Meeting Big Brother

Chapter One: A.H. S.H.I.T.

So Euan and I didn't exactly come up with the best name in the entire world. So? Honestly, we didn't intend for the acronym to be 'ah, shit'. Really. It's just that our banner name, 'All Hate (Overly) Smart Hermione, the (Mentally) Ill Tyrant' came out that way. I'm telling the truth. And it really could not have been A.H. O.S.H.M.I.T. You see, our theory is that acronyms that exceed... erm... six letters are... evil! Yes, evil. So it had to be A.H. S.H.I.T. Don't you see? Yeah, whatever.

You might wonder why Euan and I hate Hermione. Well, maybe 'hate' is rather strong. Perhaps 'mutual dislike' would be a better phrase. You see, ever since Euan and I were sorted into Gryffindor in September 1995, Hermione has viewed us as troublesome, meddling... pranksters. Well, I beg your pardon, Miss Head Girl, but we are not pranksters. Ugh, pranksters. No, we prefer the term 'Masterminds in Humour'. Well, anyway, that first day, we turned her hair green, and she gave us detentions. And the war has been going on since. Our partner in crime up in the upper years would be Seventh Year Prefect Ron Weasley. It used to be Fred and George Weasley for a year, but then they pointed us to Ron. And our perfect Head Girl wonders how Ron is even around in Hogwarts, never mind a Prefect.

Hey, you can't blame me for being a Mastermind in Humour. Dad was one too. He and his friends got into all sorts of situations back in their day. I think he and his best mate, Uncle Sirius (my godfather), hold the record for most detentions. But Euan and I have made it our goal to break that record. So maybe we don't hate Granger all that much. I take that back. In my first year, she sent me off to Umbridge, who's our Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. I still have the scars. My hand says 'I will not swear in public'. Well, excuse me, Granger, but the Gryffindor Common Room is not public.

Mum got angry, though, after Granger sent her another letter last week. Mum's a bit... batty. You see, I'm not Mum and Dad's only child. Well, I suppose I am now, but I'm supposed to have an older brother. He died over three years before I was born, though, so I never knew him. Voldemort sent a Death Eater, who killed him a few months after he was born, and Mum hasn't been the same ever since. They say it's because of a prophecy Voldemort heard, that my brother Harry and Neville Longbottom were killed. Anyway, Mum compares me every day to Harry, even though he didn't even live for a year. And she's got this invisible friend, almost, who she calls Richard, or sometimes Dick.

Richard was actually going to be the name of the brother who would have been two years older than me, had Mum not have had a miscarriage. But she did, and when I was born, she was very insane. But back to the letter. Mum actually said that if Harry were still alive, he would be the perfect role model, and Head Boy, even. Well, if that was so, I'd be happy. Having anyone, even an older brother, as Head Boy would be better than having that rich, nancy-boy prat, Draco Malfoy as the Head Boy.

I suppose I should talk about A.H. S.H.I.T. After all, it's what got me in detention with Euan for a week... with Mum.

Mum's the assistant to Madam Pomfrey. Sometimes, Mum's normal. Other times, you'll see her babbling to Dick. And maybe, if you're unlucky, she'll throw an insane fit. That has happened six times in my life. Euan and I were set to scrubbing out the bed pans, without magic. That's cruel and unusual punishment, especially because we had Quidditch practice all week. Ron, who's the captain of our team, was furious with us.

We didn't make it better by wearing our A.H. S.H.I.T. badges either. It was planned as an act of... er... patriotism to our Granger-hating cause, but all it got us was another week of detention, for impudence. And the detentions were given to us by none other than Mum. It was horrible. It went like this:

"What are those?" Mum asked dangerously. Sometimes, I wish she was insane twenty-four seven. That thought crops up so many times a day that I know I'll be carted off to pitchfork-land without question. I'll probably live under the devil or something like that if you couple the thought with all our Humour Operations, or what Granger likes to call pranks.

"What what?" I asked innocently, flashing her my award-winning innocent grin. Well, I suppose it's not award-winning, but close enough. "Do you mean our badges? Mum, we're honourable men... we're very loyal to our organisations. These badges show our support for the noble cause we have created..."

"Men?" said a snarky, rich-boy, bastard-like voice. Hmm... let's all think. Who is this git intruding our conversation? Uh, how about our very own Head Boy, Malfoy? Hey, Malfoy, has anyone ever told you not to bully students younger than you, especially if you're Head Boy and the student's mother is right next to them?

"Why, hello Draco," Mum said in a friendly voice. The thing with Mum is, well, she seems to think that if Harry were still alive, he'd be best mates with Malfoy. God, no. Just because he's second only to Granger in academics does not mean a Potter would be best mates with him. Yeah, right. If Harry were still alive and was best friends with him, I'd probably kill myself. Because there is no way I would want to spend the summer holidays with Malfoy. The school year's already too much time to be breathing in the same air as Malfoy.

"Hello, Mrs. Potter," Malfoy said in that... ugh... what he thinks is a charming voice. And I suppose what Mum thinks is charming too, since she beamed and walked away. No, Mum, don't leave! No! Aw, crap. Malfoy turned to us, his usual (un)winning smirk on his ferret-like (but for some reason, the girls seem to love it, bleh) face. "Well, if it isn't Potty and Dumbo," he said.

Euan's got these big ears, and the big joke is that when he was sorted, the hat was only held up because his ears were that big. The Slytherins have been calling him Dumbo, though I haven't the foggiest idea what they're talking about. Euan told me it was a Muggle thing, called Dipney, or something like that. He's Muggle-born, so he knows that kind of stuff. Though that doesn't answer the question of how all the Slytherins know about this Dipney. It's an oxymoron, you know, a Slytherin who knows about Muggle things.

Anyway, Malfoy's always making different comments. You know, he could be really creative, if he didn't use all his time making up new nicknames to call us. A week ago, my name was changed to Potty. I wonder what's next. "Men?" Malfoy repeated. He laughed. God, I hate that ferret. "Men? You two haven't even undergone puberty yet." He hit a sore spot. I admit it. The little follower of Voldemort got to me.

You see, my voice hasn't changed yet, even though I'm thirteen. That means I still sound like a girl. Sometimes that has its uses. But most of the time, it's rather annoying. So the next thing I know, I'm rushing towards Malfoy, determined to beat him up, even though he towers over me, and Euan's shouting, trying to pry me off him.

"Tom, mate, you have to stop! Your mum could come in any moment, now!" Euan said, gasping as I accidentally punched him in the face. "Ouch, Tom!"

"Twenty... points... from... Gryffindor!" Malfoy wheezed, pushing me away.

Well, I fell in the most undignified position anyone could land in. I landed on my arse. Painfully. "Ah, shit," I muttered as the mirror Dad gave to me fell on the floor. The mirror was one of those communication mirrors. There's a rumour that on Halloween, it can turn into a portkey to an alternate universe. Just a rumour.

"Tom, your mirror... it's glowing!" Euan said.

"Glowing?" I asked stupidly. He was right. The mirror was glowing purple. As if I needed anymore humiliation. If Malfoy ever told anyone that I carried a purple mirror, even if it wasn't usually purple...

There was a shriek, and Miss Head Girl bustled in, her hair immaculate in the McGonagall-bun she always wore. That Granger is going to be the next McGonagall, I tell you. "Put that thing away!" she said, pointing to the mirror. "What is it? It had better not be one of your stupid pranks!" She picked it up.

"No! I need proof that Potter is really a transvestite!" Malfoy said, lunging for the mirror.

"Give it back!" I shouted, also reaching for the mirror. Malfoy and Granger were tugging at the mirror. As soon as I touched it, though, I felt a whooshing sensation in my navel. The last thing I saw was Euan's surprised face as we disappeared. Ah, shit.

***

Mum always told me I was not allowed to have any more contact with a girl than one finger on one of hers. Which is why I would have been in trouble if she had seen me lying on top of Granger, who was lying on top of Malfoy. Not that it was on purpose. No, whoever made that mirror had a sick, sick mind.

We were in a cupboard of some sort, and there was a bit of light filtering from the cracks in the stairs above us. "Get off me, Mudblood," Malfoy said, his voice muffled from his face being pressed into a pillow. "I don't have orgies with Mudbloods, Potters, or Weasleys."

Granger shrieked, and slapped the back of his head. Ha, Malfoy! Malfoy swore vehemently, and tried to wriggle us off. I fell off, and landed on the floor. That hurt. A lot. "Malfoy, you bastard," I gasped, my back aching. I stood up, and was promptly bowled over as Granger landed on top of me. "You would think we would get more room to land in," I said, looking around at the tiny cupboard. "A ten-year-old wouldn't be able to fit in here."

"Ouch!" Malfoy muttered as he sat up and hit his head on one of the stairs. He glared at the stair, as if daring it to hit him again. Of course, it was just a stair, so it was pointless. Malfoy glared instead at the shelf that somehow fit in the cupboard. His eyes widened. "Bloody hell... are those..."

Granger turned to look at the shelf, and promptly screamed. Loudly. "Drugs!" she hissed. "Someone's doing drugs around here!" The door opened, and light filtered in, causing us to need to squint. It was highly annoying, I tell you.

And the thing that stood in the doorway wasn't a pretty sight, either. The teenager had blond hair plastered to his head, and was as wide as he was tall. His face was covered in spots, and he was wearing a tight leather jacket with baggy jeans. His pink flabby face was in an expression of confusion and surprise. "Who are you?" he demanded. "What are you doing in my cupboard?"

"Your cupboard?" Malfoy repeated.

"Your cupboard?" Granger said. "Oh my god, you're the one doing drugs! I'm reporting you to the police, you know. Drugs are illegal, didn't you know that?" She swept past him, intent on telling the police.

"Wait a second," the fat boy said. "You're one of his freaky friends, aren't you? I saw you at the train station before."

"Who's he?" Granger said icily.

"And you too!" the fat boy said to Malfoy. "You're his friend too, aren't you? You were talking to him last year."

"If I was talking to him, it doesn't mean I'm his best friend, whoever he is," Malfoy drawled. "Who are you, anyway?" He looked at the Muggle distastefully.

"I'm Dudley Dursley," the boy said.

Dudley Dursley sounded familiar. Dursley... Mum's sister was named Dursley. We visited once, when I was four, and I remember an eight-year-old boy. Of course, Mum went insane when she saw Dudley, since he's Harry's age. We had to leave after that.

"Who are you talking to, Dinkydiddums?" said a voice to the side.

"Don't call me that!" Dudley growled.

"I'll call you what I want." A teenage boy who... who looked just like me walked to Dudley. He spotted Granger and Malfoy, and a look of surprise came over his face. "Hermione? What's with the McGonagall bun? And Malfoy... what are you doing here?" Finally, he found me. "Oh, hello," he said. "Who are you?"

"T-Tom," I said. I was getting scared. Who was he?

"That's nice," the boy said. "I'm Harry. Harry Potter."

I think I made a loud thud when I fainted.