not let her get a rise out of him this time, he swore it. No matter what she said or who she went for, he would stay silent, because it wasn't as if him speaking out was going to change her stance on Dark Magic and creatures anyway, so really the only thing he gained by reacting to her prejudicial, bigoted nonsense was some time with a blood quill.

So.

He would not react, he would not talk back, and he would not be anything other than perfectly pleasant.

Umbridge still managed to give him detention.

"That's just bloody ridiculous!" Blaise exclaimed as they headed down to the dungeons an hour later, "That's just- just-"

"-bloody ridiculous, yes, I know" Harry finished, rolling his eyes in irritation, although, to be fair, his anger was very much directed at Umbridge rather than at his friend.

He had been sitting quietly, taking notes during a mind-numbingly dull lecture in his scrawling handwriting, when Umbridge had suddenly paused mid-sentence and directed her syrupy voice at him.

"Mr Potter, is there a reason you are smirking during my lesson?"

Harry blinked up at her, startled. "I'm not smirking, professor".

Her eyes narrowed, her saccharine smile growing sharper. "Oh, but you were. I saw it. That kind of insolence is exactly what I will not tolerate in my classroom! Detention, Mr Potter. Five o'clock. Tonight".

Harry had stared at her, genuinely baffled. He hadn't been smirking. If anything, his expression had been the opposite - impassive, carefully neutral. He'd been focusing all his energy on not reacting to her grating voice and inflammatory statements.

"What a bloody joke" Ron had muttered from the Gryffindor side of the classroom, earning himself a stern glare.

"Would anyone else like to join Mr Potter in detention?" Umbridge had asked sweetly and, rather predictably, the room had fallen silent.

Now, walking to the dungeons, Blaise was fuming on Harry's behalf.

"She gave you detention for smirking! That's not even a rule!" he exclaimed, throwing his hands up.

"She's a tyrant" Theo said flatly, striding alongside them, "She doesn't need rules. She just makes them up as she goes along".

"Still, this is a new level of petty" Tracey chimed in, shaking her head, "She didn't even pretend to justify it!"

Harry sighed. "Look, it's fine. At least this time I know why she's targeting me".

"Oh, really?" Blaise asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "Do enlighten us, Lord Smirks-a-Lot".

"She wants to rile me up. She's testing how far she can push me before I break. If I react, she wins. So, I won't".

Theo raised an eyebrow. "You say that now, but how long until she starts inventing detentions for 'breathing too loudly' or 'existing in her general vicinity?'"

"... Probably by the end of next week" he admitted, and Blaise snorted, his expression dark. "That's generous. You're being too calm about this. It's not normal, you know".

"Oh, believe me" Harry replied, his voice steady, "I'm absolutely furious. But if she's going to make my life miserable no matter what I do, I might as well save my energy for something that matters".

Millicent smirked. "Spoken like a true Slytherin".

At least their Potions class went better, although how much worse than DADA any of their classes could get, Harry wasn't sure. He'd been looking forward to Defence the most out of all of his subjects, but it was quickly becoming his most hated part of the week.

Theo sat next to him again and, like last time, he set up their equipment while Harry fetched their ingredients. Since it was only a single period today, they were working on a Strengthening Solution that they would be letting mature over the weekend.

Harry's own potion turned out pretty well - he'd almost accidentally added pomegranate juice instead of salamander's blood that one time but Theo had caught his hand before he could pour it in and Harry had done a very good job at not blasting the boy halfway across the room for suddenly grabbing him like that.

It was as they were packing up that he started to wonder if perhaps his potion wasn't turning out the way it should be.

"Potter, stay behind".

Harry froze mid-step and shared a wide-eyed, panicked look with Theo. There was no way Snape had already found out about his second detention with Umbridge, surely. That was impossible - or, at least, he hoped it was.

"We'll see you at lunch, yeah?" Theo said quietly, and he nodded, watching as the boy filtered out with the others. The door clicked shut behind them, and Snape folded his arms, fixing Harry with a piercing stare.

"Was it Pucey?"

"Was it- Uh- I'm sorry, sir, what?" he stammered, caught off guard.

Snape's expression didn't waver and his voice remained deceptively calm. "Was it Adrian Pucey who attacked you? I've noticed the other seventh years giving him a rather… wide berth as of late".

Harry blinked, processing the unexpected question. "Oh. Yeah, it was Pucey but, you know, it's fine. I won the duel and- well, it wasn't really much of a duel to begin with and another kid, something Baddock, challenged me right after but he was only raising his wand because he felt like he had to, not because he actually wanted to - I don't think he's got the stomach for it, really, so I just talked him down".

Severus regarded him for a moment, then nodded curtly. "Sensible, at least" he murmured. "And your hand?"

Harry's stomach twisted sharply at the question. For a terrible moment, he thought Snape meant his right hand - the one Umbridge had made him carve open with the blood quill. But no, the man's gaze flicked pointedly to his left hand, the one Pucey had cursed.

"Oh, uh, yeah, it's- it's fine!" he said quickly, holding it up. The scar was still vivid against his tanned skin, but it was already starting to fade.

"Good. Keep using the dittany until Sunday at the very least" Snape instructed, "That sort of spell, if improperly treated, can leave a permanent mark - I'd think you have had enough of scars by now".

That was… Was that- Did he know about- No. Surely not. How could he? Why would he? Who would've told him about-

"And how are your classmates treating you?"

Harry blinked, surprised yet again by the change in topic. "Uh, fine, I guess? I mean, we haven't killed each other yet, so…"

Snape's lip quirked slightly, an expression almost - but not quite - a smile. "I have never seen Mr Nott so open in my class. Talking out of turn, even. I am inclined to believe you've been a thoroughly bad influence on him".

Harry couldn't help but grin at that. "Theo's alright. We're friends now. Him and Blaise, mostly, but I get on alright with Tracey and Milli too".

Severus raised a brow. "And Mr Malfoy?"

"Malfoy's… well, Malfoy" he replied, rolling his eyes, "He's far too important to have friends like the rest of us mere mortals, but we're not at each other's throats, so that's progress, I guess. He usually hangs out with Crabbe and Goyle and they, uh… well, they don't really have much going on inside their heads, do they?"

Snape made an odd noise, somewhere between amusement and exasperation. "And the rest of your House?"

He shrugged. "Haven't had much chance to talk to Greengrass or Parkinson yet. The younger years are nervous around me, and the older years are smart enough to keep their opinions to themselves - aside from Pucey, of course... Though Parkinson seems to dislike me on principle".

"Ms Parkinson is an excellent judge of character" Snape said dryly, though there was a faint glint in his eye, and Harry had to bite back a laugh. "Yeah. Right".

The man continued to study him for another moment, before speaking again, quieter this time but more insistent than before.

"You'll find that most Slytherins can be pragmatic when they want to be. They're watching you, Potter. Trying to determine if you're worth their effort. Do not squander this opportunity".

"I don't intend to, sir" he replied seriously, and Snape gave him a brief, sharp nod. "Good. Dismissed".

Harry grabbed his bag and turned to leave, but hesitated at the door. "Professor?"

He arched a brow.

"Just… Thanks. Really".

Snape's expression didn't change, but Harry could have sworn he caught the faintest flicker of something soft in the man's eyes. And then he said, "Out, Potter!" in his usual clipped tone and the moment passed.

After lunch, Harry had a free double period when most of the others had Ancient Runes, so he decided to go to the library and write a response to Naricssa Malfoy's letter - all the while wondering if she, perhaps, knew when the Dark Lord's birthday was.

Dear Lady Malfoy,

Thank you for your kind words and for taking the time to write to me. I must confess that I was surprised at Draco's request made on your behalf, but I am no less pleased for it. Correspondences such as this feel both daunting and promising, particularly given the weight of the matters you have raised.

Allow me to address your curiosity regarding my understanding of etiquette and tradition. You are correct in assuming that my godfather, Sirius, was not the one to impart such lessons, though he has been invaluable in other ways. I understand that it's a Black family tradition to learn French, and my godfather has been immeasurably helpful in that regard. As for noble etiquette, I taught myself, largely through a mixture of books, observation, and necessity. When I learned of my inheritance and my seat in Wizengamot, I realized that these skills were not only useful but essential.

Your mention of family legacy resonates with me deeply. I hold both the House of Black and the Potter line in high regard, and I aim to honour them by forging a path forward that balances tradition with progress. This is why I find myself somewhat at odds with the current factions within the Wizengamot. While I do not agree with every aspect of the Progressive platform, neither do I support all Conservative views. I believe a middle ground must exist - a pragmatic and equitable path that ensures both stability and growth.

It is my intent to take my seat as soon as I come of age. There is much about our current laws and practices that I find troubling. For instance, the treatment of magical creatures and so-called Dark beings strikes me as not only archaic but also inherently unjust. It is my belief that the rights and dignity of all beings within our society should be respected, and I intend to champion changes in these areas.

Interestingly, this is one of the few matters where Sirius and I seem to align, though likely for different reasons. His partner, Remus Lupin, faces endless discrimination on a daily basis for being a werewolf. While I cannot claim to fully understand his experiences, they have shaped my perspective. I wonder, Lady Malfoy, if this is a subject you feel strongly about as well?

To that end, I have been considering drafting a legislative bill regarding the rights of magical beings. I hope to present it to Sirius for sponsorship in Wizengamot, though I must admit I am unsure where to begin. Your insights, should you choose to offer them, would be greatly appreciated. I believe that a nuanced approach is key, and I suspect you may have perspectives that I have not yet considered.

I will, of course, convey your well wishes to Draco. I hope you will forgive me for being candid in saying that while we are not close, we are learning to coexist. I suspect that may be a small victory in itself.

Thank you once again for your letter and your offer of assistance. I have no doubt that we can learn much from one another, and I look forward to hearing your thoughts on the matters I have raised.

Warm regards,

Harry Potter

Lord Gloucester

There. Appropriately formal sounding while still managing to get his point across. As Harry finished the last sentence, he set his quill down and stretched his fingers, glancing around the library.

It was still quiet; mostly a scattering of upper years murmuring over their homework and Madam Pince hovering at her desk, eagle-eyed as always. The peace was comforting after the whirlwind of a day - after his whirlwind of a week, really.

He carefully rolled up the parchment and, after casting a surreptitious glance around to make sure nobody was watching, wandlessly transfigured a piece of parchment into a ribbon to tie up the letter with. He'd have to remember to hand it over to Hedwig before dinner if he wanted Lady Malfoy to receive it tomorrow morning.

Still, a flicker of doubt passed through him. Would she even reply? Or was this just a test, a curiosity on her part? Malfoy had told him that his mother didn't bother writing to just anyone though, so surely it was a legitimate request for correspondence. Or was Ginny right and this was all just a part of a larger, undisclosed trap?

Pushing the thought aside, Harry tucked the letter into his bag and pulled out his Transfiguration textbook. If he had another detention with Umbridge tonight then he'd have to get as much homework done now as he could.

Friday, 8th September

His second detention had been just as bad as the first one.

The skin on the back of Harry's hand had become irritated more quickly and was now red and inflamed - it was unlikely to keep healing as effectively for long more. Soon the cut would remain etched into his hand and then, perhaps, Umbridge would be satisfied. He had let no sound of pain escape him, however, and from the moment of entering the room to the moment of his dismissal, again past midnight, he said nothing but "Good evening" and "Good night".

It was driving her insane.

The thought of her furious, disbelieving bulging eyes kept him in high spirits throughout most of the following day, despite the fact he had a double History of Magic class in this morning and a double Muggle Studies class before lunch. His other source of excitement came from the first class he had after lunch - flying lessons.

It was a mandatory class for first years and then optional for older years, but given that this was Harry's first year at Hogwarts, he was kind of in a weird limbo space so he'd readily agreed when Dumbledore had asked him to do a year of flying lessons - it wasn't exactly a hardship after all considering that he enjoyed being on a broom.

Sirius had been incredibly excited when he'd told him, which had led to a two-hour-long rant about how he and James Potter had both been chasers for Gryffindor and how his younger brother had been a Seeker for Slytherin and how Harry was going to love Quidditch and he was so excited for him and if he joined the team then they could come and watch his matches and-

And Remus had thankfully diverted the man's attention then by asking him about his leather jacket collection.

Either way, Harry was more than happy to join the tiny, whispering first years on the training grounds outside, despite the fact that Madam Hooch seemed to have as little regard for safety as his godfather did and had to escort an eleven-year-old to the hospital wing afterwards for a probable concussion.

Harry was on a high from soaring around the castle grounds. Although he'd loved flying at Grimmauld Place, he'd had very limited space there to move as freely as he'd wanted to and the old brooms Sirius had pulled out of the shed were constantly threatening to collapse on him. But now he had a Firebolt and as much as he'd complained and given out to his godfather for spending so much money on something so bloody ridiculous… Harry had to admit that he was glad the man did. His new broom allowed him to reach heights and speeds that he'd never even dreamed of before, and he was sad when Hooch finally called him down to send the students back inside for their next lesson.

Running a hand through his hair - which was somehow even messier now than it had been before and in desperate need of a haircut - Harry slowly, reluctantly began trudging back up the hill to the castle. He had Astronomy next which he was most certainly not looking forward to, and it was somehow made even worse by the fact that this was his extra class with the fourth years. The sooner he failed his Astronomy O.W.L., the better.

"Potter! Hey, Potter!"

Frowning, Harry turned to find a vaguely familiar boy walking towards him. Carefully lowering his broom, he prepared himself to strike back. His last interaction with an older Slytherin hadn't exactly ended bloodless, after all. He also remembered Theo's warning from the night before. You wait. You wait, and you watch. See who approaches you, who avoids you, and who suddenly wants to be your best friend. It'll tell you far more about this House than anything else ever could.

"Montague" the boy said, holding out a suspiciously harmless-looking arm, "Graham Montague. I'm the captain of Slytherin's Quidditch team".

"As well as the future Baron of Brownlow" Harry guessed, slowly shaking his hand, "Lord Joseph Montague is your…?"

"Father" he admitted, "Yeah. As soon as I graduate, the title will be mine. Maybe I'll even see you in Wizengamot sometime, Lord Gloucester".

"Harry, please. Or Potter, if you must".

"I'll start with Potter then. See how it goes from there".

"Fair enough" he replied easily, "But I highly doubt that you came all this way to discuss peerage niceties with me, Mr Montague".

"I didn't" he agreed, before nodding at the broom, "A Firebolt, huh? You like it?"

"I don't have much to compare it to" Harry admitted, still cautious, "It was a present, from my godfather. I've only had it about three weeks; I've never properly flown on anything else".

Montague's dark brows were furrowed. "Never? You mean this really is your first flying lesson? Ever?!"

"That's why I'm here". He shrugged and brushed sweaty hair back from his face. "Flying lessons are mandatory for first years and since this is my first year at Hogwarts, it was just easier for everyone if I agreed".

"So you've never played a game of Quidditch before?"

"Not a proper game. I've tossed a quaffle around a few times, but…" Montague was beginning to look increasingly agitated, and Harry frowned, tensing himself to fight back if necessary. "Why are you asking?"

Much to his relief, Montague's agitation didn't translate into anger. Instead, the older boy blew out a frustrated breath and ran a hand through his dark hair.

"Look, Potter - this is my first year as captain. I took over from Marcus Flint last year, and those are big bloody shoes to fill! Flint may not have been the sharpest wand in the shop, but he knew how to lead a team. I cannot risk us losing this year! Slytherin's won the Cup every single year since eighty-six! We've dominated Quidditch for almost a decade and I am not about to fuck that up!"

Well. He was passionate about it, Harry had to give him that.

"And what does all of this have to do with me?"

"Everything" Montague said bluntly, "We've lost both of our beaters from last year, and Bletchley's graduating with me this year. That means we'll need a new captain, chaser, and keeper for next year! It's a bloody mess, and I need to set the team up to win this year as well as set the groundwork for the next. To do that, I need a bloody good Seeker".

Harry blinked, surprised as he suddenly realised where this was going. "I'm not even on the team".

"Not yet, you aren't" he corrected, leaning forward, "But I watch the flying lessons at the start of every year to scout out new talent, and you're the most promising player I've seen in years! You've got the instincts, you've got the skill, and you've got the perfect build for a seeker too - lean, wiry, fast".

Harry resisted the urge to laugh. At least a decade of starvation and abuse at the Dursleys had been good for something. Not even four years at St Brutus could undo the damage they'd inflicted on him and he'd long since resigned himself to being small and scrawny for the rest of his life - but now, he figured he might as well let it work in his favour.

"I'll have to talk to the rest of the team first, of course" Montague continued, "And officially, you'll need to try out tomorrow morning like everyone else - but between you and me? I can't see you having much competition".

Harry tilted his head, intrigued despite himself. "Who's your current seeker?"

"Malfoy" he admitted, albeit reluctantly, "He's better suited as a chaser, but he's a glory hunter, so he always pushed for seeker. Problem is, we've never had anyone better to replace him with - until now".

He snorted. "And you think Malfoy's going to take me replacing him very well?"

Montague smirked. "Not my problem. Moving him to chaser lets me kick Pucey off the team, leaving us with a damn good shot at maintaining our winning streak this year".

Harry was smart enough to read between the lines. Pucey had made a fool of himself by attacking Harry the way that he did and had fallen out of favour among the older years. Pulling him from the lineup was as much of a political move as it was strategic.

"We'll see how it all works out tomorrow" Montague finished, "Be at the pitch by ten. Bring your Firebolt. You'll make the team, but don't slack off at tryouts. We're Slytherins, Potter - nothing's handed out for free".

"Fair enough" he replied, shrugging. He couldn't help but feel a spark of excitement, despite his caution. The idea of playing Quidditch - proper Quidditch - was exhilarating and he knew that Sirius and Remus would be delighted for him too.

All he had to do now was get through his Astronomy class, avoid another detention with Umbridge, and hope that Draco bloody Malfoy wouldn't hex him blind for stealing his glory.