Just another day at Hogwarts

Harry had never believed he would meet two boys who seemed to hate each other as much as Draco Malfoy and Ron Weasley. Still, it seemed that for the sake of Harry they were willing to put aside their differences and at least attempt to tolerate each other. It was on this particular evening that Ron and Draco, after finishing a particularly rough fight with each (swollen eyes and lips and all) gathered around excitedly by a flyer that had been posted in the Slytherin common room. The poster informed them that flying lessons would be starting on Thursday -- and Gryffindor and Slytherin would be learning together again - just like in Potions class.

"Typical," said Harry darkly. "Just what I always wanted. To make a fool of myself on a broomstick in front of everybody."

He had been looking forward to learning to fly more than anything else - on his own time.

"You don't know that you'll make a fool of yourself," said Ron reasonably. "Anyway, I know Malfoy's always going on about how good he is at Quidditch, but I bet that's all talk."

Malfoy certainly did talk about flying a lot. He complained loudly about first years never getting on the house Quidditch teams and told long, boastful stories that always seemed to end with him narrowly escaping Muggles in helicopters. He wasn't the only one, though: the way Seamus Finnigan told it, he'd spent most of his childhood zooming around the countryside on his broomstick. Even Ron would tell anyone who'd listen about the time he'd almost hit a hang glider on Charlie's old broom. Everyone from wizarding families talked about Quidditch, constantly.

Neville, the unfortunate little Gryffindor, had never been on a broomstick in his life because his grandmother had never let him near one. Privately, Harry felt she'd had a good reason because Neville managed to have an extraordinary number of accidents even with both feet on the ground.

Hermione Granger was almost as nervous about flying as Neville was. This was something you couldn't learn by heart out of a book -- not that she hadn't tried. At breakfast, on Thursday she bored all of Gryffindor house stupid with flying tips she'd gotten out of a library book called Quidditch Through the Ages. Neville was hanging on to her every word, desperate for anything that might help him hang on to his broomstick later, but everybody else was very pleased when Hermione's lecture was interrupted by the arrival of the mail.

Ron was confused to see her wearing Gryffindor colors. He turned to Harry about it, who was busy feeding sausages to Basil - "What's with that Granger girls uniform? Wasn't she in Ravenclaw?"

Draco spoke up about it, in his usual self-important manner. "The mudb- I mean, ahem, the muggle girl was bullied out of her own house, wasn't she? Serves her right - apparently, she caught the Ravenclaw prefect, Penelope Clearwater, cheating. When she turned her in, the whole house turned on her - When Old McGonagall got wind of it, she had Hermione transferred immediately."

Harry and Ron gave each other knowing looks when Draco caught himself almost saying, "Mudblood". Ron and Harry had made a point to make things difficult for Draco every time he said something even remotely racist - and thus he had been making an effort to curb his tongue.

Neither Ron nor Harry had heard anything of the matter. "That's really rare - I wonder why she was placed in Gryffindor?" Said Ron, wonderingly.

"It's just the sort of stupid, self-righteous thing a Gryffindor would do isn't it? Turning people in when they break the rules." Draco's voice was just loud enough to be heard all the way over at the Gryffindor table, as he wasn't even trying to speak in a hushed tone and there weren't too many people still hanging around for breakfast.

Hermione, who had been smiling and talking to people happily, suddenly went quiet and became downcast.

Harry frowned at Draco, "Draco, I swear I'll find where you hide those sweets of yours and mix in something nasty. If you don't have anything nice to say about it, best not to say anything at all."

Hermione seemed to perk up a bit at that but still remained fairly quiet. Draco grumbled to himself quietly, however, and left the matter alone.

Harry hadn't had a single letter since Hagrid's note, something that Malfoy had been quick to notice, of course. Malfoy's eagle owl was always bringing him packages of sweets from home, which he opened gloatingly at the Slytherin table.

Harry had sent a few letters to Sirius, in secret, and had tried to call on Kreacher - but no matter how much he called, he got no answer.

A barn owl brought Neville a small package from his grandmother. He opened it excitedly and showed them a glass ball the size of a large marble, which seemed to be full of white smoke.

"It's a Remembrall!" he explained. "Gran knows I forget things -- this tells you if there's something you've forgotten to do. Look, you hold it tight like this and if it turns red -- oh... " His face fell because the Remembrall had suddenly glowed scarlet, "... you've forgotten something..."

Neville was trying to remember what he'd forgotten when Draco, who was passing the Gryffindor table, snatched the Remembrall out of his hand.

Harry and Ron jumped to their feet but Professor McGonagall, who could spot trouble quicker than any teacher in the school, was there in a flash.

"What's going on?"

"Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor."

Scowling, Malfoy quickly dropped the Remembrall back on the table.

"Just looking," he said, and he sloped away with Crabbe and Goyle behind him.

Harry and Ron both sighed to each other and watched him walk away.

At three-thirty that afternoon, Harry, Ron, Draco, and the other Slytherins hurried down the front steps onto the grounds for their first flying lesson. It was a clear, breezy day, and the grass rippled under their feet as they marched down the sloping lawns toward a smooth, flat lawn on the opposite side of the grounds to the forbidden forest, whose trees were swaying darkly in the distance.

The Gryffindors were already there, and so were twenty broomsticks lying in neat lines on the ground. Harry had heard Fred and George Weasley complain about the school brooms, saying that some of them started to vibrate if you flew too high, or always flew slightly to the left.

Their teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived. She had short, gray hair, and yellow eyes like a hawk.

"Well, what are you all waiting for?" she barked. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."

Harry glanced down at his broom. It was old and some of the twigs stuck out at odd angles.

"Stick out your right hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch at the front, "and say 'Up!'"

"UP" everyone shouted.

Harry's broom jumped into his hand at once, but it was one of the few that did. Hermione Granger's had simply rolled over on the ground, and Neville's hadn't moved at all. Perhaps brooms, like horses, could tell when you were afraid, thought Harry; there was a quaver in Neville's voice that said only too clearly that he wanted to keep his feet on the ground.

Madam Hooch then showed them how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end, and walked up and down the rows correcting their grips. Ron was delighted when she told Malfoy he'd been doing it wrong for years.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said Madam Hooch. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle -- three -- two--"

But Neville, nervous and jumpy and frightened of being left on the ground, pushed off hard before the whistle had touched Madam Hooch's lips.

"Come back, boy!" she shouted, but Neville was rising straight up like a cork shot out of a bottle -- twelve feet -- twenty feet. Harry saw his scared white face look down at the ground falling away, saw him gasp, slip sideways off the broom and --

WHAM -- a thud and a nasty crack and Neville lay facedown on the grass in a heap. His broomstick was still rising higher and higher and started to drift lazily toward the forbidden forest and out of sight.

Madam Hooch was bending over Neville, her face as white as his.

"Broken wrist," Harry heard her mutter. "Come on, boy -- it's all right, up you get."

She turned to the rest of the class.

"None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.' Come on, dear."

Neville, his face tear-streaked, clutching his wrist, hobbled off with Madam Hooch, who had her arm around him.

No sooner were they out of earshot than Pansy Parkinson, a Slytherin girl, burst into laughter.

"Did you see his face, the great lump?" she laughed.

Most of the other Slytherins joined in. Draco looked as though he wanted to, but after catching Harry's eye, sighed and gave up, taking up a position near Harry.

"Shut up, Parkinson," snapped Parvati Patil.

"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" said Pansy. "Never thought you'd like fat little crybabies, Parvati."

"Look!" said Malfoy, darting forward and snatching something out of the grass. "It's that thing Longbottom's gran sent him."

The Remembrall glittered in the sun as he held it up. Before he could say anything else, Pansy Parkinson snatched it from his hands.

"Give that here, Parkinson," said Harry quietly. Everyone stopped talking to watch.

Pansy smiled nastily.

"I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find -- how about -- up a tree?"

"Give it here!" Harry yelled, but Pansy had leaped onto her broomstick and taken off. Hovering level with the topmost branches of an oak she called, "Come and get it, Potter!"

Harry grabbed his broom. Draco, red in the face, grabbed up his broom as well.

"No!" shouted Hermione Granger. "Madam Hooch told us not to move -- you'll get us all into trouble."

Harry ignored her. Blood was pounding in his ears. He mounted the broom and kicked hard against the ground and up, up he soared; air rushed through his hair, and his robes whipped out behind him -- and in a rush of fierce joy he realized he'd found something he could do without being taught -- this was easy, this was wonderful. He pulled his broomstick up a little to make it even higher, and heard screams and gasps of girls and boys back on the ground and an admiring whoop from Ron.

Behind Harry rushed Draco, who had angrily taken off after Harry to confront Pansy Parkinson in the air.

Harry turned his broomstick sharply to face Parkinson in midair. Malfoy looked stunned but threw a thumbs up at Harry, who grinned in response.

"Give it here," Harry called, "or I'll knock you off that broom!"

"Oh, yeah?" said Parkinson, trying to sneer, but looking worried.

Harry knew, somehow, what to do. He leaned forward and grasped the broom tightly in both hands, and it shot toward Pansy Parkinson like a javelin. Pansy only just got out of the way in time; Harry made a sharp about-face and held the broom steady. A few people below were clapping.

"Nobody up here to save your neck, Parkinson," Harry called.

The same thought seemed to have struck her at that moment.

"Two against one? I bet you think it's fair don't you, Potter? Catch it if you can, then!" she shouted, and she threw the glass ball high into the air and streaked back toward the ground.

Harry saw, as though in slow motion, the ball rise up into the air and then start to fall. Draco and He both, as though in perfect sync, leaned forward and pointed their broom handles down -- next second they were gathering speed in a steep dive, racing the ball -- wind whistled in their ears, mingled with the screams of people watching -- Harry and Draco stretched out their hands -- a foot from the ground Harry caught it, just in time to pull his broom straight. Draco and Harry both pulled a miraculous maneuver - narrowly avoiding each other and both toppled gently onto the grass with the Remembrall clutched safely in Harry's fist.

"POTTER! DRACO!"

His heart sank faster than he'd just dived. Professor Snape was running toward them. Harry got to his feet, trembling.

"Never -- in all my time at Hogwarts--"

Professor Snape was almost speechless with shock, " -- how dare you -- might have broken your neck--"

"It wasn't his fault, Professor--"

"Be quiet, Miss Patil--"

"But Parkinson--"

"That's enough, Mr. Weasley. Potter, Draco, follow me, now."

Harry caught sight of Pansy's triumphant face as they left, walking numbly in Professor Snape's wake as he strode toward the castle. He and Draco were going to be expelled, Harry just knew it. He wanted to say something to defend himself, but there seemed to be something wrong with his voice. Professor Snape was sweeping along without even looking at him and Draco; he had to jog to keep up. Now he'd done it. He hadn't even lasted two weeks. He'd be packing his bags in ten minutes. What would the Sirius say when he turned up on the doorstep? Would Sirius even be there? Would Kreacher?

Up the front steps, up the marble staircase inside, and still Professor Snape didn't say a word to them. He wrenched open doors and marched along corridors with Harry and Draco trotting miserably behind him. Maybe he was taking them to Dumbledore. Harry thought of Hagrid, expelled but allowed to stay on as gamekeeper. Perhaps he could be Hagrid's assistant. His stomach twisted as he imagined it, watching Ron and the others becoming wizards, while he stumped around the grounds carrying Hagrid's bag.

Professor Snape stopped outside a classroom. He opened the door and poked his head inside.

"Excuse me, Professor Quirell, could I borrow Flint, for a moment?" Said Snape, with a tone that left no room for refusal.

Flint? thought Harry, bewildered; was Flint a tool he was going to use to set him on fire?

But Flint turned out to be a person, a burly Sixth-year boy who came out of Quirrell's class looking confused.

"Follow me, you three," said Professor Snape, and they marched on up the corridor, Flint looking curiously at Harry and Draco.

"In here."

Professor Snape pointed them into a classroom that was empty except for Peeves, who was busy writing rude words on the blackboard.

"Out, Peeves!" he barked. Peeves threw the chalk into a bin, which clanged loudly, and he swooped out cursing. Professor Snape slammed the door behind him and turned to face the two boys.

"Potter, Draco - this is Marcus Flint. Flint - I've found you a Seeker and a Reserve player."

Flint's expression changed from puzzlement to delight.

"Are you serious, Professor?"

"Absolutely," said Professor Snape crisply. "These boy's are naturals. I've never seen anything like it. Was that your first time on a broomstick, Draco, Potter?"

Draco shook his head silently. "I got to practice a little, growing up..." Harry nodded his head in reply, though he didn't have a clue what was going on, but he didn't seem to be being expelled, and some of the feeling started coming back to his legs.

"The two of them were chasing a remembrall - Potter caught that thing in his hand after a fifty-foot dive, neck and neck with Draco the entire time," Professor Snape told Flint. "Didn't even scratch themselves. Charlie Weasley couldn't have done what they did if he'd had two of himself."

Flint was now looking as though all his dreams had come true at once.

"Ever seen a game of Quidditch, boys?" he asked excitedly.

"Flint's the captain of the Slytherin team," Professor Snape explained.

"They've got just the build for a Seeker, too," said Flint, now walking around Harry and Draco, staring at them. "Light -- speedy -- we'll have to get them decent brooms, Professor -- a Nimbus Two Thousand or a Cleansweep Seven, I'd say."

"Draco should be your seeker, he's at least ridden on a broom before. Potter should be your reserve. I shall speak to Professor Dumbledore and see if we can't bend the first-year rule. Heaven knows we need a better team than last year. Flattened in that last match by Gryffindor, I couldn't look Minerva McGonagall in the face for weeks..."

Professor Snape peered sternly at Harry.

"I want to hear you're training hard, Potter, or I may change my mind about punishing you."

---

It was dinnertime. Harry had just finished telling Ron what had happened when he'd left the grounds with Professor Snape. Ron had a piece of steak and kidney pie halfway to his mouth, but he'd forgotten all about it.

"Seeker ?" he said. "But first years never -- you must be the youngest house players in about--"

"-- a century," said Harry, shoveling pie into his mouth. He felt particularly hungry after the excitement of the afternoon. "Flint told me."

Ron was so amazed, so impressed, he just sat and gaped at Harry and Draco.

"We start training next week," said Draco. "Only don't tell anyone, Flint wants to keep it a secret."

Fred and George Weasley now came into the hall, spotted Harry and Draco, and hurried over.

"Well done," said George in a low voice. "What did you guys do to cheat your way onto the Slytherin team? Our captain just told us. We're on the Gryffindor team -- Beaters."

"How did your captain find out?" Said Ron, confused.

"It was announced to all the teams - they have to be fair you know, can't let Slytherin recruit first years if none of the other houses get to do so." Said Fred and George.

"I tell you, we're going to win that Quidditch cup for sure this year," said Fred. "Couple of ickle firsties trying to be Seekers..."

Harry and Draco looked at each other, upset and angry.

"Anyway, we've got to go, Lee Jordan reckons he's found a new secret passageway out of the school."

"Bet it's that one behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy that we found in our first week. By the way, Ron, when are you going to introduce us to your boyfriend?"

Ron's face scrunched up in confusion, "Screw you guys! I don't have any boyfriends!"

Malfoy began snickering and Ron turned scarlet in rage.

"Of course you do, Ron. He's been sleeping with you every night - we should know. We've been planning to prank you Slytherins all year - the best time to do it is when you're all asleep!"

Fred and George walked away, arm in arm, laughing at the raging Ron Weasley.

"What was his name again, Gred?" said Fred.

"Oh, Peter, I think it was Feorge!" Said George.

Harry's eyes went wide as he heard their receding voices.

At that moment, a series of concerned sounding squeaks came from Ron's pocket.

Before anybody had any time to react, Scabbers had clambered out of Ron's pockets and was darting across the table just as fast as he could.

"Oi, Scabbers what are you do-!" Said Ron.

But before anyone had had any time to react, Harry shouted in Parseltongue.

"Sssstop him, Basssil. But don't kill him!"

And stop Scabbers, Basil did.

In another moment, Scabbers was trapped and staring deep into Basil's eyes - as though frozen.

Harry, for whatever reason, felt oddly calm about the whole thing - while the rest of the dining hall had gone deathly silent, once more.

"H-Harry... why did you send Basil to grab Scabbers that way..." asked Ron, a little white faced and terrified.

"Ron, go get Fred and George, please. Right away."

Ron looked at Harry, confused. "But-"

"RON! Go get them, now!" Ron got up and ran after his brothers.

Draco was confused by it all but kept eating his sweets all the same.

"So, Harry, what's going on exactly?" Asked Draco.

Harry smiled, "I think I've just caught a rat."

Draco looked confused. "I... see."

Very soon, seeing the commotion, Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall arrived at the table.

"Mr. Potter - what EXACTLY do you think you're doing? Setting your pet to attack another student's pet is an offense worth being expelled for - and here I had such high hopes that you would NOT be like your father." Said Snape gravely.

McGonagall huffed and puffed, "Harry Potter! I demand that you release that rat at once!"

Harry looked at them, somewhat nervous, but held his ground. "I can't do that, Professor - I have reason to believe that this rat is actually an animagus by the name of Peter Pettigrew. Until my suspicions have been confirmed - I can't let him go."

Snape frowned at Harry's snake for a moment before catching onto what Harry said. "Can you prove it, Potter?!" He demanded.

Harry nodded. "I just need to wait for the Weasley twins to get back here."

At that moment, the Weasley twins arrived, their faces oddly serious.

"This doesn't look good, does it Gred?" Said George.

"Indeed it doesn't, Feorge." Said Fred.

Harry smiled at them and then gestured at the breakfast hall.

"Fred, George, I hate to ask, but I need a favor. Can you verify whether Peter Pettigrew is in the hall right now?"

Fred and George frowned at each other. Seeing the severe look on McGonagall and Snape's faces, they sighed heavily and produced a folded up piece of parchment.

They then turned around and whispered to each other and stared at the map and pointed, and then looked back and forth between the Snake on the Slytherin table and the parchment in their hands.

They then cleared their throats and put away the parchment.

"Harry, is your snake's name Peter Pettigrew?" Said Fred and George, together.

Harry shook his head. At that, Fred and George both stared at Scabbers, perplexed.

Ron had come to stand beside Harry in the meantime and was watching the proceedings in a very confused manner.

"I'm sorry Harry, but what does this have to do with Scabbers? He's been in my family for 9 years..."

"9 years," Said Harry. "That's a very long life for a common garden rat..."

Snape and McGonagall produced their wands and aimed them at Scabbers without another word.

"Basssil, releasse the rat." Said Harry in Parseltongue. Many of the students nearby felt a shiver run down their spine at the sound of the weird hissing and slithering language but watched the drama unfold with great fascination.

Basil slithered away and Scabbers quickly came to - he once more made a mad dash, but was stopped by McGonagall - "Petrificus totalus!" She shouted, and sure enough, Scabbers was stopped dead in place.

"Together, Severus." She said to Snape, who stood behind her. He nodded. Then, a blue light extended from their wands, together, and hit upon the small body of Scabbers.

It was like watching a speeded-up film of a growing tree. A head was shooting upward from the ground; limbs were sprouting; next moment, a man was laying on the table where Scabbers had been, totally immobile and a huge amount of fear in his eyes.

Pettigrew was an extremely short man with grubby skin, small watery eyes, and a pointed nose, all of which were lingering attributes of his animagus rat form.

Ron fainted on the spot. Fred and George snickered, and Draco watched in fascination.

"I see." Said Professor Snape. Rage was building in his eyes as he looked at Peter Pettigrew - try as she might in order to appear unflustered, McGonagall was much the same as Snape as she looked at Peter.

"Students, go about your business. I have to ask that you leave your breakfast early, while Professor Snape and I handle this mess."

"Potter, Weasley twins, Malfoy, I'll have to ask that you three stay behind. And one of you should look after this other Weasley - he seems to have fainted." Said Professor Snape.

"Especially you, Potter."

Draco had a wronged expression on his face, yet still stuck around.

"I can handle things from here, Severus. Go get some truth serum, we've some questions to ask Mr. Pettigrew - and while you're at it call Mad-Eye. We will need his help explaining things to the Aurors."

Snape nodded his head and rushed out of the hall.

"How in the world did you notice this, Potter?" Said McGonagall in disbelief.

Harry shrugged and looked at Peter Pettigrew, a hint of disgust appearing on his face.

"I've always known that Peter Pettigrew was an animagus and that his form was a rat. I also knew that, if as Sirius believed, he was alive - he would be missing a toe. I suspected Scabbers the moment Ron showed me him on the train. Ron mentioned he was an old rat, and I noticed he was missing a toe. But I figured that wouldn't be enough. I wasn't sure of it until I heard what the Weasley twins said, that they saw Ron was sleeping with a boy named Peter every night."

"And how could they possibly know that?!" Demanded McGonagall.

With a mournful sigh, the twins unwillingly produced their parchment and waved their wands over it while saying, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

They then handed the parchment to McGonagall who stared at it, and her expression grew grimmer and grimmer.

"And where, might I ask the two of you, did you discover this...?" She said.

Before they could speak, Harry interrupted. "It was made by my father, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, and Sirius Black. They called themselves pranksters, the Marauders. Mooney, Padfoot, Wormtail, and Prongs. They used it to help them navigate the castle and pull pranks."

McGonagall frowned. She looked at the map, and there she could see Professor Snape's footprints quickly marching through the hallways towards the great hall where they waited.

"I see." She said sagely. "And this map - it never lies, I assume?"

The Weasley twins shrugged, "Not that we've noticed, Professor."

"I'm glad that you were honest with me, boys." Said Professor McGonagall. Then she tapped the parchment and said, to the shock of everybody present, "Mischief Managed."

She then handed the parchment back to the Weasley twins, who looked at her in a newfound light.

"Who do you think taught those boys to make such a thing in the first place?" Snapped McGonagall, a hint of a blush on her cheeks.

"Run along, boys. And don't go pulling any pranks in my classroom - Or else I'll know immediately who to look for!" She said to them sternly.

Together the Weasley twins saluted McGonagall and ran out of the hall.

Just as they left, Snape rushed in with a vial of Veritas Serum in his hands.