Sitra Ahra

Ninth Movement: Deconsecrate

September 2, 1991

It appeared Hogwarts was not going to be different from the Flamel residence with regards to his sleeping habits. After noting the moistened state of his pillow, Harry glanced at his watch, to see the hour-hand resting slightly ahead of three.

Three o’clock and he couldn’t have been less tired. Once again, only four of sleep. Fantastic.

Familiar with his early-hour struggles, Harry kicked off his covers and got out of bed, grabbing the Charms book he had strategically left upon his trunk. Long ago he had given up laying in bed, as it never brought him any closer to re-entering sleep. He considered changing out of his pajamas, but let it be.

Much to his surprise, upon entering the Common Room, Harry saw that he was not its only occupant. Perched upon one of the couches, right next to the still-roaring fire, was Tracey. Her petite form was clad in light purple pajamas, he blond hair tied up in an unruly bun. She appeared to be starting deep into the crackling flames.

“I guess I’m not the only one having trouble sleeping,” Harry remarked, being able to approach without alerting her.

Tracey jumped slightly at his words, spinning her head around. Harry immediately noticed how tired she looked, and how unguarded her face seemed in comparison to their first encounter on the Hogwarts Express.

“Did Pansy kick you out of the room?” Harry asked, assuming her bed compared favorably to the couch in terms of comfort.

“Pansy will probably be too scared to even look at me for the next week,” Tracey replied with a small smile.

“I’m not exactly surprised, you really popped her hard.”

Tracey’s smile immediately vanished, replaced by abashment.

“I…uh...kinda have a problem with controlling my temper,” she eloquently admitted.

“You did the right thing,” Harry asserted. She looked very surprised by his approval of her actions.

“Slytherin doesn’t seem to like muggleborns too much, so a show of power was probably the only way to earn respect here. By not taking any of Pansy’s shit, I think you kinda proved yourself.”

“I know all of that,” Tracey said in reply, “I’m just surprised that you agree.”

The two children were silent for a moment, staring into the fire. Harry was beginning to see that perhaps the Sorting Hat’s decision wasn’t as stupid as he originally thought, and maybe he did belong here.

“Why are you out here?” Harry asked suddenly.

Tracey frowned at his question.

“You are one nosy bugger.”

“I’ll leave you alone if you want,” Harry replied, shrugging.

Tracey shook her head.

“It’s not really a big deal, I just didn’t feel comfortable being around the other girls. I thought maybe I’d do better in the Common Room.”

Based upon her earlier misgivings about the magical community, Harry wasn’t surprised. Tracey seemed like the sort of person who would never allow herself to be burned more than once. The first time was always enough.

“Who did you meet before Hogwarts that made you scared of this world?” Harry asked, voicing his suspicion.

Tracey looked surprised, before smiling ruefully.

“I guess my anti-pureblood rants gave it away, eh?”

Harry nodded.

“When I came home from Diagon Alley, I had a new wand and a book of spells. I knew my Hogwarts letter said not to use magic at home, but the idea of doing magic was so neat I couldn’t resist, so I tried a tickling charm from my new spell book. It worked on my second try. It…it felt so great to do something like that on my own.”

She closed her eyes, clearly relishing the memory. It had most likely been her last completely untainted one of the wizarding world.

“Let me guess, you got a visit from a friendly Ministry employee?”

Tracey, broken from her reverie, sighed.

“Yeah, some Ministry twit practically broke down the door. He started yelling at me, called me an ‘idiotic mudblood’, said he’d come back and snap my wand if I crossed the line again. Worst of all, he had his wand pointed at me.”

Harry found himself getting angry. A girl wants to do a simple charm that wouldn’t hurt anyone, and she brings this down upon herself? It just wasn’t right.

“What an asshole,” Harry remarked forcefully.

Tracey smiled slightly at his vehemence.

“Not just any asshole, but a cowardly one. Thinking back, I am kinda glad that he pointed his wand at me, though.”

“Why’s that?” Harry asked, slightly confused.

“My dad, a policeman just getting off his shift, walked in on his daughter being threatened by a red-faced stranger.”

Harry smiled, liking where this was going.

“Daddy came up from behind the wizard,” Tracey continued, “and slammed him against the wall. The wizard started yelling at daddy, saying he was part of the Muggle Relations department, and should be let go immediately. Daddy then slammed him against the wall again, and took his wand away, telling him he’d snap it if the wizard didn’t shut the fuck up.”

Harry chuckled, causing Tracey’s smile to widen.

“The wizard still didn’t listen, so daddy lost patience, and slapped a pair of handcuffs on him, and bounced him off the wall again. The Muggle Relations wizard didn’t say much after that, as daddy dragged him to the doorway, and told him if he ever threatened his daughter again, he’d deal with him personally.”

Harry began to laugh harder. If there was a better way to deal with out-of-line Ministry employees, he hadn’t found it.

“Oh, it gets better. Daddy undid the handcuffs, and threw him off our stoop. He then gave me the wizard’s wand, and told me to give it my best. I took the wand and threw it as hard as I could, where it landed in the busy road in front of our house.”

“That’s great!” Harry exclaimed, still laughing. Tracey’s face grew soft as his statement.

“I couldn’t ask for a better father,” Tracey said softly. “I just wish the Ministry hadn’t been so cruel. After that, I didn’t even want to come to Hogwarts. It was daddy that made me go.”

“Really?” Harry remarked, surprised.

“Yeah,” Tracey confirmed. “He said that I had been given a special gift, and that it would be a waste to not at least see what the wizarding world was like. He said to give it a semester, and that if it hadn’t gotten better, I could come back fully to our world.”

“What do you think so far?” Harry asked.

Tracey let out a humorless laugh.

“Well, being in Slytherin isn’t helping, but I like a few of the people I met here. I guess we’ll see, I don’t know if I want to deal with the Ministry,” she finished with a sigh.

“Nicolas, my legal guardian, taught me all about the Ministry. He said it was full of friends of friends, political hacks, most of them clueless blood supremacists. It sucks, but you’ve only seen the worst of wizarding society.”

Tracey snorted.

“I hope so, because I can’t imagine how a Ministry employee could be any worse.”

Harry’s mind immediately went to Lucius Malfoy, but he kept that thought to himself.

“There are a lot of fair witches and wizards out there, who don’t care about bloodlines. As Nicolas told me before I came here, all bigotry stems from fear. Tracey, they’re all afraid that there’s a chance you’re better than them, and that you’ll accomplish more than them.”

“Yeah, daddy said the same thing, but it’s nice to hear it again,” Tracey admitted.

“Besides,” Harry continued, “imagine how good it’s going to feel when you’re more successful than any of those narrow-minded idiots.”

Tracey smiled gleefully at his point.

“You know, Harry, I think it’d feel pretty fucking good.”

-

“Harry, I don’t think we’re going to have this down until Christmas,” Tracey remarked bitterly as they arrived at breakfast.

Their previous night’s first journey to the Slytherin dormitories hadn’t done much good for their sense of direction. The labyrinth of passages below Hogwarts had thrown them for a loop today, accounting for many false starts and backtracking.

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry assured. “Today was the first time going in the opposite direction; we’ll probably have it down by the end of the week.”

“Really?” Tracey skeptically asked.

“Well, hopefully, anyway.”

On that positive note, they dug into the breakfast buffet piled high upon their table. Having such an abundance of time, they were able to eat at a leisurely pace, free from the heckling they expected may accompany future meals with his housemates.

As the meal wound down, Harry leaned back, nibbling upon a scone. Looking up, he watched the ceiling’s weather, which has been charmed to looks like a bright, sunny day.

Quickly moving footsteps interrupted his inspection of the Great Hall’s ceiling. He looked down, to see Professor Snape moving rapidly toward them, black robes billowing. Harry noted that his Head of House looked just as disgusted as he did during the Sorting.

Professor Snape handed Tracey her schedule first. Tracey clearly had no inkling of how to react to the angry professor handing her the schedule, and settled for thanking him quietly, all while looking at her shoes. There was no reaction from Snape, who disregarded Tracey’s thanks and handed Harry his own schedule.

“Thank you, sir,” Harry stated respectfully. Snape sneered at Harry’s thanks, and stalked off, leaving Harry perplexed.

“Aren’t we in the one House that’s supposed to be accepting of supposed Dark wizards?” Harry asked once Snape was out of earshot.

Tracey shrugged.

“Maybe they’re just upset that you’re more evil than all of them.”

“That must be it,” Harry agreed, opening his schedule. Their magical education began with “Magical Ethics”, with Ravenclaw. Looking through his schedule, it appeared that the best had been saved for last.

“No Potions until Friday. Is this a good or a bad thing?”

“Well, it probably will leave a sour taste in our mouths to start the weekend,” Tracey replied, shrugging.

As they finished up breakfast, Millicent sat down next to Tracey.

“Great work on Pansy last night,” the hulking girl congratulated, without any preamble.

“Thanks. I guess you aren’t one of Pansy’s fans.”

Millicent snorted.

“I’ve never been. When we were little, our parents tried to get us to play together, but it usually ended with Pansy getting too mouthy, and me hitting her, and then Pansy running wailing to daddy.”

“And she still hasn’t learned to keep her mouth shut?” Harry asked incredulously.

“No, she just chooses to go after the weak,” Millicent replied. “Obviously, she kinda underestimated Tracey.”

Tracey acknowledged the veiled compliment with a nod of agreement. Harry began to think that maybe his theory was correct, and Tracey had indeed endeared herself to Slytherin by displaying some venom. Also, maybe Millicent was alright after all.

“Hey, we’re going to head up to class really early, so we can start to get familiar with the school, and it won’t be a big deal if we get lost. Do you want us to wait up for you?” Harry asked.

Millicent shook her head, but seemed pleased by the regard.

“No thanks, it’s only Magical Ethics, which I’ve heard is going to be a joke. I’ll see you two up there, though.”

They bid Millicent farewell, and made their way out of the Great Hall, weaving between the heavy flow of incoming students. As Harry and Tracey began to ascend the main staircase, they ran into Hermione and Neville, greeting the pair.

The same red-haired Gryffindor that spat a venomous look at Harry during the Sorting gave an encore performance as he walked by.

“What’s his story?” Harry asked Hermione, hoping for some insight into the Gryffindor sentiment.

“That’s Ron Weasley,” Neville answered, “and he doesn’t really like Slytherins. Ron claims that you’re training to take You-Know-Who’s place.”

Harry and Tracey both chuckled at the thought. While it was annoying to be generally mistrusted, some things were just too idiotic to get angry at.

“Does everyone in Gryffindor believe that dumb idea?” Harry asked, really hoping that the entire House wasn’t that stupid.

Hermione shook her head.

“It’s almost instinctual for Gryffindors to not like Slytherins, but all of the older and smarter ones know that the Ministry’s claims don’t make any sense.”

“So, the majority of your House buys into it,” Tracey concluded.

Hermione didn’t look pleased with the statement, but chose not to pursue it. Harry thanked them for the information, filing it away for later. If the Gryffindor general opinion didn’t improve with time, he may eventually have to reason with some of the ringleaders, once he figures out whose opinion carried the most weight.

According to the class schedule, Magical Ethics was held on the second floor, in classroom two-eighteen. The main second floor hallway was shaped like the leter ‘U’, with the connecting staircase directly in the middle of curve.

“Left or right?” Tracey asked.

Harry shrugged, and started down the right-hand branch. The classrooms were located on the outside edge of the ‘U’, with the inside edge open to the main entryway. Each classroom had a bronze plate above the doorway containing the room number, but the numbers were increasing, away from room number they wanted.

“I think we should turn around,” Tracey stated.

“Why? We’ve got plenty of time, why not explore Hogwarts a little?” Harry pointed out, turning back to address her while still walking. His case made, he faced forward again, to be greeted by a dead-end.

“Doesn’t look like there’s a lot to explore here,” Tracey remarked, smirking.

Harry grinned sheepishly in response.

“Kinda walked into that, didn’t I?”

Tracey nodded in agreement. Harry started to turn, before recalling something Nicolas had said.

“My guardian, Nicolas, said there were a lot of hidden passages around Hogwarts, if one knew where to look. Doesn’t this seem like an odd dead-end? Almost every hallway in this school seems to be cluttered with paintings, statues and suits of armor, but almost no blank space.”

His case made, Harry began to inspect the blank expanse of grey stone in front of them, running his fingers along it, looking for irregularities.

“This is a waste of time,” Tracey whined.  

“Maybe,” Harry conceded, “but we have plenty of time to waste.”

Tracey sighed deeply, and resigned herself to Harry’s investigation. She leaned up against the left side of the wall, only to have her elbow sink into the apparently solid stone. Tracey jumped back as if shocked.

“What the hell?” Harry asked, still not completely comprehending what happened.

“That wall’s not there!” Tracey claimed, gesturing at a small section of wall.

 

Harry touched the spot where the pointed to. True to her word, as solid as it looked, the tips of his fingers passed through without any resistance. Gingerly, he explored further, sticking his entire hand in. The hollow wasn’t very big, roughly a cubic foot, with a lever of sorts at the back. Throwing caution to the wind, Harry pulled it.

The middle section of the stone wall immediately slid down with a slight grinding noise, revealing a darkened passage beyond.

“Nicolas wasn’t kidding,” Harry remarked, excited at having uncovered one of Hogwarts’ secrets on his first full day. He couldn’t help but wonder where it led.

“Harry, you aren’t really considering going into the dark, potentially dangerous secret passage, are you?” Tracey asked, eyeing the dark opening distrustfully.

“Well, I’m kinda curious to see where it goes,” Harry said, withdrawing his wand, “and the dark I can take care of.” After a whispered incantation, he slowly poked his wand into the dark opening, a wide beam of light streaming from the eleven inches of holly.

The interior appeared to be a small stone hallway, perhaps six feet wide. Though slightly dusty, the floor was relatively clear.

“It looks like a lot of people might use this,” Harry noted. He stuck his head in the opening, and swung his wand to the left. The illuminated hallway stretched away for twenty feet, before angling out of sight. Harry swung his light source around to the right, revealing two staring figures.

“Boo.”

“Fuck!” Harry blurted out as he jumped back, startled.

“What the hell was that?” Tracey asked. Her question was partially answered by hearty cackles coming from inside the opening. Two identical red-haired boys stepped into view, with wide smiles upon their faces.

“Lookit this, George, it appears some ickie first-years found themselves a hidden passage,” one of the twins remarked.

“This passage isn’t exactly well-hidden,” George, the other twin, remarked. “I would be more impressed if they found the hidden entrance to the Prefect’s bathroom, Fred.”

“Too true, but alas, the little ones, bless their heart, have to start somewhere. It appears the one with the soaked underpants is our resident Dark-Lord-in-training, but who is the young lady under his thrall?”

“Tracey Davis,” the girl in question replied, smiling slightly at Harry’s plight. “Who are you?”

Fred and George looked towards one another, mock-horror upon their faces.

“Fred, I fear we’ve been slipping if the first-years aren’t being warned about us before the Sorting. We’re going to have to step it up a notch.”

“Indeed. To answer the young lady’s question, we are Fred and George Weasley, the finest pranksters in this fine educational institution.”

“What were you doing hiding in the wall?” Harry asked, his shock fading quickly.

“I think an even better question would be what a pair of ickie first-year were doing out at this hour?” Fred countered.

Harry disagreed, but didn’t push it. Perhaps, unexpectedly, he had found a starting point to turn the Gryffindor tide in his favor. They obviously thought the rumors of him being the next Dark Lord were rubbish, which was a good start.

“We thought it was never too early to sneak around the school and find new members to join the dark crusade,” Harry replied.

The twins snickered at his comment.

“Well, it appears you’ve a busy time ahead of you. Good luck with that whole world domination thing,” Fred remarked, as the twins started to continue down the hidden passage.

“Wait,” Harry implored, “does this passage connect to the other side of the second floor?”

“Indeed it does,” George answered. “Follow the passage for about eighty feet, and they’ll be another lever in a hollow.”

Harry thanked them.

“Don’t mention it,” Fred replied, “just take care to close the passages behind you. The less who know about them, the better.”

“Words of wisdom, dear brother,” George added. “Now if you don’t mind, we’ve nefarious deeds of our own to undertake.”

“Good luck,” Tracey added as the twins walked away, each raising a single arm in acknowledgement of her blessing.

“That was…unexpected,” Harry remarked once the twins had fallen from sight.

“Yeah it was. You should have seen the look on your face. Did you really piss your pants?”

“Of course not,” Harry scoffed, “but my heart did skip a beat. Ready to explore the hidden parts of Hogwarts?”

Tracey didn’t look all that enthused with the prospect.

“You know, we still have plenty of time, and could walk back the normal way.”

Harry let out a loud mock sigh.

“Seriously, Tracey? The Weasley twins look like they use the passage all the time, so it’s not like its dangerous or anything.”

Harry was not going to be deterred on this matter. The very idea that there was a secret world beneath the normal Hogwarts interior excited and invigorated him. It was like being in on some colossal secret.

“Fine, Harry, we’ll go into your mysterious dark passage of death,” Tracey conceded.

Harry stepped into the passage, and shone his light upon the receptacle on the other side of the wall, which was bereft of camouflage. Once Tracey had cleared the threshold, he pulled the lever, once again sealing the door.

“See, this isn’t that bad, is it?”

“Yeah, it’s fantastic Harry, but can we just get out of the dark, dusty passage?”

Harry bowed down.

“Your wish is my command.”

Brandishing his wand in front of him like a magical flashlight, they made their way down the hall. There was odd, random writing and crudely drawn pictures on the wall, but it was bereft of the clutter that seemed to line most of the halls of Hogwarts.

“I guess not every Weasley in this school distrusts you,” Tracey remarked without preamble.

Harry nodded at her comment.

“Do you remember seeing the twins at the Gryffindor table during the Sorting?”

“Yeah, I think so, they seemed to be the loudest ones at the table, and people really seemed to like them. Do you the twins might be able convince Gryffindor you’re not really evil?”

“I don’t know,” Harry replied. “I just know I can’t make it seem like I’m using them. Maybe they’ll do it on their own. It’s still early in the year, so I’ve got plenty of time to figure things out.”

As Harry’s light cut into the gloom, another receptacle came into view. It opened just as the first one had, letting sunlight into the darkness. He poked his heard out, to the sight of the correct Magical Ethics classroom before him.

“We definitely took the scenic route, but we made it,” Harry remarked to Tracey.

“Yeah, all it cost was pair of ruined underpants,” Tracey quickly replied with a slight grin.

“I did not piss myself!” Harry reiterated.

“Well of course you’re not going to admit to it.”

-

The Wizarding Ethics classroom filled slowly as the morning grew later, with small groups of students trickling in. Though some of the voices faltered upon seeing Harry seated at the classroom’s rear, the most prevalent emotion upon the Ravenclaws’ faces was curiosity, which Harry took as a promising sign.

Malfoy’s brigade was the last to enter the classroom. Pansy’s nose appeared to be completely healed, but her mannerisms were still skittish in nature. Tracey picked up on this, and sent Pansy a jovial wave. She flinched in response, before sitting down quickly, her cheeks burning.

“Potter, I thought I told you to get a leash for your pet mudblood,” Draco spat.

A few of the Ravenclaws let out gasps at Draco’s casual usage of the taboo phrase, and threw scathing looks at the blond boy.

“I guess you still haven’t accepted that I don’t really care what you say,” Harry lightly remarked.

“My father will hear about this, Potter,” Draco threatened.

Harry turned to Tracey, ignoring Draco completely.

“Do you think he can fight any of his own fights?”

Tracey shook her head with mock sadness.

“Probably not. Do you think he calls Crabbe or Goyle when a spider crawls too close to him?”

Chuckles broke out around the room at Tracey’s comment. Millicent was laughing the hardest, not even attempting to mask her chuckles. This didn’t escape Draco’s notice, as he sent a glare in Millicent’s direction. Not exactly intimidated, she rolled her eyes in response. Draco opened his mouth to reply, but the classroom door opened again, admitting the professor.

The Magical Ethics professor was a middle-aged woman with a stern expression upon her face, not unlike Professor McGonagall’s.

“Good morning, I am Professor Burbage, and will be teaching you about…wizarding ethics.”

After naming the class, the professor’s face tightened, and her jaw clenched. With wonder, Harry realized that merely mentioning the name of the class deeply bothered her. It appeared Professor Burbage wasn’t exactly fond of the course she was teaching.

“The aim of this class,” the professor continued, “is to clarify how the Ministry functions, and how it relates to everyday wizarding life.”

Harry groaned slightly under his breath, and judging by the chorus of sighs from the rest of the class, wasn’t alone in his sentiment. Nicolas had mentioned Ministry meddling in Hogwarts curriculum on occasion, so perhaps this is what he had been talking about. It looked like every week at Hogwarts would start out with a slew of pro-Ministry propaganda. Wondeful.

Ignoring the sounds of displeasure from the class, Professor Burbage pushed onwards.

“Please take out your books, and read the first chapter, ‘The Ministry and You’.” Her orders given, she sat at her desk and began to write on a scroll of parchment.

With no other alternative, Harry began to read. The first chapter described how hundreds of years ago, there were no unifying bodies in the wizarding world, just warring clans. It said that the establishment of the Ministry was the first, most important step to creating a functioning society.

Harry began to laugh to himself as he read on, and couldn’t help but wonder what type of idiot had written this drivel. He expected chapter two would detail how every rainbow in the world originated at the Ministry of Magic, and that the sun shone out of the Minister’s ass.

As time stretched on, Harry noticed other students beginning to get bored, and conduct whispered conversations. Oddly enough, Burbage didn’t seem at all bothered by this, and just continued writing in her scroll. At the end of period bell, she dismissed them, without giving any homework. This strongly implied that she didn’t care about the class at all, but if it left him without homework to do, that was perfectly fine with him.

-

Harry’s next class, Defense Against the Dark Arts, was located on the first floor. Walking through the corridors, he received his share of intent looks, ranging from fear to interest. Some groups of students even widened their path as Harry passed, hugging the opposite wall.

“Not as impressive as parting a sea, but the extra walking space is still a neat trick,” Tracey remarked.

Harry chuckled, appreciating the distraction. He was loathe to admit it, but the constant wary looks were starting to get under his skin. As the Defense classroom came into view, a belligerent group of Gryffindors let out loud hisses as he passed, their faces contorted in dislike.

“Really!” Harry exclaimed. “That’s the best you can do?”

“Ignore them, Harry,” Tracey ordered, pulling him into the classroom. He went without a struggle.

They took their seat at the front of the classroom, apparently the first members of their House to arrive, and chose a desk near the front. This class had the potential to be really interesting, and Harry wanted a good seat. As the other Slytherins began to enter, he noticed he was not alone in his interest, with each incoming student seating themselves as close to the front as they could.

One minute from the scheduled start of class, a door at the front of the classroom opened, admitting Professor Quirrell. Without a backwards glance to the seated students, he began to write upon the chalkboard.

The main classroom door opened again, admitting a laughing Malfoy, followed by the rest of his entourage. The professor became still upon hearing the laughter, a piece of chalk still pressed to the board. Malfoy immediately quieted upon realizing that Quirrell was present, and hastily grabbed the nearest seat. As soon as the last of Malfoy’s entourage seated themselves, the professor spun around.

“I am Professor Quirrell, and there is a great deal that I wish to teach you all. Therefore, I do not have time to waste waiting upon students to settle themselves,” Quirrell stated, his voice cool.

Quirrell bore his gaze down upon Malfoy, who began to fidget under the weight of the cold state.

“Be punctual, or you will not be a part of this class,” Quirrell warned, before pulling the roster from his robes. Malfoy sighed in relief at the distraction, now freed from the professor’s cold gaze.

The cool edge immediately dropped from Quirrell’s voice as he went through the class roster, which was comprised entirely of Slytherins. Once done, he began to pace back and forth in front of the class, his eyes searching the face of the students.

“Miss Davis, why do we need to learn Defense Against the Dark Arts?” Quirrell asked without any prior warning.

Tracey was clearly surprised by the sudden question, but composed herself quickly.

“Well sir, according to ‘The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts’, the Hogwarts Founders, afraid that Salazar Slytherin’s teachings would corrupt others, formed the class to teach students about the dangers of the Dark Arts.”

Quirrell nodded slightly at her explanation, apparently pleased by it.  

“I’m glad to see that some of my students are reaching outside the curriculum for knowledge. However, the text you mention was penned by an author with a specific agenda, and thus distorted history to support his arguments. He didn’t bother to mention that Rowena Ravenclaw herself was a Dark witch.”

“I…I didn’t know that, sir,” Tracey quietly admitted.

“Not many people do. Books, while unquestionably a valuable resource, are prone to the philosophies and prejudices of their respective authors. Often, to get a clear picture of a particular event, many different viewpoints are required. Regardless, thank you for your contribution, Miss Davis.”

“You’re welcome, sir.”

Quirrell continued his pacing in front of the class, scanning the young faces before him.

“Mister Zabini, why is Rowena Ravenclaw still remembered fondly by history if she was indeed a user of the Dark Arts?”

Blaise didn’t look like he had the faintest idea, but took a stab at the answer anyway.

“Is it because Ravenclaw supported the winning side?” Blaise asked, rather than told.

“Was that a question or an answer, Mister Zabini?”

Blaise looked slightly flustered at the professor’s point, even though Quirrell had not raised his voice at all.

“It – it was an answer, sir,” Blaise decided.

“An excellent guess, Mister Zabini, but only partially correct. Mister Potter, do you have any idea of what might comprise the other half of the answer?”

Harry certainly did, as Nicolas had talked of it during the summer.

“Ravenclaw used the Dark Arts, but was never corrupted by it, sir,” Harry answered.

“Very good Mister Potter,” praised Quirrell. “That is the essence of what I hope to impart upon you all. I am here only to teach, not to further someone else’s agenda. Therefore, I have no intention of deceiving you all. The Dark Arts are not inherently evil.”

With one phrase, Quirrell gained the admiration of the entire Slytherin class. Harry was well aware that a good portion of the children within the classroom had come from Dark families, and probably faced their fair share of prejudice for their heritage. With a small look around, he saw that the class was enraptured.

“Ravenclaw is still remembered fondly because she used the Dark Arts, not the other way around. The Dark Arts, if used with balanced judgment, still allow the user to live a virtuous life. No, the Dark Arts are feared because of the weak-willed souls that would allow themselves to be completely consumed by the Dark.”

Quirrell’s voice dropped an octave. The students, Harry included, leaned closer.

“There is no better defense against the Dark Arts than hard work and determination. Those that strive to improve themselves, to hone their skills, will never be corrupted. Corruption comes easy to the lazy, who aren’t willing to work to increase their power, and seek shortcuts, no matter what sacrifice is required. My ultimate goal is to give each and every one of you the tools necessary to make corruption by the Dark Arts an impossibility.”

Dead silence greeted the end of Professor Quirrell’s speech. However, he seemed pleased by the reaction of the students.

“Copy down these principles,” Quirrell ordered, gesturing to the words he had written on the blackboard earlier.

The students rushed to comply. It dawned upon Harry he had never seen a class react to taking notes with such enthusiasm. Every one of his Housemates, he observed, had admiration and respect shining in their eyes.  

Quirrell could probably tell them anything, and they’d take it as gospel.

-

The week passed by in a blur for Harry. With each successive day, Harry felt more grateful to be part of the wizarding world, and all the wonderful opportunities it presented. Unlike his schooling at the orphanage, he awoke every day with a slight sense of excitement, wondering what sort of knowledge the coming day would bring.

Significantly less fun were the interactions with his fellow students. While Tracey was always by his side, aside from Hermione, Millicent and Neville, there were very few students that would interact with him. Malfoy and his brigade never passed up an opportunity to snipe at Harry with their poorly conceived barbs, while most of the other First-Years were evenly distributed between fear and loathing. Harry didn’t exactly crave the approval of the masses, but it was draining to face so much scrutiny on a daily basis.

Despite his enjoyment of most of his other classes, Harry still found himself nervous for his first Potions class. If Professor Snape had been that unpleasant to him while merely handing him a schedule, Harry didn’t want to think about how bad a double-period class would be. He couldn’t help but recall the look of pure loathing upon Snape’s face at the sorting, or the dismissive way he had been treated during the first day of class.

The one positive Harry could attribute to the class was its location within the dungeons. Though it had seemed daunting at first, he had quickly become familiar with the labyrinth of passages that lay beneath Hogwarts. Hoping to not incite the rage of the unpleasant professor, Harry and Tracey arrived early, and took a desk in the middle of the left-hand side of the classroom.  

Looking around, Harry couldn’t help but compare the Potions classroom to Nicolas’ private laboratory. While Nicolas had his fair share of jars and glassware on display, the unpleasant items had been placed in the back storeroom. Glass sections of the ceiling had thrown the room into a bright light, where everything appeared to shine. However, down in the dungeons, large glass jars lined the walls, placed upon heavy shelves. Here, grotesque creatures were on display for all to see, the very antithesis of the warm, welcoming atmosphere Nicolas’ laboratory had possessed.

During his inspections of the room, the class began to fill. He exchanged morning pleasantries with Hermione and Neville upon their arrival, prompting a fair share of dark looks from their Gryffindor brethren.

“Traitors!” Ron Weasley forcefully whispered from the right side of the room. Hermione ignored the comment as she took a seat at the front of the class, closely followed by a glum-looking Neville.

“Can’t say that I blame them, Weasley,” Draco commented. “I mean, if I was put in the house of idiots, I’d be trying to get into Slytherin too.”

Ron’s ears darkened at Draco’s comment.

“No one wants to be in your evil House, Malfoy!”

Draco’s malevolent smile grew wider at Ron’s declaration.

“I’m not sure about that. It certainly seems like Potter wanted to be here.”

“Of course he would, he wants to take You-Know-Who’s place!” Ron claimed, a bitter scowl upon his face.

The majority of the Slytherins burst into laughter at the comment.

“What!? The Daily Prophet even says it’s true!”

“Weasley, you realize that’s one of the dumbest things I’ve ever heard, right?” Harry asked.

“Shut up, Dark wizard!” ordered the sandy-haired Gryffindor seated next to Ron.

“That will be two points from Gryffindor for your baseless claims,” spoke a cold voice from the back of the room.

Harry’s head swiveled around, as did the rest of the class. The Potions Master swept down the middle aisle, his dark cloak billowing about him.

“That’s not fair!” the sandy-haired boy howled.

Snape swept across the floor, to the front of the boy’s desk. He placed both his hands upon the desk, and leaned forward, causing the boy to shrink back.

“You are correct, it is unfair to merely deduct two points. Four points from Gryffindor for questioning my judgment. Would you care to try for a detention?”

Apparently the thought of even more time with the Potions Master was unbearable, as the Gryffindor folded immediately.

“No, sir.”

Snape nodded sharply, before making his way to the front of the room, and began role call. Harry felt at least somewhat heartened that at least Snape was spreading the malice around.  During the call, Snape passed by Harry’s name without verbal comment, but his lips did tighten in dislike.

At the conclusion of role, Snape, in a voice barely above a whisper, began to talk passionately of the intricacies of Potions. As much as Harry was inclined to dislike the Potions Master, he definitely knew his stuff. At the conclusion of the speech, he ordered the students to split into pairs to make a boil-cure potion. Harry laughed inwardly at the assignment, wondering if Nicolas had been aware it was the first part of Snape’s curriculum.

“What do you think, Harry?” Tracey asked, looking at the instructions written upon the board.

“I think we’re going to do just fine,” Harry replied with a smile.

With a dexterity forged from his time in Nicolas’ laboratory, Harry began to weigh the dried nettles and crush the snake fangs at a pace far quicker than that of his fellow students. Even Snape, who had criticized everyone but Malfoy harshly, had no comments after seeing Harry’s preparations.

“I know you said you had some experience with potions, but I didn’t think you were this good,” Tracey remarked.

“I may have been modest about the level of training I got,” Harry replied with a grin.

“May have been?”

Harry chose not to respond, and instead added murlap essence into the potion, to neutralize the burning which accompanied its usage.

“Harry, that’s not part of the instructions!” Tracey warned, bracing herself for a volatile reaction. Just as Harry expected, there was none.

“Relax, Tracey, I’ve done this before, it’s just a numbing additive to make it more gentle when used.”

Tracey clearly wasn’t sold on not following the professor’s instructions to the letter, but had no further comment. With the final step completed, Harry looked around the class, and noted that no one else was even close to completion. His eyes caught the cold, black ones of Snape, who had just reamed out two Gryffindor girls, Lavender and Parvati, for their abysmal attempt.

Snape stalked over, without acknowledging either Harry or Tracey, and leaned over to sniff the cauldron. Harry felt pride rising within, as the potion was flawless, and would surely get a good grade.

How incorrect he was.

After a few sniffs, Snape rounded on the duo.

“Perhaps you two would like to take my place as Potions Master? Is that it?” Snape asked dangerously.

“What,” Harry began, before Snape cut him off.

“Keep your mouth closed, Potter,” the Potions Master ordered sharply. “Since you two have not yet usurped my position, you are still my students, and thus expected to follow my instructions, as opposed to going off on your own little tangents. Who put the murlap essence into the potion?”

“I did, sir,” Harry quickly replied, prompting a smirk on Snape’s face.

“Just like your father, Potter, the rules don’t seem to apply to you, do they?”

At the snide remark, Harry realized that Snape’s clear dislike for his had nothing to do with his reputation, only his heritage. Whatever problems Snape had with his father, he was now passing down onto his enemy’s son.

Harry, losing even more respect for Snape, just glared back at the professor.

“Impertinent child,” Snape muttered. “Since this potion is clearly not what I asked for, it’s worthless.”

With a wave of his wand, Snape vanished the contents of their cauldron.

“Consider this a warning, Potter, I won’t be as lenient should you display such disrespect next time.”

No sooner had the words left Snape’s mouth, there was an explosion from Hermione and Neville’s cauldron. Snape immediately flew to the accident site, where acrid yellow smoke began to pour forth from the cauldron. Before Harry could react properly, the harsh stench of rotten eggs assaulted his nose.

As the horrible smell wafted through the room, students started to get up, with every intention of fleeing. All froze, however, when Snape whirled around, black eyes ablaze with cold fire.

“Sit down,” Snape ordered. The student populace complied, looks of intense disgust upon their faces.

“That will be two points from Gryffindor for failure to follow clear instructions,” Snape declared, turning his glare solely upon Neville. “Furthermore, Longbottom, now the entire class must endure the stench of your failure. Perhaps next time you’ll pay attention to the directions, or at least maybe your classmates can persuade you to do so.”

Neville wilted at Snape’s cruel treatment, and began to slouch, as if he could disappear into the floor. Even his fellow Gryffindors were staring at Neville with dislike.

“As for you, Granger,” Snape added, turning to the girl in question. “Do you think your grade won’t be affected by your partner’s poor skills?”

Hermione looked furious at Neville’s public reaming, and chose not to answer.

“Cat got your tongue, Granger? No matter, that will be another two points from Gryffindor for your insubordination.”

Momentarily finished with torturing the two Gryffindor students, Snape addressed the class as a whole, ordering them to clean out their cauldrons and to put a sample of their potion on his desk.  

Poor Neville looked close to breaking beneath the heavy stares of the other students, and cleaned up as quickly as he could. Hermione tried talking to him, but he wouldn’t meet her eyes, and just continued to clean. She sent a pleading look over to Harry, who nodded in response. It seemed pretty clear that Neville’s confidence, not very high under ideal conditions, had just suffered a major blow, and could use some help.

A few minutes later, Snape dismissed them. Neville jumped from his seat and ran for the door as fast as he could, trying to leave everyone behind.

Harry, however, was faster. He caught up to Neville, and slung an arm around his shoulders.

“How about we go out to the grounds? We’ve been in this dark dungeon for too long, and could use some sun.”

Neville tried to put his head down and shrug him off, but Harry merely tightened his grip.

“Neville, I’m not going to let you waste this nice fall day. You can sulk all you want later, but right now we’re getting some sun. Fuck Snape, don’t let him ruin your day.”

“You really suck, Harry,” Neville replied, smiling slightly.

“That’s the spirit!” Harry exclaimed as he let go of Neville’s shoulder. Hermione and Tracey caught up to them, and they all made their way outside for their break before the late-morning class. It was an unseasonably warm day, as if summer had mistakenly left it behind when it departed. The group sought sanctuary beneath an elm tree, and flopped down into the grass.

“What the fuck is Snape’s issue?” Tracey asked while pulling single blades of grass from the ground.

Hermione’s lip curled slightly at the vulgar language.

“He obviously has a problem with Gryffindors, but really, do you have to use language like that, Tracey?”

“That greasy git apparently also has a problem with Harry,” Tracey responded, completely ignoring Hermione’s plea for a language barrier. “What was the deal with that?”

Harry shrugged.

“From the first day, Snape seemed to have issues with me. He mentioned something about my dad being disrespectful, so I guess he’s just passing down his grudge.”

“How can such a horrible man be trusted to teach children?” Hermione asked, shaking her head. “If I were you, Neville, I’d be pretty angry right now.”

“There’s something about him that absolutely terrifies me. I was afraid to say or do anything,” Neville admitted, his eyes downcast.

“Neville, he’s just a fucking bully,” Tracey admonished. “You can’t let him run over you like that.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Neville asked helplessly.

“If this happens again, just follow Hermione’s example,” Harry suggested. “He took away points, but he’s probably not going to bother Hermione as much, since bullies thrive on people they can push around easily.”

Hermione looked pleased by the compliment, but Neville didn’t show any signs of cheering up.

“Besides, I did mess up the potion. How it this all so easy for you guys?”

Harry felt bad about it, but there did seem to be a large talent gap between Neville and the rest of their group. It was only the first week, but Harry, Hermione and Tracey all seemed to be picking up their magical education seamlessly. Neville, however, seemed to have problems in everything aside from Herbology. Harry thought it might be Neville’s lack of confidence that was holding him back, but Harry wasn’t exactly sure how to help him with that issue.

“Don’t worry about the potion,” Harry urged. “None of us hold it against you.” He wasn’t exactly sure about Tracey, but didn’t think it would be diplomatic to state it. Tracey didn’t seem to possess a very sympathetic nature.

“But how did you mess it up?” Tracey wondered. “The instructions were right there on the board.”

Neville sighed unhappily.

“I don’t know, I just felt nervous being under Snape’s stare the entire class. It was like trying to do work while being tried by the Wizengamot.”

The other three chuckled at Neville’s analysis.

“Just keep trying, it will get better with time,” Hermione assured him.

“Besides,” Tracey added, “you do still kick arse in Herbology. Don’t forget that.”

“And we have flying lessons next week, where you’re sure to do fine,” Harry said, piling on, attempting to boost Neville’s low confidence. Apparently it wasn’t the right thing to say, as Neville looked disheartened by the thought.

“I can’t really fly,” Neville mumbled, staring at the ground.

“Why not?” Harry asked, as he thought all purebloods learned to fly at an early age.

“Well…” Neville started, clearly stalling.

“We’re not going to make fun of you,” Hermione coaxed, sending him a smile, to which he relented.

“My Great Uncle Algie, a Quidditch fanatic, tried to teach me when I was little, but every time he tried it usually ended badly. After a while, he just stopped trying. First I made an arse out of myself in Potions, and next week I get to do it in front of everyone.”

Harry shook his head in denial, but was inwardly pleased. The keys to helping Neville’s confidence had just fallen into his lap.

 

“Neville, this is easy to fix! I learned how to fly over the summer, and I know I can definitely teach you how. How about it?”

Neville brightened, clearly excited by the prospect.

“That’d be great! You’d really do that?”

Harry laughed in response.

“Of course I would. Are any of you girls interested?” Harry asked, turning to the females in question.

“Yes!” Hermione answered as soon as the words left his mouth. Harry had an inkling Neville wasn’t the only one apprehensive about the upcoming lesson.

“Sure, why not,” Tracey decided after a moment. “It can’t hurt to know how to fly.”

“Good. Does Saturday afternoon work for you guys?” Harry asked, to which he received unanimous agreement. The time set, he leaned back into the cool grass, glad that he could help Neville in at least one area.

-

“Thanks again for teaching us me to fly,” Tracey remarked as they sat down for breakfast Sunday morning.

“Don’t worry about it,” remarked Harry with a casual wave of his arm. “It was a nice excuse to fly around and not do any schoolwork.”

Tracey snorted in response.

“Yeah, like being buried by schoolwork is a problem for you.”

Harry shrugged, possessing no defense against her claim. Unable to get more than four hours of sleep a night, he had filled the early hours of the morning by completing assignments. By that token, he was always far ahead of the curve with having his work completed. Tracey, apparently accustomed to being the smartest student in her muggle classes, was having difficulty adjusting to playing catch-up to Harry.

“Don’t you ever get tired?” Tracey whined.

Harry shook his head in response to the common question.

“No, never. Once four hours pass, it’s like a switch turns on inside me.”

“I’d be just as far as you if I could do that,” Tracey grumbled.

Harry smiled, taking her gripe in stride. He couldn’t explain his unique ability, but enjoyed it immensely, and wouldn’t give it up for anything.

“Eh, probably further,” Harry remarked.

“Has it always been like this for you?” Tracey asked after a brief hesitation, as if she knew she might be prodding into private territory.

It was a question Harry had long pondered. While at first he thought it had been insomnia, he had quickly abandoned the notion. According to what he had read, insomniacs never felt satisfied with the amount of sleep they received, constantly feeling tired and sluggish. These symptoms were nothing like what Harry had.

Most likely, it had been something he had developed, in his past. It was really the only thing that made sense to him, which just made it more frustrating that he couldn’t figure it out. As good a friend as Tracey had been throughout the first week of class, he had no intention of sharing his secret with her. Everything regarding his past had to stay secret until he figured out just what it all meant.

“I guess I was just born with it,” Harry lied. He hated doing so, but really didn’t have any better sounding options.

Luckily, before he could dwell on the deception of his closest friend at school, owls began to swoop down, a good portion dropping off letters addressed to him.

On his second day of classes, the Prophet had reported of his attendance at Hogwarts. From that day on, he had been receiving his share of hate-mail. Harry had alerted Dumbledore of this situation, and the Headmaster had generously offered to inspect his mail, to determine if there any of the letters had curses, jinxes or harmful potions included as a bonus.

However, one of his letters today had been addressed to him by Professor Quirrell.

“Is he looking to start up a fan-club?” Tracey smirked.

Harry laughed in response. Quirrell had seemed to have taken a shine to him, and often used his in-class spellwork as an example to the rest of the class. Right as he went to open it, an owl dropped off a similar looking letter to Tracey.

“I guess he wants to know if you’re interested,” Harry remarked. He held off opening his letter, and looked around the Slytherin table. Blaise, Daphne and Millicent were also holding similar letters, oddly enough. His curiosity aroused, he opened up the letter.

There was not a great deal of content, just a simple letter requesting their presence in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom on Wednesday night for a “unique opportunity”.

“Could this have been any more vague?” Tracey asked aloud, eyeing the letter distastefully.

Harry was also displeased with the letter. It was so unlike the straight-forward, no-bullshit attitude that Quirrell seemed to embody.  What the fuck was a unique opportunity?

Down the table, he saw Millicent rise, and approach them.

“Do you two know what this is about?” the large girl asked them. Harry shook his head, slightly surprised by Millicent. While she clearly had no love for Malfoy and his entourage, she usually hadn’t spoken to either of them in view of the other Slytherins.

“Since Malfoy didn’t get one, we’re thinking maybe Quirrell’s trying to get a Harry Potter fan-club going,” Tracey explained. “Do you think Blaise or Daphne would be interested?”

Millicent squinted hard, apparently trying to convey fierce concentration.

“Well, Daphne does write a love letter to Harry every night, before tearing it up while crying. Think she’d be interested?”

Tracey and Harry both laughed heartily at Millicent’s comment.

“That might be a bit too psychotic for us,” Harry declared.

“Yeah, I thought as much,” Millicent replied. “Anyway, if you find out anything more, let me know, okay?”

“Sure,” Harry agreed. “Catch you around, I guess.”

Millicent then took her leave. Harry noticed that the other Slytherins were sending distrustful glances as her as she passed. Upon sitting, both Blaise and Daphne turned their noses up at her.

“She had to know talking to us would hurt her reputation, right?” Tracey asked, picking up on Millicent’s dilemma.

“Yeah, I think so. I just don’t think Millicent cares what they think.”

“It’s a little easier to be brave when you tower over almost all of your class,” Tracey bitterly remarked. Harry had to stifle a laugh, considering there was probably close to a foot difference in height between Millicent and Tracey.

“Eh, I saw we give her a chance,” Harry argued, “at least she’s not one of Draco’s shadows.”

“Yeah, you might be right,” Tracey admitted, “she doesn’t seem on good terms with them.”

Harry thought that it might be nice to have another pair of eyes within Slytherin. He was concerned that if his feud with Malfoy escalated any further, he may have to worry about retaliation while he slept. He was enjoying his time at Hogwarts, but it certainly would have been a lot better if that spoiled ponce wasn’t here.

“Do you think Quirrell would consider feeding Malfoy to a chimera as a unique opportunity?” Harry asked with mock hopefulness.

Tracey snorted.

“We can only hope, Harry.”

-

Monday continued the tradition of unseasonably warm weather. As the Slytherins and Gryffindors gathered for their first official flying lesson, there was barely a cloud in the sky. Despite all this, Harry was having trouble concentrating on the task at hand.

“Harry, you look somewhat tired,” Hermione observed with a small frown.

“I’m fine,” Harry remarked calmly, as to not arouse suspicion. He certainly didn’t feel tired, but his mind was distracted. He’d woken up with a tear soaked pillow again, and images of a malicious black fire dancing within his mind. More than that he was unable to recall, but there was a sense of familiarity to it, as if it wasn’t the first time he had dreamt of it.

Having enough of being distracted by phantom thoughts, Harry bore down mentally, banishing the fragments from his mind. There were far more important matters at hand.

“Stick out your right hand over the broom,” called Madam Hooch at the front, “and say ‘Up’!”

“Up!” everyone shouted.

Harry’s leaped immediately into his hand. Turning to his right, he saw that Hermione, Neville and Tracey all had similar success. His impromptu flying lesson with the three of them had been very successful, but Harry didn’t know how much of it would stick until the official lesson. Apparently, nothing had been lost.

Looking down the line, it appeared that the only student who really seemed to have trouble was a large, black boy bearing the Gryffindor crest. Hooch went off to correct him, leaving their part of the line unattended.

“I’ve out-flown helicopters on these things before, Potter,” Malfoy bragged.

“Really?” Harry exclaimed with shock, “you mean your mum let her baby boy out of her sights long enough to ride a broom?!”

“At least I didn’t grow up in a filthy muggle orphanage,” Malfoy snapped back, guilelessly.

“You’re crossing the line, Malfoy!” Hermione yelled, offended by the callous comment. Malfoy smirked in reply, obviously pleased to get a rise out of Hermione.

Harry, however, had heard much worse, and waved her off.

“Hey, I would rather be raised by dirty muggles than dirty inbreds,” Harry countered.

Draco looked flustered for a moment, but opened his mouth to reply. Nott, however, got there first.

“Maybe you should stop embarrassing our House for a few minutes,” Nott lightly suggested, his face expressionless. Draco glared at Nott over the suggestion, but Nott met the gaze with complete indifference.

Harry was intrigued by the conflict. Nott didn’t seem to socialize with anyone, even though he was a pureblood. Come to think of it, he believed this was the first time he had heard Nott speak outside of being called upon in class.

“Pay attention!” Hooch snapped, interrupting Draco’s poor attempt at intimidation. “Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off the ground, hard. Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come back straight down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle – three – two – one.”

At one, Hooch let out an ear-splitting blow on her whistle. Harry, along with most of the students, rose, then descended. Only the Gryffindor boy and Pansy seemed to really be having any trouble. Despite this, Hooch seemed very pleased.

“Fine work children, fine work! I can’t remember having a more competent group of first-years. Maybe allowing first-years to have brooms is a good idea after all.”

Harry had a pretty good idea she wouldn’t have been as pleased without Saturday’s private lesson, but was glad it ended up working out.

“Moving on, when I blow my whistle again, kick off the ground like before. Then, lean forward slightly, putting your weight toward the front. This will cause you to fly forward. At a slow – and I mean it, slow – rate, fly to the other side of the pitch.”

At her whistle, they moved forward, across the pitch. Almost all of the students arrived on the other side without incident.

Almost.

The Gryffindor boy that was having problems earlier was set on a sloping course, which ended the broom embedding itself in the ground. Pansy accelerated too quickly, and the broom went flying out from under her, spilling her backwards in a tangle of black robes. Hooch did not look surprised by any of this, and immediately went to sort out the aerially-challenged children.

“Well done Neville,” Harry congratulated, clapping the grinning boy heartily on the back. Of everyone, Harry thought Neville might have the most trouble with his nerves, but he did just fine.

“Thanks Harry.”

“’Thanks Harry’,” Draco mocked. “You’re a disgrace to Slytherin! How did you ever get Sorted here?!”

Harry turned his back to Draco, and addressed his friends loudly.

“Malfoy certainly seems to have a one-track mind, doesn’t he?”

Hermione and Neville nodded, while Tracey let out an exaggerated sigh.

“Isn’t it sad how generations of inbreeding leads to decreased mental capacity?”

“Shut up,” Draco snapped, “you’re just a stupid mudblood. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Tracey laughed derisively.

“I may be a mudblood, but at least my parents didn’t drop out of the same vagina.”

“I’m not inbred!” Draco screamed.

Draco’s loud declaration drew the attention of the entire class. Beneath the shocked stares and the building laughter, Draco snapped. He drew his wand, and thrust it at Tracey.

“Morsus!”

Harry calmly stepped in front of her, and conjured a shield, snapping his wand to the right as he did so. Just as he had intended, the spell deflected off his shield, and sped back at Draco.

Draco only had time to widen his eyes before the spell struck him in the forehead.

“Fuck!” Draco exclaimed, grabbing his face with both hands. “My father’s going to hear about this!” Draco threatened, before stomping away.

Madam Hooch, just having arrived after hearing Draco’s yelling, scowled at the class.

“What happened here!?”

Harry, Tracey and Neville had to struggle to keep their laughter in. Hermione eyed the three of them with death glares, clearly not approving of Harry’s actions.

“Draco really needs more practice before he tries to use the stinging hex on people,” Nott spoke up unexpectedly, “seeing as he hit himself in the face.”

Tracey, unable to hold it in anymore, burst out laughing at Nott’s comment. Her condition became contagious, until most of the class was gasping for breath. Hooch seemed slightly aghast at the laughter at Draco’s expense.

“None of you move while I check on your classmate. You leave those broom where they are or you’ll be out of Hogwarts before you can say ‘Quidditch’,” Hooch warned, before rushing after Draco.

It didn’t take long for the laughter to fade away, but once it did, Hermione rounded on Harry.

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“Should I have just let it hit Tracey?” Harry asked.

Hermione bit her lip, unable to articulate a rebuttal.

“Okay, I guess you’re right about that, but aren’t you at all concerned about Draco’s father?”

“You probably should be careful,” Neville warned. “Malfoy’s father is on the Hogwarts’ Board of Governors, and has a lot power.”

Harry thought he had a far better idea of anyone else just what Lucius was capable of, but kept it to himself. However, he thought another bit of information was definitely in order.

“Did any of you know it was Mr. Malfoy who had the first-year broom rule pushed through?”

All three of his friends shook their heads.

“It’s true. I guess he wanted to get Draco on the House team.”

“Wait, how would he be able to compete against the older, more experienced students?” Hermione asked.

“Mr. Malfoy would probably just bribe the team captain,” Neville replied. “The Malfoys have tons of gold.”

A devious smile found its way onto Harry’s face.

“Wouldn’t it be terrible if both Malfoys didn’t get what they wanted, and some other flyer beat him out for the position?”

“Are you really going to try to steal Draco’s spot on the team?” Tracey asked with a laugh.

“Harry,” Hermione reasoned, “you should think about this carefully. If you beat Draco out, he’s going to want revenge.”

Harry shrugged in response.

“I’ve dealt with far worse than Draco,” Harry stated. Hermione didn’t look exactly convinced, but Neville and Tracey seemed pleased with the prospect.

“Besides,” Harry concluded, “you can’t really steal something that never belonged to someone in the first place.”

-

Author Notes:

Again ahead of schedule. Maybe I am getting faster. Regardless, I’m still going to overestimate the time-frame, and say a mid-December release is likely for the next chapter.

Any comments, suggestions, or criticisms would be deeply appreciated, and inspire me to write as opposed to playing video games. I’ll make an effort to answer every review I get.

Thanks to my co-conspirators, darklordmike and Mira Mirth, for their valuable assistance with plotting, characterization, continuity and grammar. Their combined efforts probably save me at least a week of editing every chapter, and are deeply appreciated.

DLP Thanks:

The Lord of Chaos, klackerz Luda, Chaoticblues, Oz, Johnny Farrar, Catman