Harry made his way down to the Quidditch Pitch. The sun was setting below the horizon and the air was becoming chilled. Holding his arms around his body for warmth, Harry muttered to himself about Ron's practice schedule. The dusky to dark light was a very difficult condition in which to spot the snitch. And although the pitch could be lit up with some simple charms, strange shadows would stretch across the field. At least it wasn't raining… yet.

In the locker room, Harry pulled on his warm Quidditch robes and made his way out to the team. Ron was in the middle of his pre-practice speech. "We need to be prepared to play under all sorts of conditions. Who knows when a game can continue until nightfall? So everyone stop your whinging and mount your brooms. Three on three—"

The boy was cut off when Harry lightly smacked him upside the head. The redhead turned, glaring daggers, but then quickly smiled after seeing Harry. Ron wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulder and then easily trapped the small boy's head. Tousling the already disheveled hair, Ron said, "'Bout time you showed up." Releasing Harry, he continued, "Where have you been? Is everything all right?" Without waiting for Harry's response, he turned back to the others on the team. "Run drills three through seven," he ordered. They complied, leaving Harry and Ron alone. Quickly, Ron turned back to Harry and continued talking. "After you didn't show up for lunch, Hermione and I got really worried. We tried to talk to McGonagall, but she was busy. And then we went to Snape's office, but no one answered. So we went to Dumbledore—"

Harry waved his hand, effectively cutting off Ron's discourse. "Whoa there mate. Will you let me tell you what happened?" Harry waited for Ron to nod his head yes and then continued. He explained to Ron how Snape helped expel Voldemort from his head and about how the misunderstanding between the two—along with Dumbledore's meddling—had caused the last month's hostility from the potions master. "And Professor Snape said he could maintain his new friendship with me, despite his spy duties because Voldemort has ordered him to gain my trust."

Ron twitched at the mention of the evil wizard's name, but regained his composure under Harry's annoyed gaze. "So…" Ron paused, as if about to say the name, but instead said, "You Know Who… he, he wants Snape to gain your trust?"

"Yeah," Harry replied sheepishly. Suddenly the implications started to settle in… What could Voldemort possibly accomplish if Snape had my trust?

"You don't suppose Snape is trying to be nice to you just because of—"

Ron didn't have the chance to finish his statements. Harry was busy glaring daggers at the poor boy until Ron had the brains to shut his mouth.

"Well… this can't be good, in any case," Ron added nervously.

"No," Harry agreed. "No, this can't be good. I'm sure good ol' Tom is thinking up a wonderful evil plot—that both Snape and Dumbledore know—involving my painful death. But of course I'm not privy to that kind of information."

Ron shook his head in anger and opened his mouth a couple of times as if to respond. After a moment he spoke in a neutral tone, changing the subject, "So you spent the whole day with Snape… in the dungeons?"

"Yeah," Harry replied.

"The whole day, with that greasy…" Ron trailed off. Shifting from foot to foot, he added, "What did you do?"

"Oh, I don't know, read books… laid around. Did you know he went to the meeting with Dumbledore for me?"

"No, I forgot about that… you're not—you know—"

"I'm not going to be expelled, if that's what you mean," Harry answered. "They even reduced my detentions with Quinn to one day and told him that public humiliation wasn't allowed."

"One day!" Ron exclaimed. "Well, that's brilliant… not that you deserve any detentions at all, but yeah, one day is much better than five weeks. Especially since all you did was use magic."

"Oh, about using magic. Snape said that I'm going to be allowed to practice magic in class."

"That's great! Imagine that strict bastard being told off by Dumbledore—absolutely brilliant."

"Yeah, I'm glad that I didn't have to go. Being alone in the office with Dumbledore, Snape, and McGonagall," Harry shuddered, as did Ron. "I almost feel sorry for Quinn… almost." They both laughed for a while, and the Harry added, "Guess what? I don't have to write essays anymore either."

"What!" Ron choked.

"Because of my eleven year old body," Harry explained. "Apparently, I'm having trouble managing the stress." The last line he added sarcastically, although he completely agreed—but he didn't want Ron to think he was weak.

"How would that help?" Ron asked.

"Just think about it. How much time do we spend writing out the essays? Even when we know the material, we still have to spend time organizing our thoughts. Not to mention worrying about spelling, grammar, penmanship…"

"I get all that, but how would you learn the material?"

"Well Hermione," –Ron's cheeks reddened— "I still have to study. The professors will quiz me before each class."

"Wow, I can't believe they're all going to do that for you."

Suddenly Harry remembered Snape's “Golden Boy” comment and felt awkward. Surely the teachers would make sacrifices for other students as well… if they were in the same situation. But he was beginning to feel a bit more skeptical.

It seemed as though Ron was thinking along the same lines. Harry thought he caught a familiar glint of jealousy in Ron's eyes. But the boy looked away before Harry could be sure. So they both stood there uncomfortably for a moment, unsure what else to say.

Thankfully, they were rescued from that situation when a quaffle was chucked at Ron's head.

"Hey!" Ron shouted, looking up into the mischievous eyes of his sister. "What was that for?"

"We've run the drills twice now," Ginny replied. "Unless you've got some other plans for practice, we're all going to retire." Ginny stared back at him, arms on her hips in the most striking “Molly Weasley” pose. The rest of the team was behind her, with looks of impatience and annoyance.

"Fine, fine," Ron grumbled. "Three on three Quidditch. Practice ends when Harry catches the snitch." Ron mounted his broom, still holding the quaffle. He continued his orders from the air, "Harry, you release the balls."

Harry went to do as he was told, contemplating letting the bludgers go first so that he could just follow the snitch and catch it right away.

From above him, he heard Ron shout, "snitch first and then the bludgers."

Grumbling to himself, Harry released the snitch and then turned back to the other balls. Ducking out of the way in case they decided to come after him, he released the bludgers as well. They both flew upwards toward the other players and the game began.

Harry mounted his broom and quickly ascended to his spot high above the others. He began his usual circular pattern, eyes like a hawk, searching out the snitch. Although his duties were basically the same as in a regular quidditch match, the adrenaline and excitement were not there. Instead, the flying had a rather calming effect, and Harry found himself thinking back to earlier in the day.

The relief he felt over Snape's attitude lifted a huge burden off of his shoulders. Were they friends now? Harry couldn't quite quantify their relationship. In the end, he realized it didn't really matter.

A flash of gold quickly brought him out of his musings. After a spectacular twist, he dove straight for the snitch. His smaller body allowed for smoother flying. The broom responded better to his touch and his lighter weight was easier to propel to greater speeds. All that—added to the fact that his mind knew a lot more flying techniques—made Harry much better than he ever had been before. It had only taken a couple of practices to get his body trained and ever since, Harry had been dubbed the “secret weapon.” Too bad their first match was against Hufflepuff…

Catching the snitch, Harry landed on the ground. Close behind him was the rest of team, all of whom were cheering—glad to be done with practice.

xxxxx

The next day, the trio made their way down to breakfast. It was late in the morning and they managed to make it just in time… well almost. Hermione and Harry had enough time to finish before the plates cleared away. Ron, however, had a fork load of eggs that disappeared half way to his mouth.

"Bloody hell," Ron cursed. Hermione gave him a rather harsh glare before they all got up to leave.

They left the Great Hall and parted ways. Hermione and Ron headed up to the library, whereas Harry headed to the defense classroom.

"See you in a while, mate," Ron called.

"In a long while," Harry groaned. "Oh, and don't bother stopping by to check on me. Please."

"Well, if you don't—" Hermione started to say. But she was unable to finish as Ron yanked her around the corner.

Quinn hadn't wasted time scheduling Harry's detention. The note had arrived at almost the exact moment as he sat down to eat. At least it's not at seven in the morning, Harry sighed. He walked slowly, in order to postpone the inevitable. Reaching the door he paused… it was two minutes early after all. Watching the second hand tick its way around the face of his watch, Harry knocked thirty seconds early.

"Enter," the voice within commanded.

Slowly, Harry made his way to the desk, feeling slightly nervous as he approached the overly strict man. But he knew Quinn didn't hold the same amount of power as teachers like Snape or McGonagall—at least not anymore. After Friday’s "event," his menacing image had deflated considerably. The man had lost control of his anger and his composure, a fact easily recognized by students… and now… now he would be eaten alive by the teenage population. Even worse for the man, was the fact that his detentions had been overridden by the higher ups. Harry hadn't been forced to obey and in the end his punishment was decreased to only one. Actually, it's likely they saved this one detention to allow Quinn to retain a little bit of authority, Harry silently laughed.

Halfway to the desk, Harry recomposed his expression into a smirk. At that moment, his appearances would have confirmed Snape’s former opinion of him as the "arrogant Boy Who Lived." A part of Harry felt guilty, protesting his smug mood. But in the end, he reasoned, this was all a matter of pride. Quinn attempted to squash him like a bug, and Harry stood up for himself… it was a simple as that. And now, it was the man's turn to try again… and Harry would not be quelled.

He stood in front of Quinn's desk while the man graded papers. Perfect, he wants to make me wait, Harry thought. After shifting his weight a couple of times, Harry wouldn't wait any longer. "So, your note said 10:30," Harry pointed out. "It's now 10:35. If you would like me to return later…"

Quinn stood up quickly, almost knocking over the chair. The man's already angry, Harry mused as the corner of his lip turned up ever so slightly.

"Boy, you will address me with respect." Quinn commanded a bit on edge. "You will sit at the desk, with your head down."

Harry considered it for a moment before calmly replying, "No."

"Then, I will extend your detention," Quinn spat, his cheeks growing red.

"You can extend it if you want," Harry snidely replied. "Although, both you and I know where this is leading. It was my understanding that you were told humiliation was not an acceptable punishment." Outside, Harry was calm, but he knew he was crossing a line… no way would he be allowed to talk so smugly with a teacher. If Dumbledore found out… or Snape.

Scrabbling noisily in his desk, Quinn pulled out a ruler… more precisely a meter-long stick. He rounded the desk so quickly; Harry had little time to react. Quinn was upon him now, looming over the small boy.

"Hold out your hand," Quinn commanded.

"N-no." Harry's voice wavered a bit, more out of confusion than fear.

His protest was futile, though, and seconds later Quinn had a strong grasp on his wrist. They boy tried to pull himself away, but ended up being forced to sit in the nearby chair. His position was odd enough that he was unable to maneuver away.

With his ruler hand, Quinn pulled up Harry's robe to expose the boy's pale forearm. Shortly thereafter, he swung the stick down on the bare skin. A loud snap resonated throughout the room. The blow was painful, but mostly Harry just felt disbelief.

Swing after swing, the ruler came down on his arm, creating large angry welts. Harry was not unaccustomed to pain. His eyes became red and watery—but he wouldn't allow a tear to drop. Biting his lip, he fought down any involuntary gasp.

Quinn paused to smirk, and then continued. In that moment, Harry realized the man was sick… there had to be something wrong with him.

The man stopped his attack and commanded, "Apologize for your behavior."

Harry glared at the man. He doubted his glare looked anything other than pathetic, but it still had the desired effect. Quinn's face twisted in frustration and continued his assault.

"If you apologize," Quinn prompted, "I will discontinue this punishment." The man held the ruler menacingly above the marred skin. Harry kept his mouth held shut. "No?" Another slap.

Harry closed his eyes tightly. I will just apologize… the words will mean nothing. Swallowing hard, Harry pushed his pride away. We'll see who's sorry… Once I go to Dumbledore, or even better—Snape! Opening his eyes again, Harry spoke through a clenched jaw, "I'm sorry."

The boy half expected the man to say "Pardon" or some other such nonsense. So he was surprised when he felt another painful sting.

"I'm sorry, sir," Quinn corrected.

"I'm sorry, sir," Harry repeated, sounding more bored than anything. His tone did not go unnoticed by the professor. The man grew steadily angrier than before… it was almost amusing.

"You are just a little boy!" Quinn yelled. "You will remember your place in the classroom. I am the teacher and you are the child." There was a gleam in his eyes when he said the next phrase, "Mr. Potter, say, ‘I'll remember my place.’"

Looking away, Harry settled in for the long haul. There was no way he would ever say that.

Before a blow could fall, though, a light tapping at the door interrupted them. Suddenly, Harry wondered if the man had remembered to ward it. From the panicked look on Quinn's face, he highly doubted it.

"Do not move," Quinn warned, waving the ruler in a threatening manner. He then stalked over to the door.

Meanwhile, Harry pulled down his sleeve and held his arm close to his body.

"Excuse me, sir," a polite and familiar voice spoke. "I don't mean to intrude, but you mentioned that I could borrow your book on expandable wards."

Professor Quinn hesitated before responding. Harry had the distinct impression the man had glanced in his direction. So far, Harry hadn't moved...yet.

"Yes, of course," Quinn politely responded. "Please come in, Mr. Malfoy."

Ha, so I was right, it is Malfoy, Harry congratulated himself. He watched the loathsome professor walk casually up to his desk—still carting the damned stick—followed closely by his nemesis. Much to Harry's surprise, the blond Slytherin never looked over at him.

Harry didn’t waste time pondering the matter. With Quinn distracted, Harry got up quickly and sprinted out the door. The boy wasn't stupid enough to think that the professor hadn't seen his escape. On the contrary, he hoped the man had. Harry knew he was faster, and he could run away. Let the man lumber after him, shouting all the while for him to "Be good." Maybe if he was lucky, Quinn would follow him all they way down to Snape's lair.

Halfway to the dungeons, Harry suddenly diverted to the nearest bathroom. Thankfully, the room was empty. Making his way over to the sinks, he looked in the mirror. His eyes were still a bit red, but not obviously so. He then poked at his arm—bruises were already forming.

Returning his sleeve to its proper place, Harry left the bathroom composed. As he made his way down to Snape's office, he contemplated a number of ways to tell the man exactly what had happened. In each version, he tried to brush off the embarrassing fact that he was completely helpless. By the time he reached Snape's door, he was unsure if he should say anything at all. I'm sixteen years old! Harry scolded himself. I should have been able to do something. He was about to turn away from the door, reconsidering his decision to tell Snape, but before he could, it opened.

"Back so soon," Snape drawled sarcastically.

Stuck, Harry stuttered, "I er…" He didn't know what to say, he just couldn't tell him. Snape was right; it was just a couple of nights ago that he had come crying to the man for help. He had to toughen up, be a man—he could take care of Quinn on his own. Meanwhile, Snape watched him, impatiently waiting for him to say something. Quickly, Harry blurted out; "Can I read the journals?"

"Pardon?" Snape asked.

"You know, for the explorers… Antarctica," Harry elaborated. "You said you had travel journals from some actual explorers."

"Ah, yes, I remember," Snape replied, stepping aside to allow Harry's entrance. The man then led Harry into his private quarters—Harry was still surprised to be there—and into the library.

After retrieving the book, Snape sat down behind his desk and Harry relaxed on the couch. Harry "read" the book, in a manner of speaking. But the words went through his head with absolutely no meaning.

Instead, he reconsidered telling Snape what Quinn had done. After all, only yesterday the man had said he could come to him for help. So now the only problem was how to bring it up. Harry was unaccustomed to asking for help and he still felt embarrassed over how weak he was. But he wanted Snape to know, he trusted the man.

"So," Harry said, breaking the silence. "I had detention with Quinn today."

"Hhhmm," was Snape's only response.

Er.. right. What to say next? Harry thought. Yeah it was horrible… the man whipped my arm with a ruler… No I can't say that. "I was just wondering when I would have detention with you?" Harry asked quickly.

"Next Thursday at seven," Snape replied, without looking up from his work.

"Why is that?" Harry asked, "It's almost a week away."

"Would you like me to make it sooner?" Snape drawled sarcastically, in an all too familiar tone. Harry cringed as he mentally kicked himself for being annoying. After a sigh, Snape continued, "You have quite a busy schedule."

Harry kept his mouth shut for a while longer, trying to force himself to concentrate on the book in his hand. All too frequently, he would find himself speaking again. The topics usually lingered awfully close to things like defense, detentions, and various professors. He wished the Snape would pick up on that fact and ask him about his detention with Quinn. He even hoped that the man would guess out right what had happened.

Snape never did. His responses were very limited, only a few "hhmm"s interspersed here and there. Harry knew it was unlikely the man was even listening, but he rambled on none the less.

By now, Harry was lying stretched out on the couch, staring at the ceiling. The book sat forgotten on the floor beside him. "Most of the defense teachers have tried to kill and/or hurt me at some point," he blurted out and then added, "well except for Lupin."

Snape snorted.

Harry ignored him and continued to talk. "I don't understand why everyone is after me… Er, I understand the whole Voldemort thing and all. But I mean… it just doesn't fit, you know." Harry doubted Snape had any idea what he was talking about; in fact, he didn't know what he was really trying to say in the first place. So he started from the beginning.

"I was a normal boy… not horrible in school—not great either… Well, I suppose I wasn't normal, my relatives called me a freak. And er… that's not important," Harry's cheeks were red in embarrassment. He quickly glanced over to check if Snape noticed, but the man was still scribbling away with his quill.

"Anyway," Harry continued, "my point is, I was nothing special. I didn't even know I was a wizard until Hagrid showed up and told me so. Even then, I didn’t believe him, I mean I was Harry, just Harry…" He waited for some kind of response from Snape. "Don't you understand?" he asked. "All this Boy Who Lived nonsense… it was my mother's sacrifice killed him. I mean, every amazing thing I've done has been the result of other's help, or ‘sheer dumb luck’ as McGonagall put it." And I'm supposed to kill the most powerful evil wizard… Harry thought. "Eventually this luck is going to run out. And in the end, I'm still just ‘Harry’."

"Well ‘Just Harry’," Snape said. Harry sat up with a start. The man was now standing next to the couch; Harry hadn't even noticed him get up from the desk. "I have some brewing to do," Snape continued. "Why don't you be a normal boy and go play?" The man's usual sarcastic tone was lightened, making the last phrase sound a bit like a tease. "After all, it's almost lunch. I wouldn't want your friends to think I've started chopping you up."

A short good bye later, Harry found himself in the hall outside Snape's office. He stood there confused for a moment, and then scolded himself for not telling Snape what Quinn had done. Deciding to try again later he left to go find his friends.

xxxxx

On his way to the tower, Harry ran into Hermione and Ron. They were both dressed oddly in swimming gear. Slung over his right shoulder, Ron was carrying a large heavy bag.

"Hi, Harry," Hermione waved. Harry waved back, his usual smile returning to his face.

"Hey, Harry," Ron greeted. "So, Quinn let you go? Did he make you stand in the corner again?"

"No," Harry blushed and then changed the subject. "So, what are you two up to? Going for a dip in the lake? It's October!"

"Hagrid's asked me to feed the Grindylows." Ron explained as they continued walking to the grounds. "Of course, there is enough vegetation and such to sustain the population. But Hagrid likes to feed them twice yearly to make sure they get the proper vitamins."

"Is Hagrid going to help?" Harry asked. "I mean, you do know they're not friendly?"

"I can handle it," Ron said, sounding a bit offended. "And Hermione is coming to help, too. Would you like to come?"

"Er… I," Harry hesitated, memories of the second task flashing in his mind.

"You can stay in the boat if you want," Ron added. Hermione nodded her head in encouragement.

"Well, sure, I'll come," Harry decided. They continued along in silence for a while until Harry asked, "How are you going to stay underwater?"

Hermione laughed, "Remember all that research we did? And in the end it was so simple."

"Yeah, Gillyweed," Harry reflected. "So, is that what you're going to use?"

"Hagrid gave me some," Ron confirmed. "Although I don't think I have enough for all three of us."

"Oh, that's fine," Harry replied. "As I recall, you said I could stay in the boat." He really didn't want to go swimming in the lake again.

In no time at all, Harry was sitting in a boat in the middle of the lake as his two best friends disappeared below the water's surface. He fought the urge to jump in after them and to drag them back towards the air. For a while, he stared at the ripples that were left behind from his friends’ departure, but once those faded away he decided to settle in.

Maneuvering around in the boat, he managed to find a way to lay on his back and stare up at the sky. It was gray and overcast, threatening to rain. Harry started to wonder why he decided to come with Hermione and Ron in the first place… it was rather pointless to be sitting on the boat in the middle of the lake with nothing to do. In fact, he remembered that he had done nothing all weekend and there was a lot of work that he needed to finish. He smiled to himself when he realized he no longer had to write essays, at least for the time being. Despite the cold air, Harry was filled with warmth… Snape had talked to Dumbledore, McGonagall and Quinn—all on his behalf. Was this what it was like to have a father?

Harry contemplated all the things Snape might do to Quinn, after he told the man about what happened in the detention—if he could manage to tell the man that is.

So far, Harry had spent his whole life having to take care of things on his own. He never told anyone exactly how bad life was like at the Dursleys. They out-right neglected him, locked him in a room or cupboard for days without food. He remembered detentions last year with Umbridge, the quill…and he never really told anyone about that either. He always had to take care of things on his own—the Sorcerer's Stone, the Chamber of Secrets, the Triwizard Tournament… the list could go on. Yes, he did have a lot of help from his friends, but what would life have been like if he had something more? Like a mum and dad… perhaps his mother would have come and made sure he was pulled out of the Triwizard Tournament. What if his father had come to see him play in a Quidditch match?

And on Harry’s thoughts continued, contemplating how his life would have been different if his parents had lived, or if someone had adopted him. In his boat, he hadn't noticed that it had started to rain. Deep in his thoughts, he was completely oblivious to the fact that a shield of warmth radiated around him protecting him from the weather. With the soft rock of the boat, Harry drifted off to a peaceful sleep.

For his eleventh birthday he got to go to the zoo with his friends—Ron and Hermione—and he got to pick out whatever ice cream he wanted from the stand. And he got to spend as much time as he wanted to look at the different animals. No one shuddered when he discovered he could talk to the snake. In fact, his dad was proud, clapping him on the back of the shoulder… no one mentioned that the only other parsaltongue was Voldemort, in fact no one mentioned the evil wizard at all. It was just the five of them, on a warm, perfect summer day. His mum made sure that he wasn't thirsty, hungry, or needed to use the loo. Meanwhile, his dad slipped him a twenty-pound note, saying he could buy whatever he wanted from the gift shop. Ron, Hermione, and he were all about to go on a camel ride when he felt something ice-cold splashing on his face.

He bolted upright, only to be met with two giggling friends.

"Sorry, mate," Ron laughed. "I couldn't help myself. You just looked so dry and comfortable."

Harry glared as he tried to shake off the extra water.

Hermione attempted a straight face and then gave Ron a half hearted “tsk tsk,” until they both erupted into more laughs. Harry had half a mind to push them back overboard, but it didn't seem to matter much since they were both wet already. After about three minutes of his friends' inability to regain composure, Harry relented and started laughing as well.

"The look on your face," Ron snorted. "Brilliant."

Hermione, the first to calm down, pulled out her wand and cast drying spells on herself and the two boys.

"Just you wait," Harry threatened. "I know where you sleep, Ron. And I will be getting you back."

"Oh, no," Ron gasped in mock terror. "Please forgive me, Harry."

"We should be getting back," Hermione said seriously. "It's almost dinner."

"Oh, I know," Harry laughed. "Hermione, we can hold Ron out here… as prisoner. No cake for you tonight."

Ron's face grew a bit more serious and looked pleadingly at Hermione.

"Yes, that sounds like a good idea," Hermione teased.

"Not funny," Ron muttered.

At this, Hermione and Harry broke down into fits of laughter, while Ron pulled out a paddle and attempted to single-handedly bring them to the shore. Calming down, both Hermione and Harry picked up a paddle and helped as well.

In no time, they reached the shore. Ron got out and pulled the boat closer. Like a gentleman, he helped Hermione get out of the boat. He left Harry to fend for himself. At the perfect moment, he sent a tripping hex that managed to land Harry face down in the mud.

Wasting no time at all, Harry got back on his feet and lunged after his friend. With his smaller body, he almost had no effect on his much larger friend.

Ron started laughing hysterically at Harry's pitiful attempts to knock him over. But this was the redhead's undoing—caught off-guard, he found himself falling backwards into the mud. Quickly, he flailed out and grabbed his attacker by the ankle. And with a splat, Harry too was laying in the mud.

"Boys, boys," Hermione chided. "Boys, calm down, we're going to be late for dinner."

Neither boy could even hear Hermione, much less acquiesce to her request. If anything, both their laughing increased as Harry flung a handful of mud in Ron's face.

"Hey there Weasleby, Scarhead," a cold voice called out. Instantly, Harry and Ron stopped laughing. They stood quickly in order to face their common enemy. Malfoy continued his taunts, "trying to make the Mudblood feel more at home are you?"

Ron got up quickly, his fists balled, "shut up you—"

"Ron stop," Hermione commanded, standing in the boy's way. "Just let it go. Malfoy's not worth our time."

"Weasley, you act more like a whipped dog," Draco laughed. "Listening to orders from a Mudblood. I suppose that's all I could expect from a member of the Weasley family." Ron's face grew red, his hand itching to pull out his wand, but with Hermione's hand on his shoulder, he was able to keep his calm. Draco continued, "blood traitors the lot of them." With no response, Draco turned to Harry, "Nothing to say Potter? Oh that's right, I'd be ashamed too if my own mother were filthy mudblood scum."

Harry didn't have the chance to respond before Hermione rushed forward. A loud crack sounded when her fist made contact with the boy's nose. Without another word, Draco turned and ran in the most uncouth manner towards the castle.

Left behind, his two bodyguards, Crabbe and Goyle, raised their fists, ready to retaliate. Hermione took an involuntary step backwards—two huge boys against one girl was not good odds. But she wasn't alone. As the cronies took note of Harry and Ron—both with their wands ready—they too turned and ran.

"Great shot, Hermione!" Ron exclaimed.

"Er…" Hermione didn't seem too pleased with herself. She flexed her hand and then winced in pain.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked.

She examined her fingers and noticed that the knuckles were red, "I'll be fine."

"I can walk you to the infirmary," Ron suggested.

"Not with Malfoy still there," Hermione replied. Both Harry and Ron nodded. "We need to get going. We're late for dinner already and we can't go like this." The boys took the chance to examine themselves. Hermione was still dressed in swimming gear, as was Ron. Worse then that was the fact both boys were completely covered in mud.

"Er, right," Harry responded.

As they started their way back to the castle, it began raining even harder than before and they all started to shiver from the cold.

"You know, Malfoy has been really weird lately," Harry mentioned.

"Yeah, the gits been even gitter," Ron said.

"No, that's not what I mean. Why was he even out here in the first place… in the rain?"

"I dunno, to come and insult us?" Ron suggested.

"I doubt that. He's too good for the rain."

"Harry's right," Hermione confirmed. "Malfoy wouldn't be out here in the rain unless he had to be. And I doubt he considered insulting me on his list of priorities."

They continued to discuss Malfoy's odd behavior for the rest of the trek back to the castle. Oddly enough, Harry felt a bit nostalgic—discussion of possible Malfoy conspiracies had always been a popular topic amongst the trio. Entering the castle, Harry was content to note that his only worry at the moment was Filch. The man would be livid if he caught them tracking in mud. In the back of his mind, he casually wondered what his parents’ reactions would be… his Dad's snickering overshadowed by his Mum with her arms crossed…