They Shook Hands: Year Three (Original Version)

They Shook Hands : Year Three

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic
by Dethryl

Chapter Eleven - The Patronus Charm

"Sirius Black!"

When he heard that hated name, Harry felt his world slide into focus. Black was in the castle. He'd eluded the dementors and broken into Hogwarts. Harry smiled with satisfaction. It was better than a Christmas present. Now Harry didn't have to go looking for him.

Harry looked around the Great Hall. The Head Boy had instructed the prefects to split up, and there were representatives from each house at every door. The oldest students guarded the main entrance, while the sixth years protected the side entrance commonly used by the staff. The last door, that leading to an antechamber, was watched by the fifth years. All of the prefects had their wands out. If Black did try to come into the Great Hall, he'd have to get past eight students who all excelled at their studies. But how was Harry going to get clear?

Hands on his shoulders pulled Harry to the floor. Draco and Tim sat him on a sleeping bag. His best mates both had knowing expressions on their faces.

"Don't even think about it, Harry," Draco said first. "No more adventures."

"Adventure? Draco, is that what you think I'm after? You know what Black did to my family."

"I do. But now is not the time to get revenge."

"It's not revenge," Harry said calmly. "It's justice."

"Harry, you're not going to get out of this hall. Unless you can somehow walk through walls, there's just no way. Even with your invisibility cloak, you'd still have to open the door." Tim was being logical, as always.

Harry ground his teeth. "You're not helping."

"There will be another time. There will be a better time."

"I'm going to kill him," Harry swore.

"Rightly so," Draco agreed. "But later. Right now, there's a bit of a mystery on."

"What do you mean?"

Draco looked instead at Tim. "Why did Black try to break into Gryffindor?"

"Harry's parents were in Gryffindor," Tim said automatically. "Black's been locked up for twelve years, so he probably assumed that Harry was in Gryffindor as well."

"That's a disgusting thought," Draco deplored with a grimace. "Then we'd have to hate him."

"The real question is whether or not he's realized his mistake," Tim mused. "Will he try to break into Gryffindor again or come down into the dungeons?"

"No, the question is how did he get in? Where is he hiding out? I've got to track him down." Harry had no concern for the mystery, only for his revenge.

"He's obviously somewhere in the village. He'll need to steal food while he lays low to try again." Tim was correct. "And he will try again, right?"

"He will," Draco affirmed.

"Let him come," Harry declared. "I'm not afraid of him."

"Harry, I'd be afraid of anybody who could get past the dementors," Tim advised.

"Twice," Draco added.

"Everyone into their sleeping bags! Settle down, now! No more talking!" Percy shouted to make himself heard over the general commotion. "Lights out in five minutes!"

"Put your own lights out!" someone sassed him.

"Fifteen points from Gryffindor, Fred."

"You tosser!"

"Twenty! Care to make it twenty-five?"

Fred Weasley grumbled, but did not reply directly.

"I didn't think so."

"Looks like they're still sore at ol' Perce," Draco commented. "Weasleys are ever so petty. Especially Ronald." He said the boy's given name in a sissy fashion, as he commonly did.

"He got his," Harry said with satisfaction. Finnigan had told Brown who told Parvati who told Padma who told Jenna who told the rest of the Slytherins that he'd found Weasley struggling to throw off the last of the Full-Body Bind.

"For now," Draco said with a nod. "Some day I'll get the chance to do something personally. I just haven't come up with what yet."

Neither Harry nor Tim offered a suggestion, so the subject was dropped. What filled their silence was the students all around them asking the question of the hour: "How did he get in?"

"Maybe he knows how to Apparate," said a Ravenclaw boy a few feet away. "Just appear out of thin air, you know."

"Disguised himself, probably," said a Hufflepuff fifth year.

"He could have flown in," Dean Thomas of Gryffindor suggested.

"Idiots," Tim muttered under his breath.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"Aside from the fact that Dumbledore told us that dementors are not fooled by disguises? Filch knows all the secret passages, and the dementors would have seen him fly in, too."

"What about Apparition?"

Tim harrumphed. "The castle is guarded by more than mere stone walls, you know. There are hundreds of enchantments set over this place. It's impossible to get in by stealth."

"That's it, everyone! Lights out!" Percy waved his wand, and all of the candles that lit the Great Hall were snuffed out, plunging the room into darkness. The only light now came from the silvery ghosts, who were drifting about talking seriously to the prefects, and the enchanted ceiling that currently reflected the clear, starry night outside.

"That wasn't five minutes!" someone called out mockingly, hiding his identity in the anonymous darkness.

"Twenty more points from Gryffindor, George!"

"Shut up, Weasley!" a girl's voice hissed through the dark.

"Don't you two know when enough is enough?" another girl whispered.

Gradually everyone settled down, though a few pockets of whispering persisted and had to be quelled by the Head Girl. Harry stared up at the ceiling, unable to sleep knowing that his parents' betrayer was nearby. Once every hour, a teacher would reappear in the hall to check that everything was quiet. Around three in the morning, when many students had finally fallen asleep, Professor Dumbledore came in. Harry watched him looking around for Percy, who was leaned up against a near wall, yawning hugely. Harry quickly pretended to be asleep as the Headmaster's footsteps drew nearer.

"Any sign of him, Professor?" Percy asked in a low whisper.

"No. All well here?"

"Everything under control, sir."

"Good. There's no point in moving them all now. They'll be able to move back in the morning."

"What happened, sir? We were all rushed here so fast, no one's had time to tell us."

"Sirius Black somehow gained entrance to the castle. He went to the entrance to Gryffindor tower, but apparently she refused to let Black in without the password, so he attacked."

"Attacked!"

"Yes. He slashed the canvas so viciously that strips of it littered the floor. Great chunks of it were torn away completely."

"Merlin's name," Percy breathed. "And the Fat Lady, sir?"

"Hiding in a map of Argyllshire on the second floor. She's still very distressed, but once she's calmed down, I'll have Mister Filch restore her. I've found a temporary guardian for the Gryffindor portrait hole until then."

Harry heard the door of the hall creak open again, and more footsteps.

"Headmaster?" It was Professor Snape. Harry remained still, listening hard. "The whole of the third floor has been searched. He's not there. And Filch has done the dungeons; nothing there either."

"What about the Astronomy tower? Professor Trelawney's room? The Owlery?"

"All searched."

"Very well, Severus. I didn't really expect Black to linger, but we had to be sure."

"Have you got any theory as to how he got in, Headmaster?"

"Many, Severus, each as unlikely as the next."

Harry turned over so he could see, as well as hear. All he could see was Percy's face, rapt with attention, and Snape's profile, which looked angry.

"You remember the conversation we had, Headmaster, just before the start of term?"

"I do, Severus," said Dumbledore, and there was a note in his voice that cautioned against returning to the subject.

"It seems almost impossible that Black could have entered the school without inside help. I did express my concerns when you appointed-"

"I do not believe a single person inside this castle would have helped Black enter it," Dumbledore said, his tone so final that Harry knew Professor Snape continued to argue at his peril. "I must go down to the dementors. I said I would inform them when our search was complete."

"Didn't they want to help, sir?" Percy asked.

"Oh yes," said Dumbledore, and the chillness in his tone could have frosted the windows over. "But I'm afraid no dementor will cross the threshold of this school while I am headmaster."

Percy nodded and fought back another yawn as Dumbledore stepped away. Professor Snape watched the headmaster go with an expression of deep resentment, and he too departed.

* * *

Harry didn't sleep that night, which made him grumpy in the morning. He stumped down to the dungeons to bathe, hoping he would feel better after a dunking under the hot water. He did not. He kept his mouth shut during breakfast rather than be short with his mates. He only offered a brief affirmative when Jenna tried to tease him about his silence before he picked up his bag and headed to History of Magic.

Harry's vow to himself, sworn over the summer, to fully embrace the wizarding world had logically resulted in a conclusion that he needed to learn his wizarding history. Draco and Pansy had poked a lot of fun at Harry for his newfound attentiveness, but Tim had gravely considered Harry's decision and complimented him -- before folding his arms and hiding his face against the desk!

Everyone else put their heads down within five minutes of Professor Binns beginning his lecture. Harry fought off a yawn and tried to keep in mind some advice he'd gotten from last year's Head Boy, Abraham Montague, namely: Don't let it be one long "and then". It was hard, because Binns' most commonly uttered phrase was "and then".

It was a struggle to keep everything straight about how the Statue of Secrecy had been breached in 1749 while being distracted by Hufflepuffs gossiping wildly and inaccurately as to how Sirius Black had managed to penetrate the castle. Hannah Abbott told anyone who would listen that Black could turn into a flowering shrub. She tried to tell Blaise, but when Blaise offered to feed her to the Venomous Tentacula, she quickly turned away. It was a relief when Harry packed his bag for the walk to Herbology.

After lunch, those Slytherins not taking Divination headed to the library, where they studied until it was time for Ancient Runes. After their last lecture, they headed for the common room, and Harry tossed his bag down in disgust.

"Did you see them watching me?" he demanded of no one in particular.

"Who, Harry?" Blaise responded.

"The teachers! We couldn't talk about anything fun, because there was always a teacher in whatever corridor we took!" Harry wondered if they thought he was too stupid to notice.

"The prefects were everywhere, too," Tim added.

"Are you sure you're not just imagining things again, Nott?" Pansy sneered at him.

"I'd stop imagining you if could," he retorted.

"No, he's right," Harry said firmly. "They're watching me, and it's because of Sirius Black. If he can get into the castle, he can get to me, so they're watching. I bet there's even a prefect standing watch over the dorm tonight."

To add to the general fuss being raised about him, Professor Snape summoned Harry to his office that night with a grim expression on his face.

"Has someone died, sir?" Harry joked, wishing everyone would just leave him alone.

"No, and we're trying to prevent it," Snape replied. "There has been much discussion amongst the staff, and the decision has finally been made to warn you. Sirius Black-"

"I know he's after me, sir," Harry interrupted. "Mister Malfoy told me all about him."

Professor Snape was startled by this, but only for a moment. "I see. Well then, perhaps you understand why it would be best if you were to refrain from Quidditch practices in the evenings."

"As opposed to the practices in the morning?" Harry couldn't help his sarcasm. "Professor, we've got the match against Gryffindor on Saturday! I have to practice!"

"Mister Potter, you are the best Seeker this school has seen since Charlie Weasley. Believe me when I tell you that your practice time would be better spent studying your History of Magic textbook." Snape's tone was dry and unsympathetic. "I don't want you out there unprotected."

Harry pushed away a stab of despair. There had to be some way around this, some way he could make Snape see reason. "If he got into the castle, I'm not safe anywhere," he shot back with perfect logic. "So unless you're willing to have me move into your quarters and shadow you everywhere, I'm going to be at some risk."

Snape scowled slightly. "I admit, Mister Potter, you have a point."

"The teachers are nearby in the castle, yes. So why not assign a teacher to watch the practices?" Inspiration hit Harry like an unseen Bludger. His voice picked up speed as his excitement at the prospect built. "Or perhaps a prefect? If you asked, say, Percy Weasley to keep an eye on me, we wouldn't even have to go outside the house. Our Quidditch secrets would be safe, I'd be well-protected, and none of the staff would have to take time away from- from- from whatever it is you do, when you're not lecturing."

Professor Snape spared a small smile. "Very well. I will speak to Mister Weasley tonight. You may practice as normal tomorrow evening."

Harry felt a wash of relief. "Thank you, sir. I know Flint will be very pleased."

"Dismissed, Mister Potter."

"Good night, sir.

* * *

The wind howled all through the night. Harry was never more glad to be able to sleep in than when Tim, Crabbe, and Goyle rose for Care of Magical Creatures. Harry was able to pull the covers up over his head and catch a few more winks before Defence.

Harry always enjoyed his Defence lessons. Every Slytherin was in agreement with him that Professor Lupin, though a bit poor and tatty, was definitely worth his mustard. It was that very confidence in him that compelled Harry to wait around after the lecture.

"Yes, Harry?" Lupin asked, putting the pile of parchments he'd collected into his briefcase.

"Sir, I wanted to ask you a few questions. Is now a good time?" Harry wasn't sure how one went about asking for special instruction, but he suspected it would be better to be polite.

"Of course, Harry. My door is always open to students who wish to learn. Is it about the grindylows?"

"No, sir. I wanted to ask you about Azkaban. Where is it?"

Lupin gave Harry a steady look. "Azkaban is set on a tiny island, way out to sea. The only way to access it is by boat, and the boat runs only when dropping off or picking up. But they don't need walls and water to keep the prisoners in. The prison is out there to keep dementors away from decent people."

"They're horrid, those dementors. They're Dark creatures, right?"

"Of the worst sort. Dementors are the foulest creatures that walk this earth. They infest the darkest, filthiest places; they glory in decay and despair; they drain peace, hope, and happiness out of the very air around them. Even Muggles feel their presence, though they can't see them."

"Whenever I get near them, something happens to me," Harry said, finally getting to his point. "I hear -- things. Is it because I'm just-"

"It has nothing to do with weakness, Harry!" Lupin said sharply, dropping the briefcase on the desk. A ray of wintery sunshine fell across the classroom, illuminating Lupin's grey hairs and the lines on his young face. His eyes were piercing intently into Harry's face. "It does not! Get too near a dementor and every good feeling, every happy memory will be sucked out of you. If it can, a dementor will feed on you long enough to reduce you to something like itself -- soulless and evil. You'll be left with nothing but the worst experiences of your life."

Harry swallowed the tightness in his throat. "When I get near them, I can hear Voldemort murdering my mum. I hear her voice begging, pleading with him not to kill me. I hear him laughing as he kills her."

Lupin gripped Harry's arm suddenly, conveying sympathy without words. "They affect you worse than the others because there are horrors in your past that the others don't have. The worst that has happened to you, Harry, is enough to make anybody fall down or fall off their broom. You have nothing to feel ashamed of."

"They're supposed to catch Sirius Black, but what good are they?" Harry asked bitterly. "He escaped from them while they were guarding him."

"Nobody has yet figured out how he managed to do it. The prisoners are mostly mad. It's not surprising when they're all trapped inside their own heads, incapable of a single cheerful thought."

"How could he get away?"

"I don't understand it myself," Lupin admitted. "He must have found some way to fight them. I wouldn't have believed it possible. Dementors are supposed to drain a wizard of his powers if he is left with them too long."

"You made that dementor back off on the train," Harry said suddenly. "Professor Dumbledore sent them all packing when they stormed the Quidditch pitch."

"There are certain defences one can use. Bear in mind that there was only one on the train. The more there are, the more difficult it becomes to resist them."

"What defences?"

"I don't pretend to be an expert at fighting dementors, Harry. Quite the contrary."

"If the dementors attack the Quidditch match on Saturday-"

"Professor Dumbledore is going to be personally guarding the pitch," Professor Lupin interrupted. "He was angrier about what happened at the start of term than I've ever seen him."

"But what about boggarts?" Harry pressed. "If I run into one of those, it will become a dementor."

Lupin considered that. "You are right, Harry. Very well. I'll try to help, but it will have to wait until next term, I'm afraid. I have a lot to do before the holidays. I chose a very inconvenient time to fall ill."

Harry didn't care for that answer. He needed to learn how to defend himself. Now. He wondered briefly if Lupin was just putting him off. It was impossible to tell.

"Better later than not at all," he said, forcing a note of cheer in his voice. "Thank you, sir."

"You're welcome, Harry. Now, hurry up or you'll miss lunch."

Harry quick-stepped down to the Great Hall and gobbled down two sandwiches, a helping of potato salad, a serving of unadorned lettuce with Italian dressing, two slices of pie, and three glasses of milk. He was just wiping his mouth when the bell for third period sounded, and they all bustled off to Transfiguration where Harry spent most of the period trying to turn his quill into a chopstick.

Before he headed to Potions, Harry needed to visit the loo, so he excused himself and took a left turn. When he'd finished his business, he continued on his way. It was the most rotten luck, for passing down the corridor, headed towards the same classroom, was the annoying Weasel.

Each boy stopped in his tracks. It was the first time Harry could recall ever being alone with the red-haired twit. A vacant look on his face shifted to a scowl without delay.

"Potter." His voice was hard.

"Weasley," Harry replied cooly.

"Where's your gang of Junior Death Eaters, Potter?"

"Slytherin does not mean Junior Death Eater!" Harry snapped. "And given that the Death Eaters followed the man who killed my parents, your question is totally ignorant."

Weasley contemplated that. "You're still a bunch of Darkies," he threw back. "You most of all."

"I don't know a single bit of Dark magic, you git! I was raised by Muggles, as I believe you know. I know only what's taught here, so unless you know of some classes I don't-"

"Don't play innocent, Potter! You've got friends in that Dark house."

"I certainly do!" Harry said proudly. "Real friends, good friends! They're a sight better than any of you Gryffindorks!"

"And like good friends, they've taught you all their Dark secrets."

"We're not Dark wizards!" Harry half-shouted, and his voice cracked like a windowpane. Oh, of all the times for his voice to start changing, why for magic's sake did it have to break in the middle of telling off Weasley?

Weasley laughed. "Something wrong, Potter?"

"Shut up, Weasley." He winced as his voice broke again.

Weasley laughed harder. "I think you might have broken something, Potter."

"Shut up, Weasley!"

"Say it again! I don't think I heard you."

"Shut up! Shut your stupid mouth!" This time his words were accompanied by the drawing of his wand. He pointed it at Weasley. "Start moving. I'm not going to be late to Potions because of you."

Weasley continued laughing all the way to the classroom. Harry put his wand away, though the temptation to hex the boy was very strong. He tossed his bag down on the bench beside Blaise and flung himself onto the seat.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Weasley's a git," Harry began, but before he could elaborate on the many and profound reasons behind that statement, Professor Snape began the lecture.

Harry enjoyed Potions nearly as much as Defence. They weren't brewing today, so Harry paid close attention to the lecture. He became so engrossed in the topic that it seemed Professor Snape was just in the middle of the good part when the bell sounded the end of the class.

Harry lingered here as well. He kept himself busy scrubbing at the stone counter. When the last Gryffindor had departed, Harry went up to Professor Snape's desk and cleared his throat.

"Yes, Mister Potter?"

"Professor, you know a lot about Defence." Harry got to the point immediately. "Do you know about dementors?"

Snape cocked an eyebrow. "I do. And now you want private tutoring, am I right?"

Harry would never cease to be amazed at how Snape seemed able to read minds. "Yes, sir. I need to know how to defend myself."

"I'm surprised you waited this long to ask," Snape commented. "I have decided that, before the next Hogsmeade weekend, all of the prefects will learn the only method for repelling a dementor, the Patronus Charm. I will be making the announcement on Sunday. If you feel up to learning some advanced magic, well beyond the Ordinary Wizarding Level, then you should report to the first laboratory on Sunday evening following dinner."

The idea of lessons with the best students of Slytherin House was, to say the least, intimidating. Harry, though, was not one to back down from a challenge. "I'll be there, sir."

"Good. Dismissed."

* * *

When the post was delivered on Wednesday morning, Harry looked up from his breakfast. There came Regal, swooping in to deliver the morning Prophet. Harry opened it immediately and held out a strip of bacon to his eagle owl, which Regal ignored. Puzzled (Regal never refused bacon), Harry looked up and let out a startled exclamation.

"Regal! What happened?"

The bird's face had been marked with what appeared to be soot. A jagged black lightning bolt was traced on top of the feathers. The owl blinked several times, staring straight at Harry.

Harry grabbed a napkin and dabbed carefully at the soot. It did not come off. Harry wiped a little harder. He dipped the napkin in his glass of water, but that didn't help either. He bit back a swear word because Professor Vector was walking by.

"Draco, look at this!"

"That looks like your scar!" his best mate exclaimed. "That's sick!"

"I bet you anything Weasley did this." Harry felt his ears burning. He hated Weasley, but this stunt had sunk the boy to a new low.

"It's exactly the sort of dirty trick he'd pull," Draco agreed. "He shouldn't get away with it."

"He's not going to. He wants to mess with my pet? I'm going to get his. That rat is nothing but trouble anyway."

"It tore up Crabbe's hand pretty good."

"Exactly. Regal? Listen closely. I want you to wait for the boy who did this to you to come back to the Owlery. He always carries a rat in his pocket or on his shoulder. I want you to grab that rat and bring it to me. Do you understand?"

Regal hooted once. Harry stroked the bird's feathers, and now Regal accepted the bacon. He devoured three pieces of it in short order before winging away to the Owlery again. Harry hated the idea of letting his pet go off with that soot still on his face, but he needed to find out how to clean it off without hurting the bird.

"What are you going to do with the rat?" Draco wanted to know.

"I don't know yet."

"I say we just kill the little bleeder."

Harry ate his toast savagely, tearing at it like Regal would. The insulting prank could only have come from Weasley, of that he was sure. His efforts to clean off the soot had failed; perhaps a potion would help. Was there an Owl-Cleaning Potion? If not, did he dare to use something else on his precious post owl? Who would know about owl care?

He considered the dilemna all through his morning classes, absently taking notes. It was lunchtime before it dawned on Harry that as gamekeeper, and moreso being the teacher of Care of Magical Creatures, the most qualified person to talk to about his owl was Hagrid.

His logic was unassailable and infuriating, and Harry fumed about it all through his afternoon classes. Hagrid was a drunk and slightly mad to boot. Harry would not soon forget that the huge man had tried to raise a dragonling in his wooden hut. Reluctantly, Harry made his decision.

That evening before his Quidditch practice, Harry paid a visit to the Owlery. His bird rode on his shoulder as Harry headed for Hagrid's hut, where curls of smoke from the chimney were whipped away by the stiff wind. Fang's deep barking answered his knocking, and Harry heard Hagrid wrestling the boarhound back as he came to the door.

"Yes?"

"Hello, Hagrid."

The big man's expression became guarded. "'Arry. What brings yeh down 'ere at this time o' night?"

"I need some help with my owl. You're the teacher for Care of Magical Creatures, so you're the logical choice." Harry hated coming here, given the rough history between him and the gamekeeper, but Hagrid did know a lot about animals.

"Yer owl, eh?" Hagrid scratched at his beard. "A'right, bring 'er in."

Harry didn't see any evidence that Hagrid had been drinking tonight. If he had, he would have gone straight back up to the castle. Hagrid closed the door with a thump and released Fang, who bounded over and nearly knocked Harry down with his enthusiastic greeting.

"Git down, yeh silly dog!" Hagrid rumbled. "Now, what's the problem?"

Harry exhibited Regal's face. "Some joker thought it would be funny to mark him up."

Hagrid scowled. "'At's not funny at all. 'At's a joke in very poor taste."

"I couldn't agree more. I tried wiping it off with some water, but it didn't help."

"Yeh'll want teh be careful, especially around the eyes. Best thing'd be teh just let the feathers fall out natural-like. If yeh want it off now, some mild soap should loosen the soot up enough teh wipe away."

Harry nodded. "Soap. I'll try it."

"Do yeh know who done it?"

"I've got my suspicions." Harry moved to the door. "Thanks, Hagrid."

"Yer welcome."

Harry sent Regal back up to the castle and continued towards the Quidditch pitch. He was a few minutes late, so he mounted his broom and flew the rest of the way. Flint still scowled at him as he joined the team.

"Now that we're all here," Flint said crossly, and they began to work on drills.

Seated in the stands to monitor the practice again was Percy Weasley. The Head Boy had been turned into a babysitter the previous night, and now he had to be present again. Harry would have felt guilty about taking Percy from his studies -- the N.E.W.T.s were only seven months away, but ol' Perce really didn't seem to mind too much; he wasn't sitting alone. To keep him company, Lynn Fawcett had bundled up and braved the chill weather. They sat very close together, and Harry saw them snogging several times. He whistled sharply as he flew by chasing the Snitch and saw them spring apart guiltily. Percy had a very red face.

When practice was over, Harry shouldered his broom for the trek back up to the castle. He grinned up at Percy as the older boy fell into step with him. "Where's your girlfriend, Percy?"

Percy flushed again immediately. "She's not my girlfriend."

"Oh, you just snog with her?"

"We weren't snogging."

"You've got lipstick on your cheek. Is it yours, then?"

Percy was bright red now. "Of course not!"

"Then it's hers."

"Maybe."

Harry faked a gagging noise. "Is kissing girls really all that fun?"

"Take Blaise out behind the greenhouses and find out," Percy fired back, his cheeks still rosy.

Harry tripped over his feet. "How do you know about Blaise?" he demanded.

"It's obvious to anyone with eyes, Harry."

* * *

When Harry and the rest of the Slytherin Quidditch team arrived at their changing room on Saturday morning, Flint started swearing sulphurously. Bole and Derrick, the Beaters, came out with some words Harry had never heard before. One thing about playing Quidditch with the older lads, Harry's vocabulary was constantly getting new updates.

The entire room had been redecorated with red and gold -- Gryffindor's colours. It was enough to make you sick.

"Tear all this down," Flint growled, ripping down some red and gold bunting. He got a surprise as it triggered a small explosion, decorating him in red and gold as well!

"Booby traps!" Bletchley exclaimed.

"Bloody Weasley twins are behind this, or I'll eat the Quaffle," Flint snarled. His robes were now a dead ringer for Gryffindor's uniform.

"You might want to change before the match," Pucey suggested.

"Shut up, Pucey." Flint looked around at all of the redecorating and kicked at a wooden bench. "We don't have time to deal with this now. Get ready, but don't touch anything."

Harry thought that very sound advice. He strapped on his leathers quickly. He wanted to get out of here, away from all the red and gold. How had the Gryffindors even gotten inside? The changing rooms were supposed to be off-limits to the other houses.

"Bloody Merlin's beard!" Montague swore. Harry looked up at a sudden spraying sound and saw the Chaser dripping with gold paint. It appeared to have come from the locker where his gear was stashed.

Flint sighed. "Hit the shower and pray they didn't do anything to that." His face brightened. "Actually, that's a fine idea. Potter, you're already dressed. Run out and grab Warrington. Tell him we need him."

When Flint gave an order, it was always in ones best interest to obey promptly. Harry went from the changing rooms back up to the castle at a dead run. He caught the fifth year boy as he was just heading down to the pitch, all three of the fifth year girls walking very close to him.

"Potter!" Warrington the Third exclaimed in surprise. "Shouldn't you be with the team?"

"That's what. I'm here. For," Harry panted, gasping for every breath. "Sabotage. Gryffindor. Need you. Flint says."

Charles Warrington the Third stood up straighter. "If Captain Flint needs me, then I must go. Heather, Courtney, Amanda, I will see you after the match." The three girls made various noises of regret. "Race you there, Potter!"

Harry might have been fast in the air, but on the ground, the bigger boy's long legs ate up the distance in a way that Harry just couldn't match. When he stumbled into the changing room, Warrington was thick as thieves with Flint, discussing how to get Gryffindor back for their desecration.

Montague emerged from the showers, dripping water from his hair and chin. Without bothering to dry himself, he pulled on a spare set of robes and his leathers. All of the team was dressed by that point, and everyone gathered around Flint for his traditional pre-match pep talk.

"Don't let their little stunt distract you," he ordered. "We've never lost a match since Harry became our Seeker." Flint was interrupted by applause from the rest of the team. "We haven't lost the Quidditch Cup since eighty-four, and I don't intend to start now. If we win this year, Slytherin will have had the Cup for ten whole years. That's never been done since Quidditch started being played here at Hogwarts. We have a chance to go into the history books."

Everyone was suitable solemn at that prospect.

"We've gone up against this Gryffindor team before, and we know their weak spots. Their Seeker is still pathetic. Their Beaters may have had some practice since last we met, but they're still inexperienced in terms of actual matches. Bole, you and Derrick are going to take out one of the Chasers as soon as possible. We'll double-team the others and get some points on the board. I want to win by at least two or three hundred points to give us a nice cushion. Can we do it, Slytherin?"

"Up Slytherin!" they shouted.

"Again!"

"Up Slytherin!"

"More!"

"UP SLYTHERIN!"

As they flew out of the tunnel to the cheers (and jeers) of the crowd, Harry felt the excitement start to build. There really was nothing like Quidditch. He was a part of something, a team. They flew together, struggled together, and triumphed together.

"Here is the Slytherin team!" the commentator, Lee Jordan of Gryffindor, announced to the packed stadium. "Bletchley, Bole, Derrick, Flint, Montague, Potter, and Pucey!"

Harry followed as Flint led the team in a circuit of the pitch, glorying in the adulations of the crowd. He showed off a bit by taking both hands off the handle of his Firebolt and steering with just his legs. He caught his friends looking very impressed with his skill.

"And here comes Gryffindor!" Jordan shouted joyously. "Bell, Frobisher, Johnson, Panning, Sharpp, Spinnet, and Wood!"

The cheers that greeted the Gryffindors were louder than those for Slytherin. Not surprising, given that many at Hogwarts had little love for the house of serpents.

The teams landed at the centre of the pitch, and Flint stepped out to exchange a so-called friendly handshake with Wood, his opposite. Each boy glared raw hatred at the other and tried to crush the other's hand. Madam Hooch watched them, disapproval plain on her face, but it appeared that even she had become resigned to the dislike that existed between Slytherin and Gryffindor.

"Gryffindor, are you ready?"

"Yes!" they shouted in one voice.

"Slytherin, are you ready?"

The Slytherins responded with wild howls and excited shouting, which set off their supporters in the stands once more.

"I'm releasing the Snitch!" The golden ball buzzed towards Bell, ducked around her head, and disappeared. "Quaffle is loose!"

Johnson made the first grab, and she immediately threw to Spinnet, who had positioned herself down the pitch. It was a good opening play. Spinnet dodged around Pucey, passed to Bell. Bell gave the Quaffle back to Johnson, who faked out Bletchley to score the first points.

"Ten-love, Gryffindor!" Jordan called out.

"Bletchley, pay attention!" Flint screamed as he caught the Quaffle and moved towards the Gryffindor hoops.

It happened so soon that Harry was sure he must be imagining things. He could have sworn that he saw the Snitch dancing along near the hoops that Bletchley was guarding. It was very exciting, because he'd never seen the Snitch come out so early. He leaned low over his broom, tuning out Jordan's crestfallen voice announce that the score was now tied.

Bletchley cocked an eyebrow at him as Harry soared in, eyes peeled for the Snitch. "I haven't seen it," he yelled.

"You should have been looking for the Quaffle!" Harry yelled back. "Let me worry about it!"

Bletchley's face turned an ugly shade of red. If not for the fact that they were in the middle of a match, Harry was sure the older boy would have tried to do something about his cheek. As it was, he made a rude gesture in Harry's direction and turned back to the match.

Harry looked hard, but the Snitch was nowhere to be found. If it had been here, Bletchley had scared it off. He swore mildly and made a wide, looping turn back up-pitch.

"Twenty-ten, Slytherin."

It was faint at first, but as more people gradually joined in, Harry could hear it clearly. Some boys in the stands were singing. As he listened, Harry felt his temper start to rise.

"Potter's a rotter, he falls off his broom! He's weak and pathetic, he'll fall down go boom!"

There, surrounded by red and gold, stood three singing Weasleys. Numerous other Gryffindors were singing as well.

"Potter's a rotter, he'll land in the mud! He'll fall off his broom, cuz he's just a big dud!"

Harry wondered if Peeves had helped them write the lyrics. They were very juvenile, as was the stunt. It was one more attempt to put Slytherin, and particularly Harry, off his game. Even though he knew that, Harry couldn't help but get distracted.

"Potter's a rotter, he falls off his broom!"

Harry had stayed on a jinxed broomstick in his first year. How could anyone forget that? It was easy when the whole school had seen him fall during the unofficial match at the start of term.

"He's weak and pathetic, he'll fall down go boom!"

Harry knew he wasn't weak. Professor Lupin had been most emphatic that dementors were absolutely awful things. Nobody who'd been through what Harry had could be expected to stand up without defences.

"Potter!" Bole shouted, flying close to whack a Bludger that Harry hadn't seen coming. "Wake up!"

"Thanks, Bole!" If not for the Beater, Harry likely would have been knocked off his broom. Oh, how Weasley would have loved that.

"The Snitch flew by Derrick a few minutes ago, but he was keeping a Bludger away from Montague."

"I'll look for it," Harry promised.

"You'd better," Bole warned him.

The score had crept up to thirty even. Gryffindor's Beaters were showing a marked improvement over their last encounter. Flint hadn't been able to get any of his attack patterns started. Those points that had been scored seemed entirely due to luck.

"Potter's a rotter!" Harry tuned it out, just like Jordan's biased commentary. That double-team on Bell wasn't cheating, just creative flying.

"Gryffindor scores! Forty-thirty, Gryffindor!"

Just then, Harry spotted the Snitch! He reacted instantly, zooming towards the fluttering bit of shiny gold. He forgot the chill in the air, thinking only of catching the game-ending ball. Panning was nowhere nearby, and it was almost too easy as Harry's fingers clamped tightly, the wings tickling his hand.

"And Harry Potter has caught the Snitch. Slytherin wins, one-eighty to forty."

The Slytherins cheered, but most of the crowd made various expressions of disappointment. Harry almost shared their sentiment. The match had taken barely any time at all. Still, a win was a win, which was better than a loss, especially to Gryffindor.

The stands began to empty, and the teams headed for the changing rooms. In the shower, Harry warmed up under the hot spray after the chill of the autumn day. The team headed back up to the castle when they'd washed off the sweat of the match and into the dungeons where a raucous celebration awaited them. Flint sat at the head of the table, his due as captain of the team. Harry chose to sit with the Beaters.

"Flint, what are we going to do about the changing room?" Bletchley asked.

Flint swallowed a huge gulp of pumpkin juice and turned a disappointed expression to his Keeper. "A leader must be creative and resolute, Bletchley." He pointed at two second year boys. "You two! Get down to the changing room on the double. You're on clean-up duty."

"Get stuffed!" Arcen Bulstrode sassed back.

Millie gave her younger brother a smack upside the head. "Don't be mouthy! Go!"

The younger Bulstrode turned to Lucas Slater, who had also been given his marching orders. "Do we stand for this?"

"Just think, Arse. When we're on the team, we can give orders to ickle kiddies." Lucas had a definite optimistic viewpoint.

Arcen made a horrible face, but he got to his feet all the same, taking one last swig of milk. The two boys departed through the entrance wall.

"See?" Flint said to the rest of the team. "It really is that easy."

* * *

On Sunday morning in the common room, Professor Snape made an appearance and an announcement. "All prefects will report to me in the first Potions laboratory immediately following dinner. Failure to report is not advised."

Harry spent the day working on his homework. He always seemed to leave it until Sunday; Saturday it was nice to just relax and take a break from academics. He polished off his assignments for Potions, Herbology, and Defence in short order. He breezed through his History of Magic essay and started on his Astronomy and Charms while the others were still bogged down writing the full scroll for Professor Binns.

Crabbe broke the silence. "Harry, could I have a peek at your History essay?" That was nothing new. He was always asking one of the others to more or less copy their assignments.

"Depends," Harry replied, concentrating on not smearing his ink. "Can I borrow your Astronomy essay?" The bigger boy was good at Astronomy and little else.

"Sure." He handed it over without a qualm. "Thanks."

Harry held out his History scroll. "Be careful. The ink isn't dry yet."

"I'll be careful."

At the appointed hour, Harry headed for the Potions classrooms. He was the first to arrive, so he flipped open his History notes to study for a bit longer. He ignored the curious looks of the prefects as they arrived in pairs. Professor Snape started the lecture by slamming the door behind him as he walked in.

"Your duties and responsibilities have just been assigned a new dimension. Each of you will master the Patronus Charm, or I will find other students to wear those silver badges. The students of this school, and many in this House, are adversely affected by the dementors. We have witnessed one attack already this year, and there appear to be more of the things than previously believed. Ergo, you as prefects will help the teachers in the protection of your fellow students. The incantation is expecto patronum. Say it!"

"Expecto patronum."

"Again."

"Expecto patronum."

"Again."

"Expecto patronum!"

"Excellent. Wands out. The wand movement is thus. No, thus, Bletchley. Look at Miss Chandler. Yes, Miss Rosier, good. Don't stop, Higgs! Miss Zabini, put some spirit into it. You can pine over Mister Malfoy on your own time."

Snape's teaching style was somewhat abrupt. Granted, the need for the prefects to learn the charm was urgent, and it was best to weed out those who couldn't grasp it immediately, but Harry didn't exactly feel like failing miserably in front of the whole of the Slytherin prefecture. No, thank you. He slunk out of the back of the room when Snape paused to correct Palce's grip on his wand.

I should have known better than to try to train with the elite, Harry thought ruefully as he walked away from the classroom. Guess I'll just have to wait for Professor Lupin. That prospect wasn't so bad, though. If he'd embarassed Snape by royally mucking up when Snape had been so generous as to let him try, the consequences would have been horrible.

to be continued...