La Blue Wizarda HP fanfic by canoncansodoff

Disclaimer: Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

oo00OO00oo 

Chapter 9 -Settling In 

Hermione Granger thought that she’d risen sufficiently early to catch Harry Potter in the Common Room before he left for breakfast, so she was rather surprised to find him already there…although from the look of his bleary red eyes, she feared he might never have left. 

When asked how he slept, Harry responded, “Not very well…Hoover was sawing logs all night.” 

“Hoover?” 

“Yeah, you know…the carrot-top who sat next to me last night and sucked his dinner plate clean?” 

Hermione giggled. “Oh, you’re terrible…his name is Ron. Ron Weasley, right?” 

“Erm, yeah…I guess…youngest brother of Three-pee.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes. “And Three-pee is….” 

“Percy the Perfect Prefect, of course.”

“Harry!” Hermione chided, with a warm smile that softened the scolding.

“What?” Would you rather I call him an ‘Effing Sky Pilot?’ like Lucky Charms did?” 

“Lucky Charms?” 

“The Irish kid…Seamus Something,” Harry replied. “Though to be honest, I’m leaving it to Hoover to determine whether he is magically delicious.” 

The bushy-haired witch sighed, and nodded towards the bulletin board. 

“What’s that?” 

“Quidditch announcement,” said Harry. “They’re holding tryouts tomorrow afternoon.” 

“I thought the trials are traditionally next weekend?” Hermione asked, as she peeked over Harry’s shoulder at the posting. “At least that’s what it says in Hogwarts, A History.” 

A two-part response was provided as the Weasley Twins strolled down the stairs. 

“I’ll think you’ll find…” 

“That our beloved…” 

“And becursed…” 

“Quidditch team Captain…” 

“Is always dead serious…” 

“When it comes to training for the new season,” replied Fred and George. 

“Is that so?” Harry asked, as he turned towards the Twins. 

Fred nodded, and replied, “We need a new Seeker, and Ollie isn’t one to sit on his arse hoping that our Head of House will scout one out for us.” 

“Oh, I see,” said Hermione. “Seeker is…that’s an important position, from what I’ve read.” 

“Yes indeed,” said Fred. “Almost as important as being a beater!” 

“What happened to last year’s Seeker?” Harry asked. 

“He graduated,” Fred replied. “We had a promising reserve, though.” 

“Dead right,” added George. “Ollie already had Katie Bell’s name on the Number Seven jersey, but then she went and grew titties over the summer.”

“And added a stone in weight…”

“Though to be fair, most of that went straight to her baps…” 

“So no now our Dear Captain has declared Katie too big to be a seeker, and has moved her to the chaser line.” George announced. 

“That’s….that’s so sexist!” Hermione huffed. 

“It’s also a load of codswallop,” Harry added. “Catrin is ten stone two and has a huge pair of knockers…doesn’t slow her down any.” 

“Who?” 

“Catrin Mills, the Harpies’ Seeker,” Harry replied. He then remembered Hermione’s heritage and added, “The Holyhead Harpies are the professional Quidditch team that I follow…they field an all-female side.” 

“Oh, what a surprise,” Hermione snarked. 

“Hey, it’s not that…they’re a Welsh Team.” 

“So are the Catapults, though,” noted George. 

“Ba!” Harry scoffed. “Only a valley-loving trog could root for Caerphilly!” 

“Ah…so they’re the South Wales team, then…and Holyhead is in the North?” Hermione asked. 

“Spot on, Bra,” Harry replied with a smile. “Glad to see they bothered with proper geography lessons in that English primary school of yours.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes. “So this Catrin the Seeker who weighs ten stone two…she owns a pair of mine-dwelling faeries?” 

Harry chuckled. “Not that I’m aware of…this time I was describing her…aerodynamic profile.” 

“Oh! You’re such a…such a lad!” Hermione chided. 

“And that’s why you love me so, eh Bach?” 

The Muggleborn’s blush ended the bantering. She muttered something about checking on her new roommates, and rushed up the stairs to the girls’ dormitories. 

“Say, if she can fly as fast as she just ran…” Fred mused. 

“And she’s certainly got a flat profile…” 

“Hold it right there, boyos,” Harry warned. “Hermione is a Muggleborn…doubtful that she’s been on a broom before. And there’ll not be any more talk of her profile, either.” 

“Oh, rather protective, aren’t you now?” 

“Not to mention bold…for an Ickle Firsty to stand up to Third Years that way…” 

“Especially Third Years who have a flair for keeping Firsty in their place, like we do…” 

“Is that a threat?” Harry asked. “I’ve already bloodied one arsehole’s nose for insulting Hermione…” 

“Now, now…no need to speak of physical violence,” Fred replied. 

George nodded, and started to twin-speak. 

“We were referring to a much more noble art of pranking.” 

“A gentleman’s pursuit…” 

“Not to mention poltergeists pleasure…” 

Harry snorted. “So you two are the pranksters that your older brother warned us about last night?” 

“Who…” 

“Us?” Fred and George asked with matching grins. 

Harry chuckled. “You don’t know whom you are talking to, do you?” 

“Of course we do,” Fred protested. 

“You’re Harry Potter…the biggest Ickle Firsty we’ve seen in some time!” 

“That’s right,” Harry replied. “I’m a Potter…the son of James Potter.” 

“And we should worry about that because…?” 

“Because my godfather is Sirius Black, and Remus Lupin is like an uncle to me?” 

“Yes, and?” 

Harry rolled his eyes. “Oh, bollocks, now I’ve got to write a letter home and give Dad the bad news…he claimed that the Marauders’ exploits would remain legendary for generations.” 

“Hold on…” 

“Did you just say…” 

“Something about the Marauders?” 

“Erm, yeah…that’s what Dad and his mates called themselves,” Harry replied. 

“No way…” 

“Can’t be…” 

“Unless, of course…” 

“It is.” 

While Harry shook his head dismissively, Fred asked, “And your Dad and his mates…don’t suppose they used nicknames to conceal their identities?” 

Harry arched an eyebrow and replied, “Perhaps.” 

The Twins shared a silent conversation. George then turned back to Harry and asked, “So I suppose that makes you Little Wormtail?” 

Harry scrunched up his face as if he’d just eaten something foul. 

“Oh, bloody hell, no…ought to hex you both for even thinking it!” 

“Ah,” Fred said sagely. “You have given us much to think about, Ickle Firsty.” 

“Well I’m happy for you,” Harry replied. “So does that mean that I don’t have to write that letter home?” 

“Of course you do,” Fred replied with a smile. “Just inform your dear father that you’ve been sorted in with two of his admirers who solemnly swear that they’re up to no good.” 

“You want me to write home using those exact words?” Harry asked. 

“Write home about what?” asked a voice over from across the Common Room. 

Fred turned and frowned at the sight of Percy heading their way. 

“Oh, nothing much Percy-kins,” he replied. Fred then pointed towards the board and said, “Just that Ollie is holding tryouts for the House team.” 

Percy frowned in Harry’s general direction. “Well, I can’t see how it would matter to a First Year.” 

“Why is that?” Harry asked. “Is there a rule against new students trying out for the team?” 

The Fifth-Year Prefect straightened his shoulders and proclaimed, “I am not aware of such a rule. That said, you should be well aware of the prohibition against First Year students bringing brooms to school.” 

“So?” 

George snorted. “What Lord Gitmore here is implying is that a First Year trying out for the team would have to use one of the school’s broomsticks.” 

“And they’re not exactly fast...” 

“Or maneuverable...” 

“Or manufactured within the current century…” 

“Fly like shite, when you get right down to it,” George declared. 

“Language!” Percy admonished. 

“Yes, mum.” 

“No, I really mean it!” Percy declared.

“So I can’t just write home and ask for a broom to be sent along?” Harry asked. 

“Of course not,” Percy huffed. “There’d be no difference between that and bringing your broom from home in the first place.” 

“Not a bad idea, though,” Fred observed. “Hey Percy, why don’t you write home and ask mum to send along your head?” 

“What?” Percy huffed. 

“No need, Fred,” George replied. “Percy brought his head along. You just can’t see it because it’s still stuck up his arse!” 

“Really?” asked Fred. “I thought that was a stick stuck up his arse. My bad.” 

“Enough!” Percy thundered.

“I couldn’t agree more, dear brother,” Fred replied. “We’ve had enough of you…so run along and polish your Prefect’s badge.” 

“Unless you need to polish your wand instead,” added George. 

Percy grew even more blustery, which only goaded his younger brothers to keep at it. 

“Reckon’ he’s already polished his wand in the shower this morning,” said Fred. 

“Perhaps he’s gotten up the nerve to ask Miss Clearwater to polish it for him?” 

“Think she’s the polishing type?” 

“Asking the wrong Weasley, don’t you think?” 

The Twins both nodded, then turned towards Percy, and in unison asked, “So?” 

Their older brother gritted his teeth, turned, and strode out the Common Room entrance before he went against his own admonishment regarding bad language.

Fred and George shook each other’s hands with a smug look of satisfaction on their faces, then turned to Harry. 

“You know, even with a decent broom you’d be a bit too meaty to play Seeker,” George observed. 

Harry shrugged. “Again, Catrin swears she’s ten stone two, and I’m less than that.” He ran a hand down the front of his robes and added, “And I’ve not got her profile, either.” 

“That can be arranged, you know,” Fred quipped. 

Harry snorted, and declined the offer. 

“What’s this about Catrin?” George then asked. “Make it sound as if you’re her friend, or something.” 

Harry nodded. “More like a friend of the family,” he replied. “We’ve had Harpies season tickets for as long as I can remember, and mum and dad hosted a doo for the Welsh National Team that Catrin played on…right before World Cup.” 

“Lovely,” Fred said, with some real admiration in his voice. He turned towards the stairs and asked, “So did you happen to see if our little brother was awake? Percy’s the perfect prefect, but it’s us that mum will blame if he’s late for his first day of classes.” 

“Didn’t see him, but he was still snoring behind his curtains when I came down.” 

“Right, then,” said Fred. A game of ‘rock, parchment, wand’ was then played. The winner (Fred) got to go up and prank Ron out of bed, while George headed towards the Great Hall with Lee Jordan, their dreadlocked mate. 

Harry had declined Lee and George’s invitation to join them, saying that he had promised to wait for Hermione. The black-haired wizard then pulled quill and parchment from his bag, and sat down at one of the Common Room’s tables to compose a brief letter.

Harry sat close enough to the dormitory stairs to catch the eye of several of his House mates as they made their own way towards the Great Hall. There were many friendly introductions, with some friendlier than others…Harry had to politely decline several offers (mostly from groups of older girls) to help him find his way to the Great Hall. While these interruptions did make it hard for him to finish his note, there was an upside in that it allowed him to passively assess the local “feeding grounds.” 

By Harry’s count, a little less than one-half of his House had developed some orgasmic energy since the sorting. While his senses couldn’t determine exactly how those orgasms were obtained (and with whom), he had, over his very young life, learned to pick-up on clues and tell-tale indicators that allowed him to winnow the shaggers from the wankers…to separate those who had company when they came from those who flew solo. Now, just because Harry was far more clued into sex and relationships than the typical eleven-year-old boy didn't make him omniscient…while he could spot energy levels at an instant, it took more than one data point to decide on the amount of coupling involved.

And the truly ironic point about this ability was that at this point in Harry’s life, it was more of an intellectual exercise than anything else…while he was well past the “girls have cooties” stage, he was still prepubescent, and lacked the hormone-fueled obsessions with the opposite sex. That said, the green-eyed wizard knew that puberty was coming, and been warned about what might happen and how strong his needs would be when it did. So it never hurt to keep one’s eyes open, or to take good notes, or to wonder how it came to be that all five of the female Sixth Years were dragging the same levels of orgasmic energy behind them.

Or why it was that Katie Bell, Alicia Spinnet and Angelina Johnson were all a bit flush in the face and full of energy when they introduced themselves (full of energy, that is, until they shook hands with Harry, and once again made him wonder if there would ever be need of his inhaler at Hogwarts). That meeting also allowed the First Year to personally assess Katie’s profile (it was far from flat), and to ask a few more questions about Oliver Wood and the tryout process.

Fred Weasley came back down the stairs while Harry was talking to the Chasers, and was happy to walk with them to breakfast once the First Year turned down their invitation. This group of four was nearly knocked over near the portal, when Fred’s youngest brother barreled through with robes half done, muttering about the fact that there were only fifty minutes remaining for breakfast. 

A few minutes after Ron rushed by, the four First Year witches finally made their appearance within the Common Room. Although introductions had been made the night before Lavender and Parvati were quite pleased with the fact that Harry was able to greet them by name. As for Daphne Greengrass, The-Girl-Who-Lived? Less so…she mumbled her greeting with her eyes down at Harry’s feet, and with her arms clutching a book bag tightly against her chest.

Hermione gave Harry an almost imperceptible head shrug, as if to say “Yes, well, that’s how she is,” then suggested they all walk down to breakfast together. Lavender and Parvati thought that to be a fine idea, while Daphne said nothing. She did follow along, however, as Harry took the lead with Hermione on his left, and Lavender on his right (the rock, parchment, wand battle with Parvati for that right had already been fought back in their dorm room). 

“Sorry it took so long,” Hermione said, once they’d cleared the Tower’s stairs and were walking down a straight hall. “Parvati and Lavender tried to tame my horrid hair with some concoction called Sleekeazy’s.” She then gave the green-eyed wizard a rueful grin and added, “As you can see, it didn’t work.” 

Harry smiled and shook his head. “Teach not thy lips such scorn,” he advised, “for they were made for kissing, Lady, and not for such contempt.” 

Hermione looked down and blushed. “Have you memorized all of The Bard’s lines, then?” 

With a rakish smile, Harry shook his head and admitted, “Only the naughty parts.” 

The green-eyed wizard then felt someone squeeze his arm. He turned and arched an eyebrow at Hermione’s dorm mate. 

“Well that doesn’t bother me,” Lavender replied with a breathless voice. “Tell us some more!” 

“How about this then?” Harry asked. He gave Hermione a wink, then took in a deep breath and intoned, “Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none…unless they be specky gits.” 

A soft, melodious tittering caused Harry to glance over his shoulder, and he smiled at the sight of Daphne Greengrass covering her mouth. 

A punch to his shoulder distracted him away from The-Girl-Who-Lived’s mirthful expression. 

“Hey!” he protested. 

“Hey nothing, Harry,” Hermione growled.

The black-haired wizard chuckled to himself, then turned his head back towards Daphne. With a rather loud stage whisper, he then confided, “Me thinks the Lady doth protest too much!” 

“Not hardly enough, though, if your bantering keeps us from getting our class schedules,” warned Hermione.

But Harry’s arm was saved by his masterful navigation through the hallways and moving staircases, and it was only a minute or two more before they entered the Great Hall. 

Daphne Greengrass may have wished it took longer than that, though, because as soon as they made it past the doors the whispering and chattering began. 

“There she is!” 

“Who?” 

“The Girl-Who-Lived, silly!” 

“Where?” 

“Right there…next to that dark-skinned witch!” 

“Did you see her?” 

As focus shifted towards Daphne, Harry and her three dorm mates silently (and spontaneously) shifted positions, so that she was shielded front, back and sides as they approached the Gryffindor table and took their places. 

When the Great Hall’s windows opened towards the end of breakfast, Harry’s familiar was one of a hundred different owls that swooped down with the morning mail. Hedwig proved very popular with Harry’s female companions, and was more than willing to take a rasher of bacon off of five different plates. 

“Why is your owl here if she hasn’t anything to deliver?” Hermione asked, as she watched Hedwig playfully nip on Harry’s ear. 

“Because she’s the smartest owl in the world…and the prettiest too…goes without saying,” Harry beamed, pulling two letters from his robe pocket. “And she always knows when I need her to deliver something.” 

As he attached a letter to each foot with bits of string, Harry said, “So Hedwig, I need you to deliver the note to Mum and Dad first, then go to Gwenog Jones and wait for a reply…think you can keep that straight?” 

Before Hedwig bobbed her head “yes,” and flew out she gave Harry a disapproving nip on the ear, as if to say “Of course I can!”

“Never would have guessed you a Harpies fan-boy,” Ron stated, at the same time he chewed on a piece of toast. 

“What’s wrong with following the Harpies?” Harry asked, as Hedwig launched herself towards the opened windows. 

“They’re not the Canons!” 

“Yes, you’re absolutely right…they are a bunch of pathetic losers.” 

“Hey, now, they’ve set themselves up well for the upcoming season!” 

Harry waved off Ron’s assessment with a dismissive gesture. 

“If you say so, boyo.” 

The argument was truncated by the arrival of their Head of House with their schedules. As the First Years began to discuss what books were needed, and what their classes might be like, McGonagall tersely informed Harry that he was to report to her office later that afternoon. 

“What’s that about?” Hermione whispered, once the Transfiguration Professor moved on to other students further down the table. 

Harry shrugged. “Probably about the fight on the train yesterday,” he replied. 

“Oh,” she replied quietly. “I hope you don’t get into too much trouble on my behalf.” 

The black-haired wizard smiled and reached out to cover the bushy-haired witch’s hand.

“No worries, Bra…and no use wasting the day worrying about it, especially when there are far better uses for our time.” 

Hermione’s cheeks flushed as her ears heard the word “our” and her brain started to drift into warm and fuzzy places.

oo00OO00oo 

That he was waved towards a comfortable sofa by the fire rather than the “hot seat” in front of an imposing desk was the first good sign that Harry’s visit to the office of his "Auntie Minnie" would be cordial.

That a house elf delivered tea service while his Head of House sat next to him was the second. 

“It’s still lemon and one sugar, right?” McGonagall asked. 

“Yes, please, Professor.” 

Minerva looked up, frowned, then closed the door to her office with a flick of her wand. 

“No need for that when it’s just the two of us, Harry.” 

“Yes…Auntie Minnie?” the First Year asked with a smile. 

The older witch chuckled. “Don’t push your luck, Harry…so let’s dispense with the business first. Your altercation aboard the train is so much water under the bridge in light of last night’s show. That said, I trust that now you are a Gryffindor and that certain…catalysts have been removed from the Castle that there will be no more fisticuffs?” 

The black-haired wizard nodded. “Yes, Ma’am…does that mean that Malfoy’s been expelled?” 

“That’s not supposed to be any of your concern, young man.” 

“Ah, so they haven’t yet held an emergency meeting of The Board of Governors?” 

“Why would you think that there is one?” Minerva asked with a smile. 

Harry snorted, and replied, “Auntie, I may not have been sorted Ravenclaw, but there wasn’t a spare bed in our dorm room last night, and he wasn’t in class or at meals. And since his daddy is on the Board of Governors, and since the Malfoys have never been shy about asserting their….concerns….” 

With a slight tilt of her head, the Assistant Headmistress replied, “I can neither confirm nor deny that such a meeting was held this afternoon, or that the votes were in hand to uphold the Headmaster’s seemingly-reluctant decision.” 

With a chuckle, Harry held out his hands is if they were each side of a balance scale. 

“So all of the Malfoy money, power and influence on one side…balanced against the attempt to destroy a priceless Founder’s Artifact and the means by which every Hogwarts student had been sorted for a thousand years….” 

McGonagall’s eyes brightened a bit as she reached out and added her thumb to the second side of Harry’s scale. “Add in the embarrassment of his son being sorted a lion, rather than a snake, Harry…once the Board reaffirmed that the Hat’s sorting decisions aren’t subject to change, Mr. Malfoy’s efforts to keep young Draco enrolled at Hogwarts lost all of their stridency.” 

“You sound so disappointed, Auntie,” Harry replied brightly.

Minerva chuckled. “Yes well…Gryffindor’s loss is Durmstrang’s gain.” 

Harry nodded. “So that’s where he’s off to?” 

The black-haired witch shrugged her shoulders. “That’s my guess…Beauxbatons is a possibility, given that the Malfoys have family over there, but I suspect that Mr. Malfoy might have more leverage over the current Durmstrang Headmaster.” 

The Gryffindor Head of House then sighed, and shook her head. “And there I go again…these are more the worries of your father, rather than yourself.” She reached out to touch Harry’s knee and asked, “So how was your first day of classes, dear?” 

Harry snorted. “Class, Auntie…only had History of Magic today. A very pleasant nap…is that really the most qualified instructor?” 

“Ah, yes, well….Professor Binns can’t be cited for lack of experience.” 

“Can’t be cited for a having a pulse, either!” Harry snarked. “Honestly, Auntie…I know you warned me about him over the summer, but are the school’s finances that bad?” 

“School finances?” 

“Yeah, that’s the only explanation that makes sense…cut the staff budget by hiring a ghost…what kind of salary and benefits does a ghost get, anyway?” 

Minerva shook her head. “I’m certain that Professor Binns would say that the joy of teaching is benefit enough.” 

“Well, we’re getting what the school is paying for,” Harry whined. “I’d be careful, Auntie…next thing you know the Headmaster will be asking Nearly-Headless Nick to cover your classes.”

“Yes, well…we’ll worry about that when it happens,” Minerva replied. “So, run-ins with ponces and Fifth-Year prefects aside, you’ve settled in?” 

Harry nodded. “It’s about what I expected...the pudding is just as good as Mum said it’d be, the dorms just as drafty as Auntie Em said they’d be, the witches just as pretty as Sirius said they’d be…” 

“Ach, Merlin help us if Sirius Black has shaded your perceptions of our school!” Minerva replied. 

Harry chuckled. “Well, Auntie, you’ve had just as much of a hand shaping expectations over the years, and I dare say that I’ll benefit from your teaching and guidance and wisdom…and I’m sure to succeed now that I’m far away from my godfather’s bad influence.” 

Minerva rolled her eyes. “Now you’re laying it on rather thick, Harry…save the flattery for witches who are closer in age.” 

With a waggle of his eyebrows, Harry replied, “No worries, Auntie…I’ve got more than enough charm to go around.” 

“Yes, well you are the son of James Potter and his wife the Charms Mistress, aren’t you?” Minerva asked rhetorically. She sat her tea cup down and added, “So is there any hope that you’ll stay clear of Professor Snape and out of detention for at least the next few days?” 

The young wizard grinned as he put down his own tea cup and stood. “Well, I don’t have potions until Friday, Auntie, but even so…it’s like you said.” 

“What’s that?” Minerva asked, as she showed him towards the door. 

“I am my father’s son,” Harry replied with a wink. 

“Yes, that’s what your mum and I are afraid of,” McGonagall replied, as she tussled his mess of black hair. 

The look of affection upon her face vanished in a flash once the door opened, as the Head of Gryffindor reestablished the facade of an "arms-length" relationship between herself and the oldest child of her dear friends James and Lily Potter.