"SLYTHERIN!"

Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, closed his eyes for a fraction of a second. It wasn't as though he was surprised his cousin had ended up in Slytherin House, but he had hoped, for once, to have one, just one thing for his very own. But no, even being a wizard he had to share with Dudley.

When Harry first received his Hogwarts letters, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had done all in their power to stop him from reading the letters. They had burnt them, shredded them and basically disintegrated them in their struggle to prevent him from finding out the secret. The fact that Harry Potter was, in fact, a wizard. He reckoned if the second letter hadn't arrived, he'd still be locked in the cupboard under the stairs.

But the second letter did arrive, and was responsible for Harry standing in line, waiting nervously for the strict professor (was her name McGonagall? Harry had a hard time remembering all the names he had heard that day.) to call out his name. The second letter contained the news that Dudley Dursley also was a wizard. And Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon could not have been more happy. For people who had spent their son's and nephew's first eleven years on earth trying to deny the existence of magic and Petunia's freak sister, Harry thought they took the news incredibly well. They were, as a matter of fact, incredibly proud of their 'special little Duddykins' and had known all along 'that he was meant for something more, my son is!' They had grumbled for days about the fact that they weren't allowed to tell anyone about the magical world, and Uncle Vernon had immediately added the Ministry of Magic to his favorite list of complaints. Harry was still on top of that list, but the Ministry did all in their power (or so it seemed to Harry) to catch up with him. The Stature of Secrecy, the general freakiness and old fashioned ways of the magical people in Britain all seemed to work against him, or that was at least what Uncle Vernon thought. He was especially irked by the fact that his freak nephew apparently was famous in the wizarding world. However, when Harry tried to find out more about his parents, Aunt Petunia just replied with her usual 'no more questions!'

”Harry Potter!”

A murmur rose in the Great Hall, as every student's eyes, and all of the teachers' followed Harry as he scrambled to the small chair. He took a deep breath, and felt, rather than heard, Dudley snicker somewhere about how he couldn't understand how Potty Potter would belong anywhere. To close the voice of his cousin out, he pulled the hat down over his ears.

--

Harry Potter silently walked towards the Gryffindor tower, his heart singing with joy knowing that he finally had something for his own. He was brave, and a Gryffindor, and not in the same house as Dudley. He sat down next to the red-haired twins who had helped him with his trunk at platform nine and three quarters. He noticed they were still chanting 'we got Potter' even though even Professor Dumbledore had been glaring quite surly at them for a while. Harry sat staring at all the people who he was going to live with for the next seven years of his life, and twisted his hands nervously. He had so hoped he would make friends here...

Ron Weasley was also sorted into Gryffindor, and Harry grinned up at Ron when he sat down next to him. Ron really was a lot taller than Harry. The other redheads at the table talked excitedly to each other, patted Ron hard on the back and seemed generally high of spirits. All of them made sure to smile at Harry, even though he noticed them staring at his forehead. When they discovered he knew they were doing it, they looked away quickly and pretended to have studied Mandy Brocklehurst of Ravenclaw all along.

Not only the Weasleys were staring at him. Harry had the unpleasant feeling of being watched behind his back. As soon as he turned around to look, at least five people hurriedly averted their gazes. Even the teachers seemed to do their best to get a good look at him. Harry shifted, not used to all the attention.

After Zabini, Blaise was sorted into Slytherin and the feast had begun, the headmaster said a few words. Harry studied him intently. He remembered the headmistress in primary school. She had never liked him. Perhaps this man would be different? The twinkle in his sharp blue eyes made Harry hope, just a little.

”Harry, look!”

Ron poked him in the ribs with an elbow. Suddenly, hundreds of plates filled with food had appeared at the table. Harry stared at it, amazed, and that moment, he truly realized magic actually existed.

After a few hours, Harry was more than unpleasantly full, and he felt sure that even the tiniest bite of treacle tart would make his stomach explode. Inhaling the wonderful scent, he decided that on second thought, maybe he could make room for just a little, little bit more.

Ron didn't seem much better off either. He was slumped in his chair, one hand draped over his stomach and the other one in the air, hovering over some coconut cakes. He was nice, but he really had the worst table manners of anyone Harry had ever seen. Glancing over to the Slytherin table and spotting Dudley, he quickly amended the statement.

”So, Harry, d'you think your relatives will be sad you and your cousin aren't in the same house? I mean... I don't really know any muggles, but I can't think it'll be very easy for him in Slytherin...”

Ron looked slightly doubtful.

”What do you mean?” Harry asked, still paying more attention to his desert than to Ron.

”Well... It's just that Slytherins aren't muggleborn. I mean, I've never heard of a muggleborn Slytherin. He's in for a pretty rough time, or at least that's what I've heard.” Harry thought about this for a while.

”I thought it was just the same for everyone. I mean, everyone's got the same magic, right?”

”Yeah... Sure. Nevermind.” Ron turned away to nick the custard bowl from a chubby boy next to him, and even though his back was turned away, Harry was pretty sure Ron's face was bright red. He studied Ron's neck for a second, and turned around to Neville Longbottom, who was stuttering.

”I just wondered... Maybe... I... Y'know... could see the scar?” Neville uttered the word scar with a sort of hushed awe combined with fear. Feeling that this was probably something he would have to do many times, Harry lifted his bangs and bared his forehead. Immediately, other eyes focused on his forehead.

”I don't really understand what all the fuss is about,” He said irritably. ”It's just a scar, that's all.” Neville started to reply, but appeared to be too shocked, and just shook his head. Harry sighed. His Hogwarts career didn't start out at all like he had wanted.

To distract himself, Harry looked up at the Head Table, studying his new teachers. He spotted Professor Quirrell, the man he had met in Diagon Alley. He seemed as nervous as ever, and was currently bending over to pick up his fork from the floor. Next to him sat a black-haired, sallow man, dressed immaculately in black. He had a distinct sour look on his face, and Harry found himself wondering if the man had accidentally bitten into a lemon. He suppressed a snicker at the thought, and bent over to talk to Ron.

”Hey Ron! Who's that man next to Professor Quirrell?” Ron looked up, and followed Harry's nod to gaze at the black-clad man. He was just about to open his mouth when his older brother interrupted him.

”That, Harry, is Professor Snape, the Potions Master. He is a true genius in his field, and you will learn much from him, if you chose to listen.” Percy's eyes went for a second to the Weasley twins, and then back to Harry. ”Take my advice, and do that. Don't follow some students' leads,” he added pompously.

”Snape? Fred and George told me about about him! They say he's a greasy bast...”

”Ron! Don't speak that way about a teacher, or I will tell mom!”

Percy turned away, and Harry could have sworn he heard Ron a word that surely would have made Percy run directly to the owlery.

Harry looked up at the head table and his eyes briefly met with those of Professor Snape's, peeking through Professor Quirrell. A sharp pain lanced up through his scar, and Harry clenched his fists and bit his lower lip, until the pain dulled. In Professor Snape's black, cold eyes, he had seen hatred. But he had no idea what he had done to make the man hate him so.

The announcement that all the first years were to follow their prefects (in Harry's case, Percy Weasley) to their dorms, the entire Great Hall appeared to explode in sound. Chairs were scraping, plates clattering and everywhere there were students laughing and talking. Harry obidently got up with the others and followed Ron and the bushy haired girl he had met while waiting for the sorting. As he turned around to glance one last time at the Great Hall and its wondrous ceiling, he saw Dudley sticking his tongue out at him, and walking away in company of the pale blond Draco Malfoy and his two thugs. Harry thought with heavy heart and not so little irony that Dudley seemed to have find his perfect companions, both in strength and intelligence.

As Harry Potter lay in his bed in the Gryffindor first years boys dormitory, he contemplated his life. It was, he decided, not so bad. After all he could have been in Stonewall High wearing pieces of elephant skin for clothing. Harry shuddered, as he remembered the uniform Aunt Petunia had been 'kind' enough to make for him. At least, at Hogwarts, he was like everyone else, even if people stared weirdly at him. And so what if Dudley was here? Maybe he wouldn't have any classes with him? And who said things at to be the way there were in Little Whinging here? He had a chance to create a whole new life for himself, and that, Harry decided, did not have to include Dudley. Tomorrow, he was going to make lots of new friends, do great in all his classes, and convince that Professor Snape that he wasn't to be hated for no reason. No, Harry Potter was through being bullied and put down.

Content with his plan, Harry closed his eyes, and went to sleep.

Harry woke up far earlier than he would have liked, and much later than he was used to. As he struggled to untangle himself from the covers (he always slept restlessly and tended to dump his bedding on the floor, if he wasn't careful.), the other four boys in the room blinked against the morning light. Correction. Three of the four boys in the room. Ron was still very much asleep, snoring loudly. Grinning, Harry got up and shook his new friend's shoulder lightly.

”Ron! Wake up!”

”Whaa...?”

”C'mon mate, or we'll miss breakfast!”

At this, Ron sat up sharply, and Harry went off to the bathroom, sniggering. He looked around quickly, and found it empty. Sighing with relief, he looked the door and looked at himself in the mirror. He looked as he always did.

He saw his small face, and skinny arms and legs. His glasses were still taped and his hair was still unruly. He even had hand-me-down clothes, even though they were robes this time since the Dursleys had refused to buy him new ones. The frayed cuffs and too-short sleeves didn't bother Harry very much. He was used to it, having had to wear Dudley's old clothes for most of his life. He didn't even consider the unfairness of Dudley getting a brand new Deluxe Premium Set of Madam Malkin's Finest Hogwarts Robes for Young Gentlemen. It was, as Uncle Vernon had said, nothing less than Dudley deserved.

A knock on the door make him jump, and Harry quickly splashed his face water and brushed his teeth, almost tripping over his own feet in his hurry to finish. As he exited the bathroom, the Irish boy (Sean? Seamus?, Harry thought) gripped his arm lightly

”Hey, no rush. I didn't mean to take your place or anything.” His eyes drifted for a second to Harry's scar and then back to his eyes. ”Take your time.” Harry stared at him, baffled, then shrugged and went off in search of Ron and breakfast.

Breakfast was every bit as lovely as dinner the night before. Harry made sure to take a bit of everything at the table, just to make sure he didn't miss something. He immediately became very fond of toast with chocolate spread. At the Dursleys, he had only had plain toast, and the warm molten chocolate tasted like heaven. Harry was chatting happily with Ron and Neville Longbottom throughout breakfast, discussing teachers and if Professor Snape really was as terrible as everyone said. When Professor McGonagall came to give them their schedules, she look as strict and imposing as ever, even though she shot a slight smile at Harry, so small he was the only one to see it. It made him feel all warm and good inside, and he munched on his toast quite happy and excited for the day. As Hermione Grander started to tell everyone to hurry to class, Harry realized he had forgotten his Transfiguration textbook, and as that was their first class, he decided to run back to the Gryffindor tower to fetch it. Telling Ron he'd meet him later, Harry started off towards the tower.

As he turned around a corner, he was met with a familiar and stomach-dropping sight. His cousin, looking as fat and pig-like as ever. Harry absently noted that no Deluxe Premium Robes in the world could hide the fact Dudley was far too fat for his own good. A meaty hand shot out and gripped Harry's wrist, shoving him against the wall. They were in a small niche, in a smaller, more unused hallway. Harry might have had a chance if they had been just outside the Great Hall, but now?

”Potter. Think you're so great with your ugly scar... Wanting everyone's attention... Let's just wait until everyone discovers what a freak you are. Freaky Potter.” Dudley shook Harry with every sentence, and Harry tried to free himself and stop the room from spinning, but to no avail.

“A gryffindor. I heard some stuff about you people last night, and I'm pretty sure Mum and Dad will understand who's house is the best. Think you'll be able to fit in here, freak? Think again.” Harry bit his lip, and tried to come up with an answer.

“Haven't you heard, Duddykins? Every wizard that ever went bad was in Slytherin. Seems like they understand you just fine already, so there's no point in pretending to be a good little mama's boy here,” Harry finally replied.

Dudley turned pale, and then increasingly red, in a wonderful impression of Uncle Vernon, and Harry thought it best to try and get away. As Dudley drew back his fist, Harry dodged and started running as fast as his legs would carry him down the hallway. He knew Dudley had no chance of catching up with him without help from faster cronies and thus felt relatively safe. That is, until he crashed right into something hard and black. Or rather someone. Looking up he saw a hooked nose and pale thin lips drawn back to show crooked yellow teeth. Recognizing the man, Harry cowered. It was Professor Snape and he looked very angry.

”Mr. Potter,” he said, in a carefully controlled voice that scared Harry much more than Uncle Vernon's nonsensical yelling ever had. ”We do not tolerate running in the hallways in this school. Undoubtedly you found it below yourself to read the school rules, but I assure you, they apply to everyone, famous or not.”

Harry was entirely thrown off by the new attack. He just stared dumbly at the Potions Master, trying to figure out what he meant.

”I would at least have hoped that the Boy-Who-Lived would understand simple English, but that does not seem to be the case. Are you deaf, Mr. Potter?”

”Sir?”

”Obviously you are capable of speaking and hearing, which still leaves the question if you are too arrogant to bother reading the school rules.”

”Sir, I'm sorry, I just...”

”Quiet. I knew you were going to be trouble as soon as I heard you were coming to Hogwarts. Let's hope for your own sake, Mr. Potter, that you are not as big a dunderhead in Potions as you seem to be in everything else. Now get to class!”

Shocked by the vehemence in the man's tone, Harry could not move for a few second. Another glare, however, sent him walking very fast (but not running) away from the fluttering black robes of Professor Snape.

Harry checked his watch and groaned. He was late to his very first class at Hogwarts. What a start Harry, great job, he thought, as he struggled to find his way to the Transfiguration classroom. He felt almost as though the castle itself was doing its best to prevent him from ever getting to class. He had already fallen through the missing step in one of the staircases twice, once on his way to the Gryffindor tower and once on the way back. He had been careful not to step on the faulty step the second time, but fate seemed to be working against him, since which step was missing had changed since last time. Harry swore to himself as he used all the strength in his arms to pull himself up. By the time he got to Transfiguration, he was so late that Professor McGonagall assigned him extra homework as punishment for wasting class-time.

The rest of the classes of the day went a little better, and at least he wasn't late any more times. By the time lunch came around, he had managed to almost forget his intermezzo with Dudley in the morning and the strange conversation with the Potions Master after it.

Harry had realized that the study of magic was far more complicated than he ever would have thought. It wasn't just, as muggle books for children made it out to be, waving your wand and saying whimsical words, but a precise and time-consuming study where every syllable and movement had to be exactly right. Professor McGonagall's stories of transfigurations gone terribly wrong were enough to instill Harry with the greatest respect for thoroughness. He got some comfort from the fact that if he was struggling, Dudley was sure to be near dying with the exhaustion of actually having to use his brain.

Ron and Harry quickly became good friends. Not only could they be confused about the layout of the Hogwarts Castle, Ron also had hand-me-down robes, and didn't look down at Harry for his. That made Harry feel infinitely much better, and he managed to get through his first day without too many mishaps.

The rest of the week was fairly quiet as well, with lots of new faces and facts to remember. Harry saw surprisingly little of his cousin the first week. He spotted him sometimes at meals, sitting by Draco Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle, but other than that, Dudley was unusually absent from his life. If Harry hadn't been so wary, he might have pretended Dudley simply wasn't at Hogwarts at all. (How nice wouldn't that have been!) It wasn't until Friday, when he realized he had Double Potions with the Slytherins the next day that he knew he was in trouble.

Harry and Ron were standing in line down in the dungeons, waiting for Potions to start. Even though Professor Snape was frightening, Harry couldn't help by being a bit excited about this class. One of the things he had looked forward to starting in Muggle school had been Chemistry and Potions seemed a bit like it. Ron didn't have very high hopes for the course, since he was, according to himself, slightly less clumsy than a troll when dealing with anything that had to be measured and stirred.

When the door to the classroom opened, Harry stumbled in after the rest of the Gryffindors, his head held high, determined not to make a fool of himself. He and Ron sat down in the middle of the classroom, took out quill and parchment and put their potions books within easy reach. They left their ingredients in the kit on the floor, since they had no idea if they were actually going to brew something in this first class.

Harry spotted Dudley walking in with a group of Slytherins (he was hard to miss, given how big he was) and sit down in the middle of the classroom. Not far enough in the back to cause suspicsion, and not close enough to seem like a teacher's pet. Dudley might be an idiot, but he could be cunning enough when he had too. Harry knew that far too well, from the way Dudley always managed to blame everything on Harry.

The room went quiet when Professor Snape swept in. He looked a little as though he was floating, and Harry had to admit that even if the Professor could do with a hair wash or two, he did have some kind of finesse, some refined air that surrounded him. It was as though he wore an invisible cloak of... Harry couldn't find the approriate word to describe it. But the professor was imposing, alright.

19 pairs of eyes were focused on (or beside) professor Snape. Harry kept his eyes on the spot just beside the man's left ear, feeling too uncomfortable to look at him straight in the face. Snape, however, seemed to have no problem at all with looking at Harry.

”Harry Potter...” Professor Snape said, his voice dripping icicles. ”Our new celebrity.” Harry had a sudden wish to hide himself under his desk. Things went downhill from there.

”You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making,” he began. The soft whisper was enough to make Harry turn his eyes towards the Potions Master's face and listen to his speech, enthralled. All around him, Harry could sense that the rest of the students, even if they didn't understand all the professor meant, were listening intently to his every word. As the little speech ended, Harry busied himself with copying down what Snape had said.

He was interrupted not long afterwards, by sharp questions that he couldn't answer, and his ears burned in humiliation. As he failed to answer, he could hear Dudley snicker, and Harry determinedly kept his eyes on Snape, refusing to look at Dudley and allow him any kind of pleasure.

When the class was finally allowed to start doing some actual potions work, it became clear to Harry that Snape's antagonisms not were a one-time thing. In fact, the Potions Master seemed to take great pleasure in tormenting all the Gryffindor and glorifying the Slytherins. Harry bent over his cauldron, trying to concentrate and ignore any jibes from Snape. He thought he was doing quite well, but his fellow Gryffindors were not. Neville Longbottom was staring at his brew nervously, seemingly unable to decide what to do next. From the way Hermione Granger was shaking her head at Neville, Harry could easily understand that Neville had made some kind of fatal mistake.

Glancing over to his cousin, Harry saw Snape standing in front of Dudley's cauldron, lips drawn in a sort of half-sneer.

”Mr. Dursley, would you care to explain what this is supposed to be?”

”My potion, sir,” Dudley answered, strangly polite.

Even Harry could smell something that resembled vinegar from where he was standing, and Snape had explicitly warned them that something was from if their potions even came close to any smell of that kind. But instead of insulting, or smirking at Dudley, Snape looked at him, then nodded curtly and turned away. He immediately spotted Neville, and well...

Neville's cauldron chose that moment to blow up in a rather spectacular explosion. Harry ducked and managed to avoid being drenched in the soppy mess. Some of his other class mates were not as fortunate. Neville, seeing as it was his potion, was sporting some nasty burns and boils, and both Seamus Finnigan, and Ron were groaning in pain. Even some of the Slytherins were affected.

Professor Snape sent the injured students off to the hospital wing, and with a snarl turned around to face Harry.

”You – Potter – why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you?” he spat, with small spots of red glowing on his sallow cheeks.

”Just like a Potter. Not like I expected anything else with your heirtage,” Snape added in a fierce whisper. He then shook his head, as if ridding himself of the last fragments of some dream, and with a small but clear gesture of his hand made it obvious to every student that they were dismissed.

The Gryffindors huddled in a small group a safe distance from the potions classroom to discuss the events. Ron, who evidently had a lot of knowledge of the professor, most likely due to the wild Fred and George, leaned in and said in a whisper:

”Snape usually takes points, and I've heard he's real unfair towards the Gryffindors, but wow... Who put a dung bomb down his trousers this morning?”

”Harry, why did he single you out like that?” said Parvati Patil in an awed voice.

Harry shrugged, not liking all the attention.

”Maybe he just hates people who aren't good at potions. He didn't seem to like Neville anymore than he liked me.”

The other first-years nodded, and not few of them were happy Neville was the one who was awful at potions and not them. The new Gryffindors had learned a valuable lesson: Lions and Snakes did not mix, and the Cheif Snake would do nothing to help them.

Harry and Ron were sitting in the common room, moaning over the latest potions homework. They were both finally settling into the Hogwarts routine, and even though the two friends were always slightly behind in their work, they weren't failing any of their classes.

They were even almost passing potions, which Fred and George Weasley said was something of a miracle, since Snape had a tendency of failing all the new Gryffindors the first semester just to make an impression. This announcement had led to a long lecture about justice and teachers' responsibilities from Hermione Granger, which in the end had Ron throwing a pillow at her. This made Hermione leave the room with her nose up in the air, but Harry felt certain she had been hurt by the other's ridicule. True, he thought Hermione in lecture mode was as irritating as everybody else, but he did notice that people tended to avoid her.

”Ron,” Harry said, looking up from his essay (still 5 inches too short of the required two feet)

”What?” Ron looked delighted at the chance of having an excuse not to continue reading about acids.

”Have you noticed something... odd with Hermione Granger?”

”Other than that she hasn't preached for us in a week? And I would call a relief and not odd, by the way.”

”Yeah... I guess... But I just thought....maybe she's a bit... Just forget it.”

”Harry. She's a girl. They do weird stuff all the time. And she's irritating. Just leave it,” Ron said, obviously flustered by Harry's concern.

Harry just ducked his head and went with it. He didn't want to make Ron angry with him.

A couple of minutes later Ron once again decided he needed to focus on something else other than his homework and looked around the room for something to talk about. As his gaze passed over Harry, he got an idea.

”How come you never spend any time with your cousin?” he asked.

”Why?” Harry said warily.

”I just figured you'd be happy to have someone you knew here, in your grade,” Ron feel silent for a moment then said: ”Now that I think about it... You never even talk with him or anything.”

Harry flushed a little.

”No. I guess not. We never really got along. I told you that.”

”But you live with them, your aunt and uncle, I mean? Wow, they must've been happy to have both their...sons... go to Hogwarts. It's a privilege you know. And do they call you their son, I mean, since you're adopted and all?”

Harry's cheeks were painfully red by now, as he tried to come up with answers.

”I don't think I'm adopted. They're just my guardians. And I'm definitely not their son. I just call them aunt and uncle, not mum and dad. I'm just really grateful that they took me in, instead of sending me to an orphanage or something.” Harry stopped to draw his breath, finally finished with his recitation.
Ron obviously realized he was stepping on unknown territory and backed off, embarassed.

”Sorry mate. I was just curious. I know I don't get along with my relatives all the time. I'm sure they still love you very much though.” Ron tried to sound reassuring.

Harry looked doubtful, but nodded.

”Sure, Ron. So what's your answer for number eighteen?”

HPHPHPHP

When Harry smiled and said good morning to Neville the next day, he noticed that the chubbier boy seemed on the verge of tears.

After Neville had proved to be unsuccessful in most classes except from herbology, potions was still the one that caused him the most trouble. Harry privately thought it was more because of nervousness than anything else, but kept his opinions to himself. He had realized everyone usually ended up happier that way. No complications unless it was needed, could be his motto. Since he had survived eleven years with it, he figured it was pretty good. However, Neville looked a lot like he needed some happiness at the moment.

”What's wrong, Neville?” Harry said in a hushed voice, guessing his classmate wouldn't want any attention right now.

”It's Professor Snape, Harry. I just don't know what I'm gonna do! He said he'd give me detention if I do it again, or if disturb him or irritate him or anything, but the thing is; I always irritate him!” Neville gushed, obviously relieved to have someone to confide in.

”Calm down, Neville. What did Professor Snape say?” Harry said, leaning forward and placing his hands on his thighs in what he hoped was a reassuring position.

”You know I'm no good at potions, Harry, and I don't think that's ever gonna change. But Snape said that if I explode another cauldron or come to class with dirty or disturbed clothes or just say anything that makes him irritated, he'll give me detention for a week. And I just know that's going to happen, and I'll lose lots of points. Harry, you've got to help me!” Neville was sounding like he was on the verge of having a nervous breakdown.

”Neville. It's going to be fine. If you don't calm down, they're going to strap you down in some mental institution,” Harry said with a laugh.

A shadow darkened Neville's eyes for a moment, then passed.

”What should I do, Harry? Just look at my shirt. I've got jam all over it, and we have potions now. I don't have time to go up and change!” He help up his offending shirtsleeves, and Harry had to agree that yes, they were quite filthy. Professor Snape was rather strict on personal grooming and hygiene, even if his hair could need a washing or two. He'd made more than one student dissect toads for coming to class with food stained clothes. Harry smiled.

”Oh, don't worry about it. I'm pretty good at removing stains, and those aren't even dry yet.” Harry reached for the salt shaker that was on the table.

”First, you need to pour some salt on it, it'll pull the stain out and stop in from drying into the fabric. Be careful so that the salt doesn't fall off, though, and we'll just finish breakfast and remove the rest before class, okay?” Harry smiled at Neville who looked perplexed, but obeyed.

The two boys had a quick breakfast and ran to one of the boys' lavatories. They chose one in the dungeons, to make sure they would not be late for class.

Harry removed the salt, and rinsed the shirt out with cold water, and then took some of the bathroom soap. He rubbed it into the stains, and let it sit for a couple of minutes while Neville quizzed him on the homework.

After reciting the five most common acids and bases, and their uses, Harry washed the shirt again, using the hottest water he could stand. Luckily, the stain was so fresh that the only the faintest trace of the unfortunate jam could be seen, and only if you looked close. With a smile, he dried the shirt with a useful little spell Angelina Johnson had taught him three days before.

Neville was looking at him with a look of worship on his face.

”Where did you learn how to do that?” he asked.

”My aunt taught me, and I read it in some magazines. It's pretty useful to know,” Harry replied, indicating the shirt. ”You never now when you'll need it.”

”I wish my grandma taught me stuff like that, but we don't really talk that much.”

”Yeah, you told me you live with your grandma. Is she... nice to you?” Harry looked down at his fingernails as he waited for the response.

”Mhm... I guess she is. She's just got a lot on her mind sometimes. They almost didn't think I had enough magic to get in here, she and my great-uncle Algie.”

”I thought you just had to have magic to get in here. Isn't that enough?” Harry asked.

Neville looked confused. ”No, not at all. This is a really exclusive school. Most parents would kill to have their kids go here,” he said. ”There aren't that many wizarding kids, but more than this, otherwise we wouldn't be able to survive.”

Harry nodded and they went off to class. When they were waiting in line outside the classroom, Harry whispered a quick explanation to Ron, and ignored his cousin and Malfoy, who were both looking at him like he had dipped his head in a bucket of rotten fish.

Professor Snape seemed to be in a particularly bad mood that day. As he assigned them their newest potion, Harry could sense the Professor's eyes as they roamed the classroom to stop on Neville. He sneered, and stalked forwards towards Neville' cauldron.

Harry had no idea what came over him. Maybe it was that recklessness that occasionally gripped him (and more often got him into trouble) that made him do it.

When the Potions Master came closer, Harry quickly stuck his leg out and tripped him. The tall man stumbled and fell to the floor in a blur of dark cloth. The entire room burst into laughter and Harry's heart soared when he saw Neville's relieved face. The happy feeling disappeared abruptly when Professor Snape got up from the floor and turned his gaze on Harry.

Professor Snape's eyes were so black they made Harry think of a newly digged grave. The man did nothing, just stood there and stared at Harry, unblinking, unwavering and unsettling. It seemed to Harry as if time had slowed down, and as if a day went by with every breath he took. Still nothing happened. No one moved. Harry was quite sure if the proverbial pin dropped, he would have been able to hear it.

Looking into his professor's eyes, Harry felt he couldn't stand it. Snape was looking at him as if he carried a dangerous virus. Freak, the eyes whispered, just like he heard other voices said many times before. Freaky little misfit. Don't even try, because you can't do anything right. Freak. Freak! Killer.

Shock rushed Harry's veins and he felt weak and light-headed. He had to GET OUT! Suddenly Snape broke the eye-contact and Harry suddenly felt like himself again. The magnitude of what he had done began to descend on him. He had tripped Professor Snape. There was no telling what the man would do to him now. At least chop him up and put him in some nasty potion. Or...

”Potter!” Snape snarled. ”My office. Seven. Be there, or I swear you will not live to see the next day. The rest of you worthless idiots, out now!”

Harry ran.

He had not been this scared since the last time Dudley's gang cornered him to give him a 'good-bye present'. He still had bruises from that occasion.

Harry didn't even look where he was going, he vaguely noticed other students staring at him as he barged down the hallways, desperate to get away from the oppressing dungeons. He just wanted to fit in. That all he asked for. It couldn't be that difficult. And he hadn't meant to trip Snape, he hadn't really.

It just happened. He just didn't want Neville to get in trouble. He was so terrified of Snape already, Harry wanted him to have a break. And he hadn't really meant to diffuse Snape's anger by tripping him. He knew it was a bad idea But some idiotic part of his brain had reacted without thinking and now he was left with the consequences. Maybe he really was bad. Yes, that must be it.

Suddenly he was outside, down by the lake. Harry had always liked water. He couldn't swim, the Dursleys had never wanted to spend money for him to learn. But sometimes, when he was younger and had wanted time alone, he'd try to find a body of water. Around half an hour's walk from Privet Drive was a park with a little brook. Harry had spent many afternoons just watching the ripples in the ever-moving water, imagining himself being carried away with it to some place far away. The lake at Hogwarts had been a blessing.

Harry sat down, close to the shore, but not too close. The threat of being pulled down by the giant squid made him careful.

He was scared. Scared shitless, to be honest. He cursed himself in every language he could think of, then started making up insults. He dubbed himself every demeaning title Uncle Vernon had ever used and every swear Dudley had heard from adult movies.

He should not have got in trouble. He just wanted to do well. He just wanted to fit in.

Harry didn't know how long he sat there, just staring at the lake, without seeing it. He was almost falling asleep when he was pushed forwards, and landed with his nose first on the group.

”Got into trouble already, Potter?” Dudley sneered. ”My mum and dad were right, it didn't take long. But even I thought you'd last longer than a couple of weeks.”

He nudged Harry with his boot for emphasis. Harry sat up, his face carefully blank.

”Aren't you gonna do something, freak?” His fist caught Harry on the upper arm, and Harry realized Dudley wasn't hitting especially hard. Afraid he'd get caught, maybe?

”I forgot. You can't really do worse than this.” Hit. ”Snape's going to eat you alive.” Slap. ”And just wait until dad hears what you did.” Punch.

In a sing-song voice, he continued. ”Just think what he'll do to you, freak.” Thwack.

Anger like he hadn't experienced in a long while pulsed through Harry. All the injustice and emotions of the days were just too much. He just wanted to fit in! That's all he was asking for. And Dudley had to be here, to ruin everything. He took away away being a wizard from Harry just like he'd taken his favorite foods or the few couple of toys Harry had ever owned.

He wanted revenge. So he punched back, for the first time in a very long time.

His fist connected with the soft cartilage of Dudley's nose, and Harry could feel it breaking, as if he was watching it from very afar. He knew exactly when the third knuckle of his right hand slammed into Dudley's face, could sense how the soft bone melded to the shape of his hand and felt repulsed when the blood started to pour. A high-pitched whimper reached his ears, and it was not, as he had first thought, Dudley's, but his own.

Harry felt triumphant, jubilant and extraordinarily happy, but at the same time, sickness threatened to migrate his lunch from his stomach to the ground.

He didn't enjoy hurting others. Even if it was Dudley. But why should he care if Dudley, who had cause Harry so much pain, was in pain himself? It was nothing more than he deserved, wasn't it?

Dudley had fallen to the ground, fingers clutching at his face, tears mixing with the blood on his face, until he was covered in a light sheen of pink. Harry passively reflected that those were some of the few real tears he had ever seen Dudley shed.

His cousin seemed too shocked and in too much pain to do much, other than to cry and wail. Harry, who was feeling slightly nauseous from pain himself, flexed his muscles to decide where he was hurt. His tummy was sore, and he could feel several colorful bruises forming on his arms. He knew those would have to be hidden somehow, to avoid people asking questions.

Questions... What would everyone say, when not only had he hit Dudley, but also tripped a professor? What would his aunt and uncle say?

That no one would believe his side of the story was something Harry took for granted. Ever since pre-school and the kind Mrs. Blake's inquiries, no one had believed Harry. It was just one of those facts one had to accept and learn to live with.

Somewhere in the distance, a bell tolled. Dinner. That would mean it was six o'clock. Harry doubted he would be in any condition to eat, anyhow, but that left only an hour until he had to be at detention? The nausea wanted to overwhelm Harry and he swallowed it down, trying to stay focused. Trying not to think of whatever punishment was waiting for him.

Slowly, Harry dragged himself back to the castle, leaving Dudley sniveling on the ground by the lake. He walked past the giant man who had taken them to the boats on the day he arrived. The huge man smiled and waved his huge hands in Harry's direction, but Harry only managed to lift his arm in something that with some squinting might have resembled a wave. The enormous man didn't seem to notice, however, and just smiled even broader.

When Harry finally got all the way to the Gryffindor tower, he barely had time to change his bloodstained shirt to a clean one, and explain that he had been out thinking to Ron, before he had to run to the dungeons.

He was sweating and panting, but he somehow made in to his detention on time. Harry knocked on the uninviting oak door, and waited.

”Enter,” a cool voice snapped. Harry hesitated for a second, then obeyed.

Snape was sitting at his desk, neat piles of paper in front of him. He didn't rise when Harry came into the room, but remained seated, with his eyes trailing Harry. Unsure of what to do, Harry stopped, but when Snape's eyebrows snapped together he hurried to stand in front of the desk. He clasped his hands behind his back to stop them from shaking. Pressing his nails into his palms, he fixed his eyes on the floor and waited.

”I see, Mr. Potter, that your ability to follow rules has not improved since you first arrived here,” Snape said, his low voice echoing off the stone walls. ”I've found that this is mostly due to lack of discipline in a student's life. I'm not surprised to see it from the wizarding world's hero.”

Snape paused, rearranging a pile of what looked like newly graded tests (massive amounts of red ink had been used to correct them).

”I will not tolerate behavior like this.. You are lucky you are not on your way to the Headmaster's office right this minute. In not expelling you, I am doing you a great favor. Do you understand, Mr. Potter?” he continued.

Harry nodded.

”Manners, Mr. Potter. Have you not been taught that?” Snape drawled lazily.

”Yes, sir. I have.” Harry closed his eyes briefly and imagined his mind like a gentle pool of water. calm and still, like the surface of a mirror. No matter what anyone said, it would glance off him.

”Do not think I didn't consider throwing you out with your head first, Potter. I assure you that the punishment I will hand you will seem a thousand times worse than expulsion. You might wish I had had you expelled.” A pause. ”Pity. You will suffer.”

Harry felt a sharp pain as his nails broke through the skin of his palms.

”Do you have any experience in the area of cleaning, Potter?”

Harry opened his mouth to reply.

”Don't bother to answer. The boy-who-lived, doing actual work? I highly doubt it. The Prophet would have announced it on their first page long ago.” Snape sneered, and Harry struggled to keep his eyes off the Professor's yellow teeth.

Nothing happened for a few seconds.

”What are you waiting for?! They won't get clean by themselves, Potter,” Snape pointed a finger towards the back of the room, where every cauldron, container and pot in the entire castle (or so it seemed to Harry) stood. They were all incredibly dirty, and Harry estimated just cleaning one of them with proper supplies would take a good ten minutes. Sighing, he walked over to them, found soap and a brush and got on with it.

The room was quiet. The only sound was the sound of scratching from Snape's quill and the hard brush scrubbing against metal. Harry was feeling every bruise Dudley had given him, and his muscles were sore and aching. It appeared almost as if Snape has spelled the dirt to be extra-resistant, because even though he tried his hardest, it took him longer than he'd ever expected. He heard a clock chime eight, nine, ten in the background, and by now he was tired enough to collapse on the ground. Harry could hardly believe that only this morning he'd helped Neville remove jam stains.

A lot of good that had done him.

The next day brought mixed feelings for Harry. They were having their first lessons in flying a broomstick today, and he had looked forward to it since Hagrid had first told him about Quidditch. He still wasn't entirely sure how one flew on a broom or exactly how it worked but it sure seemed fun. On the other hand, they had been told earlier that week that they were supposed to have lessons together with the Slytherins. Not so good for Harry. He decided to ignore that part of the day and just look forward to learning something new.

At breakfast Neville showed off his new Rememberall and Harry felt a brief glimpse of jealousy at the gift. It was such a small thing but Neville's grandmother had taken the time to pick out and owl something that would be of help to her grandson.

Harry glanced over at the Slytherin table and saw Malfoy open his customary package of sweets from his parents and Dudley cramming his mouth full with a Mars bar Aunt Petunia must have sent him. His face showed no sign of the bruises Harry knew he must have given him two days earlier so Dudley must have gotten help either from Madame Promfrey or from Snape. Harry wasn't sure which of the two he least wished to have tended Dudley. Madame Promfrey had seemed like a nice enough lady from the little he had seen at the welcoming feast and he would hate for her to think ill of him. On the other hand, Snape didn't need another incentive to hate Harry. In any case, he figured he'd find out if Dudley had tattled on him soon enough. He'd probably already owled his parents.

”Whatcha got, Longbottom?”
It was Malfoy.

He reached out and snatched Neville's Rememberall, tossing it from one hand to another.
”Give it back, it's a present from my gran!” Neville said, rather softly.

”I wonder why she bothers. Everyone knows you're a lost cause already. I heard your family thought you were a squib for ages. Amazing they let you come here at all...”

Neville's face glowed with embarrassment and he looked down at his hands.

”Yeah, big wonder,” Dudley added. He had come up after Malfoy and his cronies and was standing to the left of them, a couple of steps behind them. At his words, Malfoy turned around and fixed Dudley with an icy glare.

”Who asked you, fatso?” he asked, contempt in his voice. The two boys stared at each other until Dudley give in and left, moving as fast as his rotund body would allow him.

”This school sure has gone downhill. I can't imagine what my father will say. Enjoy your toy, squib.” Malfoy tossed the Rememberall into the air and Neville caught it, but just barely. He looked absolutely devastated, and Harry was sure he could see wetness on his cheeks before Neville quickly wiped it away with an angry hand.

”I got in. I got in. I did get in, that means I'm not a squib... I'm not,” Neville mumbled, more to himself than to the other first year Gryffindors. They hurriedly assured him that he wasn't, of course not! Even Harry joined in, even though he hadn't the slightest idea what the word meant. He'd ask Ron later.

Flying lessons were held just outside the castle on the big lawn there, probably so there wouldn't been a lot of things in their way in case the brooms got away from them. Hermione was clutching Quidditch through the Ages in her arms and Harry could see that her knuckles were white. Brooms lay in two neat rows and Madam Hooch, their teacher, stood in the middle with her hands on her hips. She was a stern-looking woman with well-muscled arms and a sharply cut mouth. She balanced back and forth onto the balls of her feet, as if she was too impatient to stand still. Her steel gray hair was short and looked as though she drove her fingers through it often, to keep it out of her eyes.

Harry went up to a broom and studied it carefully. It didn't look very much like a broom one used for sweeping, it seemed more designed and thought-out. Some of the twigs were broken and bent, however, and he remembered hearing Fred and George complaining about the inferior school brooms. He swallowed. Suddenly his mouth felt dry and his insides clenched with anxiety.

He wasn't the only one. Neville looked positively ill and Hermione's face was stark white against the frame of her bushy hair. Dudley also seemed worried, and Harry was sure it was because Dudley hated any kind of exercise, mostly because his large body prevented him from taking more than a few steps without panting.

”Alright, settle down!” Madam Hooch cried in a commanding voice. Harry had already decided she was a no-nonsense lady whom he did not want to cross.

”Each of you, choose a broom and hold out one hand over it. When I tell you, say 'up!' in a firm voice, but without shouting. Understood?” All the students nodded in unison.

”On the count of three then. One...two...three! UP!”

 
Amazingly enough, Harry's broom lifted off the ground and he caught it squarely.

He was one of the few who had succeeded though. Hermione's rolled weakly on the ground, as did Dudley's. Neville's hadn't moved at all and Dean Thomas' only came half-way before it fell back to the ground with a slap.

”You have to be convincing! Want it! Those who did not succeed, again!”

”UP!”

After two more tries, everyone (even Dudley, Harry noted with disdain) managed. Madam Hooch now showed them how to mount their brooms, and this took a good amount of time. Eventually they were all set up and ready to start flying! Unfortunately, that was when things started to go downhill.

Neville, in his nervousness, shot up into the air like a cannon ball and ended up sprawled, clutching his wrist in agony. Madam Pomfrey whisked him off to the Hospital Wing with a warning for them to 'stay on the ground, or else!'

The student broke into smaller groups, discussing the incident and wondering if they would get to try flying this week or not. After a few minutes, they were interrupted.

”Did you see the big crybaby?

”Look what I found! It didn't do him much good, he forgot his brain someplace anyway!” Malfoy triumphantly waved Neville's Rememberall in the air.

”Give it back, Malfoy,” Harry said, surprised at how calm his voice sounded.

”If you want it, come and get it, Potter. Or are you too much of a coward?” Draco walked over to his broom and in an instant, he was in the air, 15 feet above the ground.

And Harry was after him, before he even had the chance to think the plan through properly. And he chased after Malfoy and Malfoy taunted him and Neville! Harry was so angry he couldn't see straight. If he could just get Neville's present back...

Suddenly he was on the ground, clutching the glass ball tightly in his hand and with the sound of cheers from the other Gryfffindors in his ears. And Malfoy... Malfoy was staring at him, dumbfounded.

The broom fell from his hands onto the ground and he heard slap against the hard surface. He clenched his hands into fists and felt the Rememberall's cool glass against his palm. The cheers had died down and the pitch was eerily quiet. Malfoy had not spoken and neither had Dudley. Dudley's eyes were wide and filled with something Harry identified as a reluctant awe. Harry was sure his cousin had never seen him as good at something. In school, his aunt and uncle had always forced him to perform badly and he had never played sports or worked with computers. All Dudley had seen him do was clean and cook and those chores were so ordinary that Dudley would not consider Harry to 'be good at them'. But flying, apparently, was a talent of Harry's. And Dudley had realized this.

Harry's stomach and head apparently thought he was still in the air, he felt so light. He looked away from Dudley and stumbled backwards. Small, strong hands caught him and Hermione's bushy hair filled his vision.

”Are you alright, Harry?” She spoked quietly and Harry was most likely the only one who heard her. ”Here, sit down. You look pale.”

She pulled him away from the others and gently sat him down on the ground. She tried to pry the Rememberall from him but he held on to it. Everything he saw was black around the edges, like he was looking at the world through a pair of binoculars. The thought of walking around with a huge pair of binoculars taped to his face made him giggle softly and he felt Hermione's hand tighten on his upper-arm.

”... thinking, Harry?”

He shook his head.

”What?”

”What are you thinking about, Harry? Are you sure you're alright?”

Harry closed his eyes. He still felt lightheaded and... odd. But it wasn't in a bad way He felt like he usually did after Dudley and his gang had played Harry hunting, only in a.... better way. He couldn't explain it. The rush from being up in the air was gone and he felt tired and content

”I feel... Fine. Honest!” He tried a smile and was relieved when small dimples showed in Hermione's face.

He took a deep breath and pushed himself of the ground. The grass was soft and still damp from the morning dew. His fingers pressed into the moist dirt and he was reminded of days spent on his hands and knees planting flowers and weeding. The dirt in his memories was always dry and crumbling.

Harry was on his feet and was brushing off his trousers when he heard it.

”POTTER!”

Harry's stomach hit his toes and continued down.

A glance confirmed what his ears had already told him. Professor Snape was stalking towards him, face pale and eyes blazing. His black robes billowed with movement like a morbid banner. A few steps behind the Professor, Dudley was struggling to keep up. He did not have to struggle to keep the wicked grin off his face.

”I see Madam Hooch has seen it fit to leave you unattended.” He sneered. ”Tell me, Mr. Potter, did she give you any instructions before letting you loose?”

He came closer to Harry with each word, until they were quite close to each other. Harry nodded in reply to his question.

”Speak up, boy, I can't hear you.” Snape took a step towards Harry and Harry took one back.

”Yes, sir.”

”Indeed? Did you listen long enough to comprehend them?”

”Yes sir. She told us to...”

”Yes?” Snape's voice was a silken threat.

”To stay on the ground, sir.” Harry raised his chin and dared a look at Snape.

“I assume you did not think this applied to a hero, then?”

“No sir, I...”

“Quiet.” The silken command was so soft Harry wouldn't have heard it if he hadn't been expecting it.

“Potter, you are perfectly incorrible. It doesn't to me, but it may come as a surprise to some... others. Fortunately, you are doing your best to prove them all wrong. I can only hope you continue doing so.”

Harry had to bite the inside of his cheek very hard to keep from replying.

“You cannot be trusted on a broom and around your fellow classmates. You were showing off and endangering the other students. You are a menace, Mr. Potter.”

Harry kept his necked bowed. Words, they were only words. It didn't matter to him that the other Gryffindors heard them. Or that the Slytherins got more ammunition to use against him. Or that he was being punished for what Malfoy had done. It d  i d  n o t  matter to him. At all.

But it did to Ron.

“Sir, it wasn't his fault! It was Malfoy that started it.” The redhead was ready for a fight, his body weight balanced and fists clenched.

His outburst was only met with contempt.

“Mr. Weasley, I can’t recall asking you for your opinion.”

“Punish Malfoy! It was his fault! Harry didn’t do anything!” Ron stepped closer to Snape, throwing his hands up in the air, seemingly in an effort to make the professor understand. Harry saw Snape’s lip twitch in a gesture that reminded him of Uncle Vernon’s cruelest moods. Ron , however, did not notice it and opened his mouth to protest once again.

Harry darted forward and laid a hand on his friend’s forearm.

“It’s okay,” he breathed into Ron’s ear. Ron turned his head and wide blue eyes met solemn green. “He won’t change his mind. Just let it go. I don’t care. Honest.”

“But…” Ron started to protest, but a glance at Snape’s crossed arms made him snap his mouth shut.

“Thanks.”

“If you are quite finished with this touching display,” Snape said. “You have an appointment with some of my cauldrons, and I assure you they will not listen to your orders, Potter.”

He stepped forward and grabbed Harry by his right arm and started to walk towards the castle. Harry had to choice between following Snape or being dragged, and all and all, he felt he had made enough of a fool of himself for one day. Snape did not speak on the journey to the Potions classroom except from muttering charm to unlock the doors, nor did he let go of Harry’s arm.

Once they had entered the empty classroom, Snape shoved him towards the center of the room in the direction of the sink. Harry understood the not so subtle hint and mentally prepared himself for aching muscles and tired arms.

“Potter!”

Harry jumped and turned around.

Snape stood behind his desk and leaned towards him with both hands on the surface.

“Never order your lackeys around near me again. It’s a disgusting habit and I intend to cure you of such manners before the year is out. I realize you have been pampered and spoiled like a prince all your life and that you expect that treatment here. Think again, boy. I see right through you.”

Snape’s voice was calm and collected, just as it had been when he lectured the first years on the uses of vervain in healing potions. But the last sentence was filled with such malice that Harry’s stomach made contact with his toes for the second time that day. And cure him? Harry didn’t want to be ‘cured’. As if he ordered people around!

Harry had felt reality slip away from him bit by bit during the day. It had been so different from anything he had ever experienced before. Flying, the exhilarating feeling of the wind in his air, Malfoy, Dudley’s thunderstruck expression when Harry was actually good at something, Ron standing up for him and now Snape wanted to cure him?

“I don’t give Ron orders!” He tried to protest. The mere thought of telling people what to do went against his upbringing.

“You will call me ‘sir’, boy!” In a way it was a comfort to have Snape yell at him. It brought Harry back to the ground, made him remember that after all he was just Harry who lived in the cupboard under the stairs. Just Harry.

“I don’t give Ron orders, sir! I just… I just didn’t want him to get in trouble for what I did. I…”

“What, Potter! “ Snape snapped.

“I know I was wrong, sir.” Best to apologize. It was always best to apologize. “I’m sorry. I should’ve listened to Madam Hooch.” Harry glanced up at Snape, who still leaned forward with his palms on his desk. His eyes were cold and mocking.

“So you say now, boy.  Get on with your scrubbing. I don’t want to listen to your useless apologies.”

Just Harry under the stairs.

++++

McGonagall gave to Gryffindor’s dorm later that day, when Harry had been released from Snape’s classroom. She made him part of the Quidditch team, the youngest seeker in a century! Reality slipped away from Harry and he was the Boy-who-Lived again. Harry under the stairs was back under the stairs once more.

Ron took the news of Harry’s appointment quite well. Hermione congratulated him but made sure to tell him she wasn’t sure if it was appropriate to reward him for breaking the rules. Neville smiled kindly and the others were simply happy for Harry. Malfoy didn’t even try to hide his jealousy. What Dudley and Snape thought Harry didn’t know.

The thought of playing Quidditch using the useless school brooms (Fred and George had given him more than enough stories about their quality to scare him) dampened Harry’s spirits for several days. He was used to second-hand things but things felt different. Flying was his thing and not Dudley’s, after all.

But when the package arrived, broom-shaped with an accompanying letter, Harry’s first thought wasn’t about how much easier flying would be but about how Dudley would react.

Dudley found him shortly after breakfast. Years of experience had taught Harry that Dudley would find him, no matter how hard he tried. His cousin may have been stupid academically but he had a sort of sneaking intelligence. Looking back at it, Harry wondered if Dudley’s magic had made it possible for Dudley to find him even at the most impossible hiding places.

“I want it!”

“What, Dudders?” Harry thought it better to play the fool to give him some time to think.

“Whatever you got, I want it!”
“It’s mine, Dudders, you can’t have it! And there’s no one here to make me give it to you!”

Dudley rushed forward and yanked the package from Harry’s hands. Harry grabbed at it, trying to get a good grip and take it back, but Dudley was faster and heavier than him. Harry toppled over but jumped to his feet again and ran to catch up with Dudley. It was HiS package, his gift, and Dudley wouldn’t take it from him.

He managed to trip Dudley who dropped the wrapped broom and Harry snatched it up. Dudley refused to give up and soon the two boys were on the ground in a heap of arms, legs and brown wrapping paper. Dudley was bigger but Harry was much more determined and for the first time they were equally matched in a fight. Harry had made up his mind. Dudley would not take this from him.

The boys could have gone on quite a while, or at least that’s what Harry felt, if they had not been interrupted by sharp footsteps on the stone floor. Soon a par of black leather boots came into Harry’s line of sight and he knew Snape was there.