That weekend found Harry in Hogsmeade, accompanied by Ron and the twins (Hermione had felt more of her time should be dedicated to successfully reading every book in the library). With much relief from finally being allowed out of the school grounds, the foursome walked with high spirits towards Honeydukes sweet shop. Fred and George spent most of their time teasing Ron, who'd look to Harry for support and was found wanting.

They quickly made their way into the heavily crowded shop, pushing past a group of third years with a muttered apology (or in Fred and George's case, 'watch it!'). After demolishing an intricate display of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans and struggling to the front of the shop through the hoard of students and other, more unfortunate, customers, the four of them had bought their purchases and were walking swiftly towards the Three Broomsticks.

As they hurried along the hustling street, Harry half-heartedly listened to the conversation flitting around him, but he didn't participate. He watched distractedly as the old cobbles whirled past his feet in a whirl of colour, occasionally a well-worn boot or newly purchased high-heel coming into his line of vision. None of it seemed to register however. The light from the ever humid sun glared down upon him and he studied the mass of shadows that danced by.

“Oof!”

He collided with someone in the street. He brought himself back to awareness and realised that he'd kept walking past the Thee Broomsticks altogether and had instead bumped into -

“Attempt some form of perception, Potter,” snarled an incredibly irate Professor Snape, who seemed far more annoyed then was the norm. “Despite its difficulties.”

“Sorry, Professor,” Harry muttered quickly, and looked around for either the twins or Ron. They weren't in the street. They'd left him! He turned back to Snape with the intention of asking if he'd seen where Ron had disappeared to, he was too late. The Potions Master was already striding back towards an irritated Professor McGonagall. With her stood a large group of disgruntled Slytherins, apparently arguing about where they should go next. The sight was indeed ... odd. Harry was more pleased now then ever before that the Sorting Hat hadn't placed him in Slytherin.

“If you are unable to make a reasonable decision amongst yourselves than I'm afraid I will choose for you,” Professor McGonagall threatened exasperatedly. The gaggle of students paused for a moment and stared at her in horror before arguing more hurriedly and fiercely than ever before. Harry grinned as McGonagall rolled her eyes, seemingly at the end of her tether. Snape wasn't doing anything to help the situation either. In fact, he wasn't doing anything at all. If Harry hadn't known better, he would have sworn that the Potions Master was actually sulking!

“Harry?” Ron called to him from the entrance of the pub. “Are you coming or what?”

Harry nodded and quickly retraced his steps. He pushed open the door Ron had just disappeared behind and was instantly enveloped within the warm, friendly atmosphere that was the Three Broomsticks, full of the bombinating hum of cheery conversation. A streak of flaming red hair flew past him towards the bar, and looking in the other direction he spotted Ron and Fred sitting in the corner, all of their newly purchased sweets scattered on the table. He quickly went to join them.

“All right there, Harry?” Fred asked cheerfully. “Thought we lost you for a minute.”

“Yeah, sorry. Wasn't paying attention,” Harry responded evasively. He had no desire to go into detail about his private thoughts.

“George is getting a round in,” said Fred eagerly. “I reckon with the place this busy we might be able to get some Firewhiskey.” Harry glanced around. Indeed, poor Madam Rosmerta was rushed off her feet. There seemed to be an endless stream of Hogwarts personnel, students and staff alike, rushing in and out of the pub. More wizards from the village and some others besides were there too, all of whom were demanding drink after drink at the bar. Harry would have hated to have been Madam Rosmerta. He could just about see the top of George's vibrant hair in the midst of the crowd.

“Best sit back, lads,” said Fred languorously as he leaned his chair back on two legs and placed his feet on the table. “We might be here for a while.” Ron shook his head bemusedly at that, looking towards George, who was bobbing up and down on his feet trying to get the barmaid's attention, with a look somewhere between sympathy and laughter. Harry grinned.

“Fizzing Whizbee, Harry?” Ron offered, holding out a colourful box to him.

“No thanks,” he said, he didn't really relish the thought of levitating around the pub, and with Fred there, who knew what he and his twin had done to it.

“We haven't poisoned it, you know,” said Fred, feigning hurt. Harry raised an eyebrow at him sceptically, to which Fred smirked mischievously. He then reached forward and patted Harry on the shoulder proudly. He said, “we've taught you well.”

Harry laughed at that. Indeed, they had.

“Oi! Careful!” came George's indignant warning as he struggled through the mass of bodies towards the three of them in the corner, whilst balancing all four bottles of Butterbeer. “Make way! Coming through!”

He finally reached them after forcefully shoving a Hufflepuff fourth year out of the way with an elbow. He glared at them.

“A little help would have been nice!” He said as he placed the bottles on the table. He gestured to himself, “look at the state of me!”

Harry had to admit, he was a mess. While barging through the crowd he had sloshed warm Butterbeer down the front of his robes, effectively ruining them. Ron snorted a laugh, Fred attempted a neutral expression but failed miserably and Harry grinned at him.

“You should've said something,” said Fred casually. George smacked him across the head. “Hey!”

Ron rolled his eyes at his two, supposedly, older brothers and turned to Harry while the twins bickered.

“Wanna go to Zonko's later?” he asked. Harry nodded, but glanced worriedly at the twins.

“Only if those two stay well away,” he said. “I don't really fancy being turned into any animals today.”

“Too right,” laughed Ron. There was an uproar in the noise level then, and the two of them turned towards the source. Near the bar there was a small group of Slytherins, none of whom Harry recognised as being in his year. They were completely unsupervised, which strictly went against the new regulations, and Harry wondered how they'd managed to escape the hawk-like gaze of the Professors. Around them were Gryffindors older than Harry. He recognised Lee Jordan, the twins' friend, in the throng. They were taunting them.

“Where's your Slytherin cunning now?” One boy snarled as he shoved a smaller member of the group belligerently.

“Death Eater!” Another accused angrily. Others began to join the fray, shouting insults at the Slytherins and roughly manhandling them. Fred and George stood up on their chairs to get a better look. A Slytherin, an older member, began to argue back. He was practically nose to nose with one of the Gryffindor's.

Smack! The Gryffindor, someone in Fred and George's year, had brutally thrust his fist at the Slytherin, hitting him squarely in the chest. The fight broke out. The Slytherin retaliated with a blow of his own, and the two began to swipe at each other, wands apparently forgotten. They pulled, bit, punched and kicked at each other ferociously..

“Fight! Fight! Fight!” Fred and George began to chant excitedly, and Ron stood on his chair to watch as well, transfixed. Others joined in with the twins, and a crowd gathered around the two brawling boys.

Harry could do nothing but sit there, a hapless spectator. He felt useless. The two boys continued to pummel each other with no regard to any of those watching. Madam Rosmerta ran to them in her fury and attempted to pry them apart. She received a fist of her own for her troubles. A domino effect began as other customers began to involve themselves, hurtling towards the two boys, only to be stopped by someone. They in turn began to attack each other. The situation deteriorated.

He couldn't stand it any longer. He forced himself through the mercilessly battling crowd, avoiding swift kicks and tossed bodies as he went. People were freely bleeding, children were screaming, men were bodily throwing themselves at opponents and women were shouting for them to cease. It was complete chaos. Harry shouldered through, earning a bruise here and there, before he finally reached the still warring Hogwarts students. He didn't know what to do, he searched his mind for something, anything that would help. He pulled out his wand.

“Locomotor Mortis!” He yelled, pointing his wand at the offending target - the Gryffindor. His leg's went instantly stiff and rigid. The surprise of the unexpected attack caused the Gryffindor to panic, ultimately sending him to the ground and unable to move. The Slytherin looked to Harry in shock, his profusely bleeding lip upturning into a grin. Harry couldn't return it.

A fiery shower of red sparks suddenly fell around them, instantly getting everyone's attention. The crowd stopped immediately and stared towards the caster – Snape. He stood in the doorway with his wand in one hand and Professor McGonagall on his other side. Harry could tell that he was beyond furious.

“All Hogwarts students,” McGonagall said dangerously, glancing around the room, “are to return to the school. Immediately.”

The room was paralysed. They stood, sat and lay in a mystified heap seemingly without breathing. Every student, regardless whether they were in Gryffindor or not, stared at the Professor as still as though she had attempted to curse them with an Unforgivable.

“Now!” Snape barked furiously. A flurry of movement followed his order and the students limped out with a little more than physical bruises. Ron quickly grabbed all of his and Harry's purchases before hurriedly jogging to join him in the marching battalion of wizarding neophytes towards the school. Neither Professor McGonagall or Snape said a word on the solemn promenade back to Hogwarts, but each student felt the bestial glare on their backs, a glare that burnt them far more than the broiling summertide sun ever could.

“I'm guessing we're not going to Zonko's then,” Ron muttered dryly.

They reached the doors of the school and the two Professors strode to the front of the gathering company. Eyeing each of them, McGonagall began, “you will all return to you dormitories until further notice. You are not permitted to leave,” she glanced at the twins. “And I sincerely hope each of you can explain yourselves.”

Harry was sure there was an unspoken 'or else' there. He began to walk with Ron back to the common room.

“Except -” said Snape. Everyone froze as they began to split up, heading towards their respective House dormitories. “Mr Towler, Mr Potter and Mr Harper. Follow me."

Ron gawked at Snape darkly before shooting a sympathetic look towards Harry, who sighed resignedly. He began to trudge towards the Potions Master and realised that the other names belonged to the now mauled Gryffindor and Slytherin in the Three Broomsticks. Snape led the way towards the dungeons, with Professor McGonagall in tow.

Fantastic, Harry thought ruefully. How was it that he somehow managed to get involved in everything? He followed silently after Snape and towards his office, while Towler and Harper shot disgusted looks pointedly at the other. Harry got the distinct impression that that must be how Malfoy and himself looked to Hermione. No wonder she thinks we're ridiculously immature.

They stood apprehensively in front of Snape's desk where the two Professors stood with their arms crossed, mirror images of the other. Quite the doppelgänger duo. Harry fidgeted nervously with the sleeve of his robe. This reminded him too much of his second year.

“Well?” McGonagall demanded. The three of them exchanged hesitant glances and remained silent. She let them flounder for something satisfactory to say which would correspond with their need for self preservation.

“Well what, Professor?” Towler asked quietly. Harry nearly cringed at the fierce glare from his Head of House.

“What in Merlin's name was that – that catastrophe?” she screeched.

“Why ask me, ma'am?” asked Towler innocently. Harry mentally gaped at him in disbelief. Was he suicidal?

McGonagall was beside herself. She opened her mouth as though to say something but quickly shut it and turned away from them altogether to, Harry thought, to restrain herself from deafening them.

“Because, Mr Towler,” Snape cut in icily, “the three of you seemed to be in the very thick of things. As usual,” he added as he pointedly fixed Harry with his stony glare. Towler kept silent then. Harry couldn't say that he blamed him.

“Harper,” snapped Snape. “Explain.”

The Slytherin jumped slightly in response and hesitated a beat. He seemed to be fishing for the right words.

“The Gryffindors were harassing younger members of the House, Professor. Bullying them,” he paused. “It turned into a riot.”

Bloody Slytherin! Harry mentally cried incredulously. Snape snapped his glare onto him as though he had heard, Harry would have sworn that he had.

“The full truth, Mr Harper,” growled Snape warningly. “You aren't bruised and bloody without reason, I hope.”

“No, Professor,” said Harper quietly. “I tried to stop them.”

“Unless I'm mistaken, it was Potter who was standing between Mr Towler and yourself,” McGonagall interjected. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. At least she was there to make sure that Snape didn't take advantage of the situation for his own vindictive benefit. “What were you doing, Potter?”

“The same, Professor,” he said softly.

“Fifty points from each of you,” McGonagall said despondently.

“But they started -” Towler began indignantly, pointing an accusing finger towards Harper.

“It doesn't concern me who started what,” McGongall snapped savagely. “Never has this school been so dishonoured, so violated. Never. In all my years -”

She stomped out of the room ferociously, slamming the office door forcefully behind her. The silence after her departure was deafening. Snape glared at them fiercely, before following her and wrenching the door open. He stood by it and jerkily gestured for them to leave. They trudged out one by one, heads down to avoid the leer he sent towards them.

The Potions Master hurled the door closed as Harry left the office They split up, hurriedly making their way back to the safety of their common rooms. Towler turned to Harry as he reached the bottom of the stairs from the dungeons, just as Harper disappeared down one of the dank corridors. He glowered at Harry for a moment. He muttered,

“Traitor.”