Disclaimer: Harry Potter, and the setting of this universe, are the intellectual property of JKR and Warner Brother, not myself- the proceeds and revenues are theirs and theirs alone. All that I own is the OC characters, and the AU information exclusive to my own fanfic.

Chapter 3: Revelations and Intimidations

Leaving the common room behind, Harry joined the stream of all the other Gryffs who were heading down to the Great Hall for breakfast as well, picking up his pace a bit and breaking into a light jog, overtaking all of the others who were taking their time and meandering along at a more leisurely pace. Harry recognized Romilda as one of them, passing her halfway down the Marble Staircase to the Entrance Hall.

She hadn't been kidding when she'd said she was popular- she was surrounded by a pack of girls which was easily big enough to rival the size of Ginny's. And he hadn't thought it'd be possible, but somehow, they were even rowdier and gigglier than Ginny's lot. When he offered the girl a quick smile and a wave in passing, more than a few of Romilda's friends actually squealed out loud, hugging her and pulling her arm up to make her to wave back.

Romilda looked more embarrassed than anything else though, shyly smiling back at him and blushing visibly in spite of her dark skin. And he'd been put on the spot by Ron, Seamus and Dean more than often enough to be able to relate. Speaking of which… Entering the Great Hall, Harry strode across to the Gryffindor table, taking his seat next to Ron. Hermione still wasn't there, and neither was Neville, but all of the other guys from his dorm were. Course, Ron was too busy tucking in to talk- the Elves down in the kitchens were really outdoing themselves with their cooking lately. But Seamus and Dean started up where they'd left off yesterday straight away.

"Oh-ho, here's our ladies' lad," said Seamus. "Move over Diggory, the Hufflepuffies have 'emselves a new heart-throb! Ain't that right, Harry?"

"She's a pretty one too," Dean added, picking up an chocolate-garnished almond croissant and gesturing towards the spot where the girl was sitting at the Hufflepuff table, those curly cinnamon locks of hers instantly recognisable even with her back turned to them. "Who'd you say she was again? 'Whatsername'?"

"It's Heather, Dean. Found out who she is, and her name's Heather. Heather Figg…"

Harry trailed off, all other thoughts grinding to a halt, as the girl's name finally registered. Hold up, just a sec- Figg? Figg?! That was the same name as the Dursleys' batty old cat-obsessed neighbour, wasn't it? The one who they'd always leave him with whenever they went off on holidays! But Ms. Figg wasn't a witch, was she? Nah, she couldn't be. Not her. Her place had to be one of the most boring, mundane places on the planet.

Sure, it'd been better than the Dursleys, but he'd never particularly enjoyed his time there. All she'd ever show him, or prattle on about, whenever he'd been left over there, were pictures of those butt-ugly, weird-looking cats of hers- whoa. Cats which all looked almost exactly like Crookshanks did! Those squashed-up faces that looked like they'd run into brick walls, those bottle-brush tails, that overly long and shaggy fur, those bandy legs…

Harry's mouth gaped open at the revelation, his breakfast completely forgotten. How had he never seen it before? Ms. Figg's cats, those ones in her photo album- they were all part-kneazles! And you couldn't get one of those if you were a muggle, could you? No, they couldn't, surely. Which meant that, Ms. Figg, she had to be…! But how? If she was a witch, then she'd have to have known who he was, right? And he'd have been clued in by her, about who he was, as the Boy Who Lived, and what he was, as a wizard, donkey's years ago- wouldn't he? Shouldn't he…?

"You alright Harry?" Ron asked, with his mouth half-full, looking a bit concerned.

"Just…" Harry snapped his jaw shut, tried to gather his thoughts. "Just wondering, that's all. D'you know if her family's magical or not? Heather Figg's?"

"Figg? Oh yeah, definitely." Ron said. "Least, they were. Mum's mentioned them before, said they fought on our side in the War. She reckoned they got wiped out by You-Know-Who though, all besides a few squibs. But if this girl's a Figg, maybe her parents pulled through? Or maybe her dad was a squib? I dunno."

"Maybe," Harry echoed dully.

"Anyhow, those lot were proper loyal," said Ron. "If she's a Figg, chances are she'll be pretty decent."

"An' soon enough, if you 'ave your way with 'er, she'll be pretty indecent, eh? Heheh…" Seamus chuckled.

While the rest of them groaned at the cringeworthy pun, Harry just ignored it, his mind elsewhere. Looking up towards the Staff Table, he could see that the Headmaster was sitting there in his customary throne-like chair, and already looking his way. Dumbledore wasn't wearing his typical grandfatherly smile either — instead, it almost looked as though there was the faintest hint of a frown on his face. Suddenly pissed off, wondering what his problem was, Harry narrowed his eyes to toss back a glare, before turning his head away in a huff, and redirecting his gaze toward the Hufflepuff table.

Harry had to admit that things had definitely improved for him since he'd managed to make it through the first task, even with the dauntingly embarassing prospect of opening the ball ahead of him. Especially with the Hufflepuffs — he hadn't been attracting nearly as much unpleasantness from them in the corridors any more, which he suspected had a lot to do with Cedric Diggory, returning the favour and telling them to leave him alone in gratitude for that tip-off he'd given him about the dragons.

There seemed to be fewer of those Support Cedric Diggory! badges around, and excluding Draco Malfoy and his bunch of cronies, no-one had flashed POTTER STINKS! at him or given Rita Skeeter's article a mention since his run-in with the Hungarian Horntail. Even so, there were still plenty of people wearing those badges at the Hufflepuff table, more than enough for Harry to get a good idea about the kind of reception he'd get from them if he walked over there, went up to where Heather Figg was sitting and asked to talk to her.

Besides, given what he wanted to talk to her about, all of these burning questions that he just had to ask now? No, it most certainly was not the sort of stuff which he'd want to discuss at a table in the Great Hall, here in front of everybody. No, it'd be for the best if he didn't get up and go over to her right now, if he waited 'til later to go find Heather Figg again and have a chat with her, in private. Later. It'd have to wait until later…

A lot later. He'd only started eating after Hermione and Neville arrived, and then, when he'd turned around, Heather Figg was already gone. He'd asked Ginny again, who'd turned up with her friends by then, to try and get an idea of where to find Heather, but that had been a big mistake. Harry still didn't have a clue what he'd done that could've ticked them all off, but whatever the reason, they'd all been properly riled up. And Ginny herself? She'd been downright savage. What was with her today anyway…?

Yeah, sure, he got that she was still grouchy 'cause of this flu she was suffering through, making her nose all runny and making her eyes water like no-one's business. But still, Harry would never have expected Ginny to do that. To Ron, yeah, but to him? Not in a million years. She'd never even so much as raised her voice at him before, but today, she'd actually raised her wand and hexed him with it, right out of the blue. He'd heard a lot about how painful that Bat-Bogey Hex of hers was from Ron and the twins, but he'd never really paid it much notice.

Now though, after he'd been on the receiving end of it for the first time, he could fully appreciate just how painful it was to have a whole host of bats all jostling with each other to claw their way out of one's nostrils. Bloody hell, even getting the insides of his nostrils scoured with barbed wire couldn't possibly hurt as much as that. It'd been almost an hour since then, and his nose was still bleeding?

Harry grimaced. Scraping a couple of wads of lint out of the depths of his pockets, he used his wand to cast Engorgios on them and stuffed them up his nostrils to try and stop up the dripping streams of blood, suppressing a hiss at the raw pain. Still, painful though it might be, there was no way he'd go to see Madam Pomfrey for something like this, for nothing more than a bad nose-bleed. He wasn't a wuss.

Meandering down the corridor alone, Harry still couldn't make up his mind whether to head for the Hufflepuff or Gryffindor Common Room. He'd invited Ron to come with him, but his best friend'd gone with Dean and Seamus instead, redoubling his efforts to get a hot girl of his own to be his partner for the Yule Ball. Ron had been kind of down-in-the-dumps though, since yesterday. Not nearly as much as he'd been before the First Task, but still…

"Potter? Harry Potter?"

Caught off guard by the girl's voice, coming from only a few feet away, Harry whipped around to face the speaker, with his wand still raised. Or at least he would've been face to face with her, if she'd been the same height as he was. As it was, he instead found himself staring straight into her bosom instead. Her pretty large bosom…

"Ah-hem. Do you mind? Up here. I have a question for you…"

Flushing red, Harry blinked to try and clear away whatever entrancement was still luring his eyes back towards her ample cleavage, and craned his neck back to peer up at the girl standing before him, looking down on him haughtily. Groaning inwardly in embarrassment as one of the wads he'd shoved up his nostrils fell out, and the blood started trickling out again. Was she giving him that look cause he'd stared at her boobs for too long, and did it just seem like she was looking down on him because she was at least a foot taller? It was kind of hard to tell…

"Eh? Oh, right. Nah, not at all- go on, fire ahead."

"Will you accompany me to the Yule Ball? Be my partner."

"You… Whoa… I, I, I don't know what to say…" Flummoxed, Harry stood there for a few moments, trying to process her request, which had sounded disturbingly like a demand. She was quite good looking; not just her hourglass figure, which looked like it could belong to one of those models from Dudley's secret stash of dirty magazines, but her face looked pretty enough as well. Or at least, it did for a second. Before the faint, fleeting smile on her face broadened into an unnervingly wide grin, with her hands curling up into fists. Her heavy-lidded eyes almost flickering with intent, she stepped in closer, way too close for comfort.

"Oh, yes you do, Harry Potter," she breathed, a few flowing locks of her dark, silky-smooth hair brushing against the side of his face as she leaned down to huskily whisper it into his ear. "Just, one, word…"

"Potter!"

Harry jumped at the sound of Snape's unmistakable voice, breaking his eyes away from hers to see the dark, towering figure of the Potions Master ominously bearing down on him, snapping him out of his stunned silence.

"Y-YES! Sorry, just, give me a sec…"

"There we go- that wasn't so hard, was it? See you soon, Potter…"

"What? No, wait- I didn't mean-" Too late. The tall girl had already gracefully side-stepped the approaching Potions Master (with Harry doing a double-take at the sight of the two of them side-by-side, and at the startling realization that she was only an inch or two shorter than Snape was), and was well on her way down the corridor, out of earshot.

"Potter! The Headmaster wants to have a word with you."

"But, I need to go after her…!"

"Ten points from Gryffindor for that blatant display of disrespect, Potter," spat Snape. "Now come along- I have far better things to be doing with my time…"

"So go off and do them! Just, give me a second, alright…?" Harry tried to go around him, but the greasy git moved to cut him, stopping him from pushing past.

"Twenty points! Back-chat me like that again, boy, and it'll be fifty!"

Taking in a sharp breath, just about managing to hold his tongue, Harry glared up at Snape angrily, staring him down, but the dark wizard didn't budge- instead, he merely narrowed his coal-black eyes, turning that ugly hooked nose of his up at Harry and fixing him with a look of utter contempt. "My my, you have been busy, haven't you Potter? The Hufflepuff and Gryffindor girls, I could understand, but I'd at least expect one of my Slytherins to have higher standards. To know better than to be taken in by your wiles…"

Say what? One of his Slytherins…? Wait. He'd almost missed it entirely, what with the pair of big distractions it'd been perched in between, but the colour of that girl's tie- it'd been green! Cripes, she HAD been a Slytherin! Snape nodded, his scowl replaced by a broad, darkly amused smirk at the expression of horror on Harry's face. "But no matter. Be it upon your over-inflated head; I believe I shall enjoy watching it get punctured at long last."

"Kill me now," Harry groaned, holding his head in his hands.

"Tempting though that offer may be, Potter, I think I'll leave that to Miss Rosier. Now move it, Potter. The Headmaster's office! Now!"