The Boy Who Lived I -- The Alchemist's Prize

CHAPTER SIX: The Right Choice

Harry jerked awake, shouting, "Ron!"

"I'm here," the redhead answered, and Harry turned towards the sound of his voice. He managed to catch a brief glimpse of his friend before a wave of dizziness made him squeeze his eyes shut again. Harry reached out blindly, finding a convenient rail on the side of his bed, and braced himself against it as he slowly lowered his head back to the pillow.

"What happened?" he asked once his head was once again firmly supported. He kept his eyes shut, however, unwilling to watch the ceiling trade places with the floor.

"You took a tumble in the hall when you went to get Madam Pomfrey. MacNair said you tripped on your robes."

"MacNair?"

"Yeah. He was right there, apparently... seemed to think it was hilarious that you'd nearly cracked your head open. I'll bet he tripped you."

"I remember something hitting my face..." Harry mused, but could not bring any other memories of his fall to mind. "How's your foot?" he asked after a moment.

"It's fine," Ron replied. "Madam Pomfrey had it fixed in a second. She's making me stay here until dinner, though."

"Was anyone else injured?" Harry asked, "Or were we the only casualties of the morning?"

"Everyone else is fine. Dean's bent a bit out of shape about the football, though--somebody transfigured the air inside it into asphalt."

"No wonder you broke your foot," Harry commented.

"Just glad I didn't try to head it," Ron replied. "Draco was in a state as well; he's the one that found you. He was whiter than these bedsheets afterwards."

"I hear voices," a woman said, and Harry heard a quick cadence of footsteps coming towards to his bed. "Are you up dear?" the woman asked, much closer now.

Harry slowly opened his eyes to see a heavy woman with a round, pink face bending over him. She wore a white shawl and robes, with just a few touches of red at the seams to add color. She appeared to be revolving in lazy circles above Harry's head, but then, so did the cracks in the ceiling. Seeing his open eyes, she smiled. "How do you feel, Mr. Potter?" she asked.

"Dizzy," Harry replied. "I think I'm okay, except for that."

"Well, that's to be expected," the nurse said, her smile not wavering as she reached into her robes for something. She pulled out a small glass flask and held it to Harry's lips, with the words, "A sip of this should put you right."

Harry obediently swallowed a few drops of the potion, which made his mouth and throat tingle slightly. Almost immediately, his head stopped swimming, the room stopped spinning, and he felt well enough to sit up again. The nurse restrained him, however, saying, "Lie still awhile and let the potion take its full effect." Harry obediently relaxed back against the pillow.

"Madam Pomfrey?" Ron asked, "Can we leave soon? My foot feels fine, and Harry should be okay as soon as the potion works..."

The nurse shook her head. "Your foot's mended, dear, but it's best to let it set for a few more hours. And Mr. Potter should stay here a while in case he blacks out again. It simply wouldn't do for him to faint on the stairs, now would it?"

"No, but..."

"Now you boys just relax. I know you don't want to miss your classes, but I'm sure your friends will take good notes for you," Pomfrey admonished, then bustled off to another part of the ward.

After a few minutes, Harry slowly sat up and looked over at Ron again. The redhead was sitting up on an adjacent bed that had its rails lowered, his right leg stretched out in front of him and his left leg dangling over the side. He was thumbing idly through the Herbology text. After a moment, he snapped the book shut and said, "Wish we had something interesting to do."

"We could sneak out and go to class," Harry suggested.

Ron looked at Harry like he'd just grown another head. "Are you sure you're all right?" he asked. "I could have sworn you just sounded like Hermione. Besides, I said I wanted to do something interesting. Herbology and Defense don't count."

Harry shrugged, grinning slightly. "You never know," he protested, "We could learn something exciting."

"What, from another lecture on different kinds of dirt?" Ron replied. "Or maybe Quirrell could teach us how to make our own turbans and stuff them full of garlic!"

"Garlic?"

"Haven't you noticed how strange he smells?" Ron asked. "Fred and George say it's because he puts moldy garlic in his turban to keep vampires away."

Harry quirked an eyebrow. He'd noticed an odd smell about the Defense professor, but it certainly wasn't the odor of garlic, moldy or otherwise. "I thought he smelled more like... lizards, or snakes," Harry said. Considering the matter more carefully, he continued, "I can't be too sure, though. His whole classroom reeks of garlic." Which was true, since the Professor had hung great twists of it in front of every window and around the door. Vampires were apparently a particular fear of his, though the silver-coated doorframe also hinted at some nervousness about werewolves.

These precautions had struck Harry as being rather strange, since he knew from experience that werewolves were no danger except during the full moon, and not even then if one took the proper precautions. It hardly seemed likely that one would come strolling into the classroom, at least not while it was in its lupine form. And vampires weren't likely to appear during class time in any form at all. "I'm not sure he knows what he's doing," Harry finally concluded.

"I'm sure he doesn't," Ron said with a snort of disgust. "That class is useless. It's all just Quirrell trying not to wet himself every time we discuss a new monster."

"Defense Against the Damp Pants?" Harry asked, and Ron burst out laughing.

"That sounds about right," the redhead replied.

There was a brief silence, and then Harry asked, "Have you finished your Potions essay?"

"You have turned into Hermione!"

"It's something to do," Harry protested, "and I don't expect that Snape hands out high marks any more readily than he compliments me."

"Very well," Ron said. He leaned over the side of his bed and grabbed his satchel off the stone floor. "I'm mostly done, but there are some things I don't really understand..."

The rest of the afternoon passed quickly enough; Ron's idea of "mostly done" turned out to be the same as Harry's idea of "barely started". Fortunately, Harry remembered almost all the material he had read for his own essay, and thus was able to supplement his friend's knowledge in the appropriate places. Though Harry was careful not to say anything that could get him in trouble for cheating, Ron managed to reach a similar conclusion to his own. Harry hoped his research had led Ron right, especially since the redhead was not particularly keen on writing neatly, or using proper spelling and punctuation. Ron would need every point he could get.

As the bell rang to announce the start of dinner, Ron rolled up a very messy two-foot scroll and said, "Free at last!" He slid off the bed, testing his weight gingerly on his right foot before gathering his things.

Harry started to leave his bed also, but Madam Pomfrey appeared and told him to stay put. "I just want you to stay for another few hours," she said, affixing a tray to the rail of his bed and placing a bowl of beef stew on it, "I'll let you go around eight." She then shooed Ron out of the ward, admonishing him to eat extra helpings of cheese at every meal for the next few weeks.

The next two hours were among the most incredibly boring in Harry's life. He tried to occupy himself for a while by playing games with his food, but Madam Pomfrey's disapproving stares soon dissuaded him from that activity. He then tried to draw out the process of actually eating for as long as he could, but the stew was rapidly cooling, and he eventually had to wolf the rest of it down before it became a congealed, inedible mass. After that, he had nothing left to do but stare around.

The hospital wing seemed a colorless, cheerless place. No paintings adorned its whitewashed stone walls, and the rows of identical beds were all made with plain white sheets, and equally pasty blankets. The metal nightstands that stood next to the beds were also painted a uniform shade of white. The windows looked out over the lake, which might have been a pleasant sight during the day, but was unremarkable near the end of twilight.

None of the other beds in the ward had occupants, which struck Harry as odd, given that there were so many berths. He decided that the excess was just there in case of emergency--he imagined the room could fill quite quickly after a sufficiently bad mishap in Potions. His mind had just begun to ponder where they kept the loo when Madam Pomfrey appeared at his side. "You can go now, dear," she said kindly, helping Harry down from the bed so he didn't have to jump, and steadying him as he took a few steps to regain his footing. "Sorry to keep you so long," she said as she walked him out of the ward, "but it's best to be sure, and during this part of the year I have time enough to go by the book."

"This part of the year?" Harry asked.

"Well, I get quite busy during Quidditch season," Madam Pomfrey said, a frown growing on her face. "They really ought not to let children play such a dangerous sport."

Harry suppressed a shudder and started making his way towards Gryffindor Tower. He was surprised to see none of his friends in the Common Room, though Hermione had ensconced herself in the best spot before the fireplace in order to read up for her lessons. He climbed the stairs slowly, still feeling a bit discombobulated, and entered the dorm to find Ron, Draco, Seamus, and Dean sitting huddled together in the center of the room.

Ron spotted him almost immediately, and said, "Hey Harry, feeling alright?"

"Yeah," Harry said as the other three boys jumped up to greet him. Seamus and Dean patted him warmly on the shoulders, and Draco took his arm and guided him to the spot where they'd all been sitting.

"Draco here overheard a conversation this afternoon," Ron explained as Harry shifted to get more comfortable on the stone floor.

"Yeah," Draco said, "Just before Defense I heard MacNair bragging to one of his Slytherin buddies. He said that he stuck his arm out as you were coming around the corner and knocked you down."

"Did he say anything about transfiguring the ball?" Harry asked.

"No," Draco said, "but I wouldn't put it past him. We already know he doesn't like Ron."

"Well, that's great!" Harry said. "We'll just tell McGonagall, and laugh as he does a month of detention."

Seamus shook his head. "You're a nice boy, Harry," he admonished, "but you can be a bit naïve. D'you think MacNair will really fess up when McGonagall confronts him? He'll just deny he ever said anything."

"So what do we do?" Harry asked, feeling slightly deflated.

"We'll use this," Draco said, holding out a small bag. "I told Fred and George, and they agreed that MacNair needs to learn a little lesson. So we're going to sneak down to the dungeons tonight and put this in his cauldron."

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"Waterfire Powder," Seamus said. "It'll explode the moment he gets it wet. Remember the first part of the recipe for tomorrow's potion?"

"Dilute one cup bubotuber pus into an identical volume of water," Harry recited, having memorized the lesson the night before.

"Exactly," Dean said. "MacNair never lets Crabbe do anything..."

"Wise choice," Ron interjected.

"...So we know he'll be the one who pours the water into his cauldron. It'll blow up right in his face!" Dean concluded.

"Not badly enough to really hurt him, mind you," Draco said. "We haven't got enough powder for that. But with any luck it will take him a month to grow his eyebrows back."

"But Snape will kill us!" Harry protested. Given Snape's obvious loathing for him, Harry knew that baiting the Potions Master would be worse than suicide. If Snape found out, Harry would be lucky to escape expulsion.

"That's why we're going tonight," Draco said. "If nobody sees us, nobody can tell on us tomorrow. He'll just have to conclude that MacNair--or more likely, Crabbe--did something wrong."

"And how will we do this tonight?" Harry asked.

"We were just discussing that," Ron said. "We're going to leave a little after midnight and sneak down to the dungeons. Then we can dump the powder into MacNair's cauldron and head back. Shouldn't take more than half an hour."

"All of us?" Harry asked.

"Well, we obviously can't all go," Seamus said, "We'd be sure to draw Filch's attention. I figure the people who've been MacNair's targets already should go: that means you, Ron, and Draco."

"I don't know..." Harry said. "We could get in a lot of trouble..."

"Come on," Draco said. "We're not going to hurt MacNair, though I can't say as I'd mind... We're just going to scare him a little, let him know that he can't walk all over us."

Harry looked around the circle of boys, drawing reassurance from the encouraging grins on their faces. "Okay," he finally said. "I'll do it."

The next few hours were tense ones for Harry, but far more interesting than those he'd whiled away in the hospital ward. At first the boys just sat at their desks, but Seamus quickly grew tired of the nervous silence and instigated a game of Exploding Snap. Harry, still feeling a bit muddled from his morning injury, seemed to lose every game. Just when this was beginning to really frustrate him, Draco went on an equally ridiculous losing streak. The sneaky grins he kept flashing Harry, however, suggested that his misfortune was a ruse. Harry could only grin back shyly, trying to keep his mind off the very dangerous stunt they were going to pull in only a few hours' time.

Eventually the clock in the dorm room sounded midnight, the curfew for everyone except the fifth-year students, who would already be on their way towards the Astronomy Tower. Nobody would be out in the halls to witness their sabotage. Seamus insisted that they wait ten minutes to be absolutely sure that the way was clear, and then Harry, Draco, and Ron left the dorm on their way to the dungeons.

Their plans started to go wrong the moment the boys reached the common room. Hermione had apparently decided that she should give her Potions essay one final read-through, and so was sitting at one of the tables, quill in hand, as she went over the three-foot parchment she had produced. After a quick conference, the three boys tried to sneak past her, but this proved unsuccessful.

"Just where do you three think you're going?" Hermione asked, just as Harry reached the portrait hole.

"None of your business," Draco snapped in reply.

"It is too my business," Hermione replied, leaving her parchment on the table. "Being out past curfew is a serious offense."

"Well, don't say anything and we won't get caught," Ron snapped in reply.

Harry stepped forward, pushing the Fat Lady's portrait out of the way as he left the common room for the more dangerous halls. Hermione lunged forward, apparently hoping to restrain the boys from leaving Gryffindor Tower. Unfortunately, she chose Ron as her target, and he was sufficiently large to drag her out of the tower with him.

"We should turn around right now and go to bed!" Hermione hissed as they stumbled out into the hallway, but the portrait that had just swung closed behind them was completely blank. The Fat Lady had gone off to visit someone in another painting, and so was unable to admit them back into Gryffindor Tower.

"No chance of that now," Ron remarked, indicating the vacant painting. Hermione only pouted in response.

"Best you stay with us," Harry offered. "That way, you can say we dragged you out of the House." Ron and Draco glared at him, and he could only shrug in reply. If they left Hermione here, Filch would doubtless find her, as a rule-loving girl like her would never think to actually avoid the caretaker. At least if she blamed the boys, Gryffindor would only lose points for three students. And perhaps the three of them could keep her from being detected.

Thus it was that four children instead of three started making their way down the Tower Gallery in the dark. Though negotiating the stairs was nerve-wracking in the faint moonlight filtering down from the glass roof, they dared not risk a lamp--it would make them too easy to spot in the darkened gallery. Hermione proceeded without complaint, clutching tightly to Harry's arm and the banister, but if her glares had been hexes all three boys would have quickly become piles of ash. After several flights of stairs, she finally asked, "What's this all about?"

"I heard Aidan MacNair bragging about tripping Harry this morning," Draco hissed back. "We're going to teach him a little lesson."

"How?"

Draco glanced at Harry, who shrugged, and Ron, who only rolled his eyes. "We're going to leave him a surprise for Potions tomorrow," Draco explained. Harry shook his head--he felt a little uncomfortable letting Hermione know what they had planned, but accepted that at this point, a certain amount of honesty was inevitable.

"What?" Hermione exclaimed, "Snape will go mad! He'll..!" Ron muffled her with one of his large hands, hissing at her to be quiet lest they get caught.

"Well, just blame me for it!" Draco replied, as quietly as he could manage. "He won't take as many points then!"

Hermione fortunately had no response for this, and after a moment, Ron released her. The four children continued to weave their way further down through the darkened Tower Gallery, and nothing happened to indicate that someone had heard Hermione's unwise shouting. Harry had almost begun to think that they could get away with the prank when a light appeared on a landing two floors below them. Ron held up a hand, and the four children froze, barely daring to breathe.

Harry peered through the darkness to see if any stairways connected their current position to whoever was carrying the lamp. To his horror, he realized that the only path away from that landing would lead its still-shadowed occupant straight to them. Just as this information made its way into his brain, the figure raised its lamp, dimly illuminating the withered, scowling face of Argus Filch.

"Oh shit," Ron whispered, but Harry was already in motion. He pulled Hermione towards another staircase leading down from the landing they were standing on, glancing behind to see that Ron and Draco followed. The new staircase led away from Filch, but more importantly, it led to a door out of the Gallery. They'd need that more than anything to have any hope of escaping a huge loss of points and a detention.

Harry ran up to the door and tried it, but found that it was locked. "We're done for," he muttered as Ron and Draco arrived on the landing, running as quietly as they could.

Hermione pushed him aside. "Honestly," she said, then pointed her wand at the door's latch. "Alohamora" she intoned, and then pulled the door open. The boys stared at her for a minute, and she hissed, "Well, are we going to hide from Filch or not?"

Wordlessly, the three boys clambered through the portal after her, quietly pulling the door closed behind them. Harry stayed next to it, peering out through the keyhole to see whether Filch had detected them. Hermione and Draco stayed at his side, while Ron explored a little way down the wide, torch-lit corridor they'd found themselves in. "Where did you learn that?" Harry whispered to the bushy-haired girl.

"Standard Book of Spells, Grade One," Hermione replied. "It's in Unit Seven."

"Unit Seven?" Draco hissed. "We're not due for that until March!"

"Lucky for you I study ahead, then, isn't it?" Hermione retorted.

"Maybe not," Ron interjected in a quiet, shaky voice. "Sometimes, doors are locked for a very, very good reason." Harry glanced back at Ron, noting that he'd gone very pale, and his large hands were shaking even more badly than his voice. Then Harry looked beyond Ron, and felt his body go numb with fear.

The hallway was really rather short, and not fifteen yards away from the children a gigantic beast was curled up, asleep. With its shaggy gray fur, slowly twitching tail, short floppy ears, and long sharp canines, it closely resembled a common attack dog... except that it was about twenty feet long and had two extra heads.

"Oh God," Hermione breathed beside Harry.

"Now everyone, just stay quiet," Draco whispered. "We don't want to do anything to wake it..." One of the dog's eyes opened, glinting yellow in the dim light of the hallway. Draco gulped, and weakly added, "up."

The other five eyes opened, and the massive, three-headed dog came to its feet, baring fangs as long as Harry's forearm. The thought of being pierced by one of them snapped Harry out of his daze. He spun around and opened the door, leaping back out into the Tower Gallery. He would take a run-in with Filch over becoming a monster's midnight snack any day. The other three children piled out after him, and they slammed the door shut, not caring what noise they might be making. Hermione pointed her wand and muttered, "Avetesera."

Then they were running fast as they could to get away from the door. Harry couldn't imagine any lock holding back the massive beast for more than a few moments. Almost blindly, the four children climbed the seemingly endless staircases of the Tower Gallery, then stampeded down the hallway towards the portrait hole. The Fat Lady was just walking back into her frame, and regarded the children with some surprise, but they paid her shocked expression no heed. His lungs, legs, and sides burning, Harry gasped the password at the woman in her pink dress, and the children tumbled into the common room, collapsing breathlessly onto chairs and couches.

"What are they thinking, keeping a thing like inside a school?" Ron finally managed to wheeze.

"I imagine it would need regular exercise," Draco said between gasps. "Can't be good for it to be all cramped up in that corridor."

"Didn't you see its feet?" Hermione asked, scowling at the three boys.

"I was... too busy... looking... at the heads," Harry replied, still gasping. The room was doing a sort of lazy waltz around him, tilting first one way, then another. He decided he didn't like it now any more than he had earlier in the Hospital Wing. "There were three of them," he added.

"It was standing on a trapdoor," Hermione said. "It's guarding something."

"Well, it's doing a bloody good job, I'd say," Ron replied. "I can't imagine anyone getting past that thing."

Harry nodded automatically, worsening the room's wobbling, but he couldn't help remembering the break-in at Gringott's. He wondered whether the three-headed dog would frighten a dark wizard as much as it had frightened him.

Hermione, her breathing now back to normal, finally stood. "Well," she huffed. "I'm going to bed, before you drag me into another scheme that's liable to get me killed." She snatched up the parchment she'd left on the table at the beginning of their foray into the halls and marched up to her dorm, muttering something under her breath.

"Before we drag her into something?" Ron finally asked after Hermione had gone. "She grabbed onto me!"

"Forget her," Draco said, stretching his arms. "She's not worth the time. Fancy another go at it?"

Harry shook his head slowly, trying not to aggravate the swaying of the room. "I don't think so," he replied. "I think I've had enough adventure for one evening."

"Yeah," Ron agreed. "I think I'll turn in. We can get MacNair another day." He stood and started for the stairs.

Draco followed Ron, pausing to ask, "Coming, Harry?"

Harry nodded slightly, then slowly stood. The motion of the room got worse the moment he reached his feet, and he himself started swaying so badly that he had to steady himself against the back of a chair. He took a wobbly step forward and nearly fell over.

"Are you all right, Harry?" Draco asked.

"'M fine," Harry replied. His voice sounded distant, as if he'd stuffed his ears with cotton before speaking. "Jus' feel a lil' faint." His eyes started to flutter closed, and his head began to feel very light. He felt like he could float off somewhere...

Before Harry realized what was happening, someone had looped an arm around his torso and was half-carrying him over to the couch. Harry allowed himself to be guided down onto the overstuffed cushions, then pushed over so he was stretched out on top of them. "You should lie down for a bit," Ron said, his voice echoing dully in Harry's ear. Harry let his eyes drift entirely shut, though he was awake enough to hear Ron tell Draco to go on up to the dorm.

"Harry?" Ron asked, shaking the smaller boy's shoulder. Harry dimly noticed that his friend's hands radiated a very soothing warmth. "You still with me?" Ron continued.

"Yeah," Harry croaked, "I'm here."

"Good," Ron said, removing his hand. "You'll be fine in a few minutes... Fred and George get knocks on the head all the time--from each other, you know--and they sometimes have fainting spells. They're right as rain after a bit of a lie down."

"Okay," Harry said. In truth, he was already feeling much better... his mind had gotten much less fuzzy, though he hadn't yet checked to see if the room had stopped wobbling around. He didn't know how much of the improvement came from lying down, and how much came from the fact that Ron was still with him. Nobody ever stayed around when Harry didn't feel well--Mother, Father, and even Sirius always just tucked him into bed and left him to his own devices while they went on with their lives. It felt good to have someone waiting beside him until he felt better.

"Thanks," Ron said after another moment.

"What for?" Harry asked, thinking that he should be doing the thanking.

"I don't know... for helping me with the Potions essay, for offering me the second ride on the Nimbus... for running off to the Hospital Wing like a blind fool this morning. Just... thanks."

"Thank you," Harry replied. "For playing chess, and... for being here, right now. It... it means a lot that you stayed with me. I've never had anyone do that, not even my parents."

"I've never really had... nobody's ever put me first," Ron said. "Except you... Would you really have let me take the first ride?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "I still will, if you want."

"No... I couldn't," Ron said. "But I... it feels good to hear the offer." They were silent for a minute or so, then Ron asked, "Want to be best friends?"

"Aren't we already?" Harry asked, somewhat confused. Sirius had said something about best friends, but he couldn't pick it out of his still-muddled mind.

"I think we have to say it."

"Oh," Harry said. He opened his eyes, and saw Ron smiling shyly at him, surrounded by a mostly stable room. "Ron," Harry said, his voice trembling oddly, "you're my best friend."

"You're my best friend too, Harry," Ron replied, his smile transforming into a broad, silly grin. Something in Harry's chest seemed to expand with the words, and suddenly he felt perfectly fine. Clear-headed and breathing evenly, he slowly sat up on the couch. Wordlessly, Ron helped Harry to his feet, the redhead's large hands engulfing Harry's smaller ones in a pleasant heat. After a moment, Ron let go, blushing slightly. "You okay, then?" he asked.

"Perfect," Harry replied.

"It felt really good to hear that," Ron commented quietly as they ascended the stairs to the dorm.

"Same here," Harry said. He glanced up at his best friend and added, "Really good."

Hermione divided her time at breakfast the next morning between reading Magical Fields and Phenomena and glaring at Harry, Ron, and Draco. The boys paid her scowling little heed, however, as they tried to come up with some new way to get the waterfire powder into MacNair's cauldron.

"We could sprinkle it in as we pass by," Seamus suggested. "If we did it during the confusion at the start of class, nobody would know..."

"Snape will be expecting us to try something like that," Ron protested. "I'll bet he watches us like a hawk all morning."

"Well then we've got to make sure MacNair or Crabbe puts the powder in their pot for us," Draco said. "Maybe we could sneak the packet into Crabbe's pocket--label it as one of the ingredients for today."

"No good," Dean said. "He'd probably just eat it."

"Speaking of Crabbe and MacNair..." Ron muttered, and Harry looked up to see Aidan MacNair strolling casually towards him down the aisle between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables.

"Well, hello Potter," MacNair said in a fawning voice, "It's so good to see you well after that dreadful knock on the head you got yesterday!" He shook his head and continued, "If only you'd learned to walk before you came to school. I suppose it's just as well they let you keep a broom." He dropped the sarcastically saccharine tone and added, "Maybe you can ride it to class so you don't trip and fall on your arse."

"Come off it, MacNair!" Draco snarled. "You know you're the one to blame. Knocked him in the face and sent him flying, didn't you?"

"Me? Clothesline him?" MacNair asked, feigning indignation. "It's impossible! If I stuck my arm out, Potter would have to jump half a foot to put his forehead on it! How could I clothesline the little gnome?"

"I'm sure you'd find a way," Seamus grumbled, his face starting to go red.

"Well, we Slytherins are known for our cunning," MacNair replied. "Too bad Gryffindors are only known for running into things without looking. I suppose Potter has a head start in that regard." He grinned nastily, then spun on his heel and swaggered away, pausing only to turn back for a moment and call, "I wouldn't sit too close to Weasley, Potter. I hear poverty's catching!"

"I hate being poor," Ron said.

"I hate being small," Harry said at the same time.

"And I really hate MacNair," they both said together.

"That's a little creepy," Dean commented, idly stirring his eggs with his fork.

"Probably useful in Potions, though," Seamus said. "Makes for good partners. Unlike you and Lavender," he added, nodding towards Draco.

Draco blinked a few times. "Yeah," he said, "partners." And then he grinned like a cat that had just fallen into a barrel of cream.

Potions began on a down note. Snape had the students hand in their essays at the start of class, glaring as each of them walked up to the front to lay a scroll on his desk. "Glad to see you've recovered from your concussion, Potter," he drawled as Harry came forward, "I can only hope that the impact knocked some intelligence into your feeble brain." Harry bit his lip to keep from saying anything as he laid his scroll in front of the professor. He turned wordlessly and walked back to his desk, but froze when he heard Snape say, "One point from Gryffindor for running in the halls."

Harry clenched his fists, but took a deep breath and forced himself to sit down. Ron, however, could not be so easily contained. "That's not fair, Professor!" he shouted, "It was an emergency!"

"There is no excuse for unsafe behavior, Mr. Weasley!" Snape retorted. He grinned nastily, adding, "And one more point will be taken from Gryffindor for your cheek."

Ron's face went very red, and he almost stood, but Harry laid a steadying hand on his arm. "Just ignore him," he whispered, and Ron relaxed slightly. "If we give him a reason to take points off, he wins," Harry explained quietly, and Ron finally sank completely into his seat.

"The moment I'm done with the N.E.W.T.s," Ron muttered as Latifa handed in her paper, "I am going to transfigure his robes into manure."

Harry muffled his giggle as best he could. It definitely wouldn't do for Snape to ask what he thought was so funny.

Eventually, all the essays had been handed in, and Snape set the class to work making Anti-Acne Ointment. He immediately headed over towards Harry and Ron, but Draco called for the professor, who quickly changed direction. Harry kept his head down and poured water into his cauldron, hoping that his good luck would hold and that Snape would stay away for the entire period. He barely heard Snape say, "Thank you for bringing that to my attention, Mr. Malfoy. One point to Gryffindor."

Harry slowly stirred the pot while Ron poured bubotuber pus into the water. Both boys nearly gagged just from the odor; the viscous, yellow-green pus smelled like an open sewer on a hot day. They managed to keep themselves from spilling any of the revolting liquid, however, which was fortunate, as the text had indicated that the fluid had unpleasant side effects unless diluted.

This property was demonstrated quite effectively only a few moments later, when MacNair screamed in pain and obvious rage. Harry looked up from his potion, careful to keep stirring, just in time to see large blisters start showing up all over MacNair's face. Then the obnoxious boy ran over to the sink and started trying to rinse off the thick, gooey liquid. This only worsened (or in Harry's view, improved) the situation, as his frantic scrubbing transferred some of the undiluted pus to his hands, which also started to blister.

Snape eventually sent MacNair to Madam Pomfrey, escorted by Goyle. Crabbe was left to clean up the spilled ingredients and to try to finish the potion on his own. He failed in spectacular fashion, managing to make his concoction explode in a brilliant green fireball towards the end of class. Harry, dutifully stirring his own ointment as it thickened, grinned as Snape heaped abuse on the hapless Slytherin boy. The professor took so long with the chewing-out that he had no time to make any nasty comments at the end of class, when he grudgingly admitted that Harry's ointment was perfectly made.

"That was brilliant, Draco!" Seamus exclaimed as the Gryffindor boys sat down to lunch a few minutes later. "We didn't even need the powder to do it!"

"What happened?" Harry asked. "I missed it--too busy avoiding Snape's notice, you know."

"Well, when Seamus made that comment this morning about Potions partners," Draco explained, "It occurred to me that we could use Crabbe to get MacNair. We all know MacNair does the work for both of them in class, because Crabbe's a total incompetent. So I told Snape about it, and he forced Crabbe to do all the important bits. I was just hoping he'd melt the cauldron... things turned out even better than I planned."

"I'll say," Ron agreed. "MacNair's going to look repulsive for a week! How'd Crabbe manage to spill the pus all over him?"

"The stupid lump didn't even glance at the instructions," Dean said. "He just dumped all the pus in right away, not even pouring slowly. Naturally, it splashed something awful, right into MacNair's face. I think some even went up his nose."

"You were right, Seamus," Harry said, "That was brilliant, Draco."

Draco only grinned in reply.

The highlight of the day came shortly after dinner. Nimbus 2000 in hand, Harry and his dorm-mates made their way through the twilight down to the Quidditch pitch. Fortunately, none of the house teams had really started practicing yet, so the pitch was completely unoccupied. In the fading light, Harry doubted anyone from the school would be able to see exactly who was flying around, so he figured he couldn't draw McGonagall's ire. He mounted the broom and rose up into the air.

Immediately, Harry understood why the Nimbus 2000 was such a prized broom. It handled effortlessly, reacting instantly but fluidly to any changes of pressure from Harry's hands and knees. When Harry accelerated, the broom responded with a burst of speed that took Harry's breath away without being anywhere near as draining as the aging school brooms. He took several quick laps around the pitch, then returned to the center for a few practice dives, testing the braking capability. After a series of loops and corkscrew spirals, he finally dove towards his waiting friends, accelerating until he was only a few yards above them and nonetheless stopping at a perfect hover two feet off the ground.

Only when he dismounted did Harry realize that five people were waiting for him instead of four. Oliver Wood grinned at Harry and said, "Excellent show, Harry. Glad to see the head's not bothering you--you look like you could outfly a dragon."

Harry grinned shyly in reply, and dug at the ground with his toe. "Thanks," he murmured, glad that the twilight made it difficult for everyone else to tell he was blushing.

"Professor McGonagall told me you got a Nimbus 2000," Oliver said. "Could I take a ride?"

Harry looked up at the older boy, and barely managed to keep himself from agreeing immediately. After Oliver had said such nice things to him, Harry definitely didn't want to be a cause of disappointment to the Captain. But Harry had promised Ron, and he couldn't forget how the redhead had defended him to Snape... Harry cleared his throat, and quietly said, "I, uh, promised Ron he'd get next." He cringed in anticipation of Oliver's pained reaction.

"No matter," Oliver said, still smiling. Harry blinked in surprise as the older boy continued, "I'll just borrow it a bit before practice tomorrow, if you don't mind."

"S-sure," Harry stammered, feeling strangely giddy. Oliver shot Harry another grin, then strolled off towards the castle, whistling merrily. Harry stared at his back for a moment, then turned around and carefully handed the broom to Ron.

The redhead's eyes were shining with happiness, and he wore the broadest grin imaginable as he climbed onto the broom. In a moment, he was in the air, doing the same laps around the pitch that Harry had, though his steering was a bit jerkier. He eschewed the kind of diving Harry had done, but managed a fair reproduction of some of the loops and spirals, though the broom still lurched about somewhat. He took a final lap around the pitch, then returned to the ground just as it got too dark to fly safely anymore.

On the walk back to the castle, Ron and Harry hung back a little from the other three. "You could have given Wood the second ride," Ron said, still holding the broom. "I mean, I know you promised, but he's the Quidditch Captain. I wouldn't have minded, really."

Harry glanced up at the redhead, but the taller boy's face was unreadable. Harry considered what he'd said, imagining how pleased Oliver would have been to have a ride on the broom. Then Harry shook his head. Nothing could have made him feel better than the look of sheer joy in Ron's eyes when he got on the Nimbus 2000. "I'd have given you second ride even if I hadn't promised," Harry said.

Even in the faint golden light from the castle windows, Harry could see a few happy tears sparkle on Ron's blushing cheeks. And in that moment, Harry knew beyond any doubt that he'd made the right choice.