Chapter Four

Note: Harry may be being a bit too unconcerned with what people might think of his twenty-three-year-old self pretending to be eleven, but it's not like anyone is likely to conclude that he's from the future, they'll just think that he's precocious. And no, I don't think Harry will really bother to tell anybody that he's from the future because, honestly, why would he need to? And if he did, Hermione and Dumbledore would be riding him to act more responsibly since he's not actually a child anymore and not to abuse his future knowledge, and where's the fun in that?

Disclaimer: I still don't own Harry Potter.

The morning of their first flying lesson had Harry a bit nervous. Not that he didn't know how to fly, of course, far from it. But the last time had been rather…eventful. He wanted to get on the Quidditch Team, but he wasn't about to just sit back and let Neville break his wrist. Granted, it didn't do any lasting physical damage, but it had deeply embarrassed him and Harry didn't feel that he would be justified to let it all happen again just so that he wouldn't have to wait a year to join the team.

And then there was the issue of Draco Malfoy to consider. Last time, he had stolen Neville's Remembrall and the ensuing dominance battle between the two of them had earned him a place on the team. Harry had no doubt that Malfoy would pull the same stunt; the only difference was that he had to somehow repeat the catch without the accompanying hatred. It was possible that the event wouldn't take place at all, that Neville wouldn't fall off his broom. On the other hand, how was Harry supposed to prevent that? The best he could really do was a cushioning charm, which he vaguely wondered why Madam Hooch hadn't done the first time. Because, really, it's not like she could have realistically been panicked because Neville, no matter how incompetent he had seemed back then, couldn't have been the only one to have ever fallen off a broom.

Perhaps she was a Squib; he didn't think he'd ever seen her do magic. He supposed it didn't matter though, since he (unlike practically everyone else in the Wizarding World) honestly didn't care if someone was part house-elf. And no, the reason he used house elves as an example wasn't prejudice, just simple logic as to the circumstances that would lead to a house elf and a human having a baby.

He was jolted from his musing by Draco's arrival. Neville had just received his Remembrall and Draco had, as before, snatched it. Harry had never found Remembralls very useful, despite what other people said. After all, what was the point of knowing you'd forgotten something if the bloody ball never told you what it was? And for that matter, who hasn't forgotten something at any given point in time? Maybe it was like Muggle mood rings. Of course, those might have even been more pointless because chances are you already knew what you were feeling and thus didn't need a gaudy piece of jewelry to tell you.

Ron jumped to his feet, clearly eager to start a fight.

"Oh, sit down Ron. It's too early to fight," Harry complained. "I mean, we haven't even finished breakfast."

"But…but Malfoy!" Ron protested.

"Oh, he'll still be around later if you absolutely must engage in petty House-pride bickering," Harry assured him.

Ron looked a little cross at the dismissive mention of his apparent family feud with the Malfoys, but did as Harry asked. Harry briefly wondered why in the world the Wizarding World still operated on a blood feud system since most Muggle societies (and certainly all Western European ones) had outgrown generation-long grudges that nobody ever knew the meaning for and that never ended until a person from both families fell in love with each other or they killed each other centuries ago.

"Thank you," Harry said. "So what are you doing over here anyway?" he asked Draco. "Was Neville's Remembrall too shiny for you to resist?"

"Well, I initially came over here to taunt Weasel-Boy about his broom quality," Draco informed him.

Harry snorted at the double-entendre, which flew way over everyone's heads except Hermione's, who looked a little disapprovingly at Harry and muttered, "Boys."

Draco just looked at Harry strangely and continued. "But then I saw this. Everyone knows that only losers need Remembralls. They went out of fashion at least twenty years ago." Clearly Draco didn't understand the appeal of retroness. But for that matter, Augusta Longbottom probably didn't know either, she was just old and thought toads were still in.

"Then why did you decide that you absolutely must have it immediately and couldn't have even asked Neville first?" Harry asked reasonably.

"I…" Draco trailed off, not sure how to answer that.

"Draco, are you a kleptomaniac?" Harry asked him seriously.

"What the bloody hell is that?" Malfoy asked, sensing he'd been insulted.

"A person who is compelled to steal for no adequately explained reason," Harry replied, remembering something Hermione had told him a few years back. Or it was something like that. It definitely meant stealing a lot. In fact, Harry could probably make a good case for Voldemort being a kleptomaniac. And Dumbledore, too, the items he kept from Harry because he wasn't 'mature enough' for things his father had had since he was a child until after Voldemort was defeated.

"No!" Draco insisted.

"Then I'm sure you won't have any trouble returning that," Harry smiled brightly at him.

Malfoy huffed in annoyance. "Fine," he said, handing the ball back and then returned to his table.

Harry looked up and saw Professor McGonagall, watching from the staff table, gazing at the scene with approval. Oh dear Lord, if Harry wasn't careful, they might actually make him a bloody Prefect. And while it's true that Harry was upset at the time, he quickly realized that Ron being the Prefect instead was rather nice as he didn't have to be up at all hours patrolling the corridors in case any students fancied a midnight stroll. Seriously, you'd think that Hogwarts'd have a better security system, but noooooooooooo. That's not 'traditional.' Tradition in the Wizarding World, as Harry understood it, was just what they said when their hopelessly outdated ways were questioned and served as an excuse to continue doing what they've been doing since time immemorial simply because they've been doing it since time immemorial.

"Why do you put up with him?" Hermione asked Harry once he returned his attention to the table.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked. "He hasn't actually done anything yet." And we've been here for over a week and a half, he added silently.

"Well, no," Hermione conceded. "But he doesn't seem like a very pleasant person."

Harry shrugged. "Unpleasant people need friends, too," he pointed out.

"So you're taking pity on him?"

"No, no," Harry shook his head. "I might be nice to someone because I pity them, but I would never befriend someone because of that." In fact, it wasn't even guaranteed that he'd make an effort to be civil, if Snape was any indication. Harry pitied the man immensely and he couldn't imagine if Ginny chose to marry, say, Draco Malfoy (in true Romeo & Juliet fashion) and then he told Dumbledore something he'd overheard as a way to destroy Voldemort and that ended up getting Ginny killed. And then if she had a child who (due to the recessive nature of red hair and the dominant nature of dark eyes) looked just like Malfoy with Ginny's eyes and having to teach him for six years even though they both hated each other and he'd had to live with the guilt of Ginny's death for ten whole years prior to meeting the child. (And Harry had heard that Draco was planning on naming his first-born son Scorpius, of all things. Honestly, did that man have any sense?)

Still, it's not like Snape would actually appreciate any effort on his part and probably think he was patronizing him; so really, why not just enjoy the animosity while it lasted? Although note to self: Should Snape, against all odds, be ordered by Dumbledore to assist in his suicide, tell Order that a Death Eater did it and then refuse to talk about it claiming 'trauma.'

"So then why?" Hermione pressed.

"I just think that life would be a lot simpler if I kept my list of enemies down to a bare minimum. Malfoy could probably do quite a bit to taint my Hogwarts experience if he so chose, and I know that he endorses Death Eater views, but he's eleven; he doesn't really understand it. Besides, I've always wanted a friendly rivalry with someone and he seems like he could be a fun rival," Harry explained.

"So you don't really like him?"

"Not really, but then, we've been here for a week and a half; I don't really know him." And it was true. Even after knowing him for twelve years, he still didn't.

"Fair enough. Now, what do you mean he supports Death Eaters? As in Voldemort?" Hermione asked. Harry was a little surprised that Hermione used Riddle's chosen pseudonym, not the Ministry-approved euphemisms, but then again, she'd only been really introduced to the Wizarding World two weeks ago, so perhaps she hadn't gotten into the habit yet. Or ever, if Harry could help it.

"Draco's father is a Death Eater," Harry told her quietly. "And his mother supports his Pureblood ideologies in principle, but doesn't want Draco caught up in all of that."

"Then why didn't they arrest Mr. Malfoy, if he was a Death Eater?" Harry asked.

"Did I mention that Saint Mungo's just happened to finally receive enough funding to build a children's wing right before Lucius was to have been tried?" Harry asked innocently.

"Bribery?" Hermione asked scandalously.

"Get used to it," Harry advised her.

"And what exactly is Pureblood ideology? I mean, I've read up on the War, of course, and it's mentioned quite a bit in there, but it doesn't really go into much detail on WHAT it is, they just assume that you already know," she told him.

Harry sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. How best to explain? "You'll find that Blood Purity, like many things in the Wizarding World, makes no sense whatsoever. Wizards, of course, don't seem to notice this and continue to act like it's the gospel truth. It's basically the school of thought that only those who are pureblooded have a right to be wizards and everyone else is inherently inferior. They won't actually give any reason as to why they think that, save occasionally someone mentioning that Muggle-borns live the first eleven years of their life in a completely different culture. Note that that is exactly like saying that someone who was raised in a different country is inherently inferior because they don't understand British ways."

"What is a Pureblood exactly? I mean, I get the whole 'descended from wizards' thing, but how far back does it have to go?" Hermione asked.

Harry grinned. "Technically, it means that you have four wizarding grandparents. My grandparents on my mother's side were Muggles, so I'm known as a half-blood. Any children I have, though, will theoretically be Purebloods, despite their Muggle-born grandmother. Of course, I'm sure that Blood Purists won't actually admit that she could possibly be a Pureblood. For most people, I think it's 'if you know how closely related to a Muggle you are, you're too closely related to be a Pureblood.'"

"How do they manage to keep from marrying Muggles or half-bloods?" Hermione asked. "I mean, there can't be very many proper Pureblood families, can there?"

"Nope," Harry smirked. "In fact, they seem to die off all the time."

"Then how…?" Hermione trailed off, thinking.

"Guess."

"Oh, don't tell me they…" Hermione trailed off again, looking slightly green. "You know what, I think I have my own philosophy regarding marriage: 'If you know how closely related you are to someone, you're too closely related to date.'"

"Works for me," Harry agreed, making a mental note to never look up his or Ginny's family tree under any circumstance.

Harry looked over in time to see Neville's broom take off. He was rising pretty quickly and Harry tensed, waiting for him to fall. When he did, Harry quickly and silently cast a cushioning charm. There was a loud thump as Neville hit the ground, but overall he seemed to be okay. Of course, try telling that to Madame Hooch, who insisted on taking him to the Hospital Wing anyway.

"None of you is to move while I take this boy to the Hospital Wing! You leave these brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.' Come along, dear," she said and guided him back into the building.

"Oh please," Harry said, wondering how he could have possibly believed that last time. "The worst we'll get is a detention."

Malfoy burst into laughter when he was sure that Madame Hooch was out of earshot. "Did you see his face, the great lump?"

"Shut up, Malfoy," Parvati snapped.

"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" asked Pansy. "Never thought you'd like fat little cry babies, Parvati."

"To be fair, it's not like he was crying," Harry pointed out. "I don't think he was even hurt."

"How could he not be hurt? He fell thirty feet," Lavender reminded him.

"True," Harry nodded. "But it's not like he hasn't fallen from great heights before without getting injured."

"Look!" Malfoy exclaimed, spotting Neville's Remembrall and rushing forward to pick it up. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him."

"I swear," Harry said, somewhat annoyed. "What is it with you and that thing? I'm sure if you really want one that badly, your father can buy you one."

Malfoy flushed. "I do not want one!"

"Coulda fooled me…" Harry muttered. "Because it seems like you keep stealing Neville's because you're jealous that you don't have an awesome magical mood ring."

Draco looked confused at the end of Harry's statement, but quickly rallied. "Nonsense, I just think that it's an affront to proper wizards when someone from such an old family has to rely on those."

"Um, pardon me," Hermione spoke up. "But what do you mean by 'old family.' Aren't all families equally old?"

"Well, yes," Draco admitted reluctantly. "But I meant old Pureblood wizard family."

"Just checking."

"So you hope to cure Neville of his reliance on this (which, given he got it this morning, isn't exactly an issue) by doing what, exactly?" Harry asked.

"Destroying it," Draco replied promptly.

"The sad thing is, you probably are trying to help him in a rather twisted way," Harry remarked. "I probably can't force you not to destroy it, but we could bet on who gets it."

"What kind of bet?" Malfoy asked, intrigued.

"Seeker competition," Harry explained. "We could give the Remembrall to someone and then have them throw it and whichever one of us catches it wins and gets to do what they like with it."

"And if no one catches it?" Malfoy asked.

Harry shrugged. "Then it'll shatter, won't it?"

"You're on," Draco agreed. "Who'll be the judge, though? We'd need to find someone impartial."

"I'm thinking…Theodore Nott," Harry said. "You wouldn't trust anyone in Gryffindor and I know that Nott doesn't take orders from you, so I guess that's about as close to impartial as we're going to get."

"I agree, Nott's a good choice. What do you say?" Draco turned to Theodore Nott.

Looking a little peeved at being dragged into this, Nott nonetheless nodded curtly and grabbed the Remembrall. Once the three of them were up in the air, Nott said, "Ready, set, go" and dropped the Remembrall.

Harry and Draco, both on rather pathetic brooms, raced neck and neck to be the first to catch it. Draco didn't really want to catch the Remembrall, per se, as much as prevent Harry from catching it and his pride wouldn't let him do anything less than his best. Finally, half a foot from the ground, Harry's hand closed over it just seconds before Draco's and they both tumbled onto the grass.

"Nice flying," Harry complimented, knowing that losing in front of all of their classmates was likely to put Malfoy in a bad mood and make him say or do something stupid.

"Thanks," Malfoy said grudgingly. "You too."

"HARRY POTTER AND DRACO MALFOY!" Professor McGonagall screeched.

Malfoy looked a little green as the Transfiguration Professor continued to yell at them.

"Don't worry; worst come to worst, we'll just get a detention and lose a few house points," Harry assured him. "Hell, we might even get some recognition for our amazing flying."

Draco perked up a bit at this.

"-how dare you-might have broken your neck-"

"Well, unless it killed me instantly, I'm sure that Madame Pomfrey could fix it right up," Harry said cheerfully. "Although it's nice to know that you care."

"Potter, Malfoy, follow me, now," McGonagall instructed.

First, McGonagall led them to the dungeons, where Snape was teaching 6th year potions. Against all odds, the Slytherin Captain, Marcus Flint (who ended up having to repeat his seventh year, unless Harry was very much mistaken) seemed to have qualified for NEWT potions.

"Severus, a word."

Snape and McGonagall went into his office to have a private discussion.

"My father is going to kill me," Draco announced.

"If you were going to get in trouble, she wouldn't need to get Snape involved," Harry pointed out.

"Then what could she possibly be talking to him about?" Draco asked.

"I don't know; how's the Slytherin Seeker?"

"Well, I heard the old one graduated last year so they haven't found a new one yet and…You don't think…" Draco trailed off, sounding incredibly hopeful.

Harry shrugged. "You never know. In fact, I'm nearly positive McGonagall's going to ask me. I heard that the Gryffindor team hasn't had a decent Seeker since Ron's brother Charlie graduated."

"But first years aren't allowed to have their own brooms."

"And you brought yours anyway," Harry pointed out.

"Still, that rule probably precludes us from playing," Draco said, sounding disappointed.

"In most circumstances, yes, but I'm Harry freaking Potter, of course they're going to make an exception."

"What about me?" Draco asked.

"They'll have to let you play, too, so it looks like I'm not getting special treatment," Harry said.

Shortly after, Snape and McGonagall left the office and Flint was called out into the hall.

"Flint, Malfoy will be playing as Seeker," Snape informed him without ceremony.

Harry gave Draco a look that said see? Draco just nodded, thrilled.

And he didn't even have to bribe his way on this time.

With that, he and McGonagall left to go find Wood.

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