8

Chapter 8

Six weeks later, life at Hogwarts had settled into annoying predictability. Classes during the day, homework in the afternoons, additional studying after dinner, socialising and networking at every opportunity. True to his word, Harry and Draco had started a study group in the library after dinner on Wednesdays and Fridays, and they had quickly managed to convince Longbottom, Granger and Thomas to join them. Zabini, Crabbe, Goyle, and Parkinson had also decided to come along, though in Parkinson's case it was less the opportunity to network or study, and more of an opportunity to send Harry dirty looks and bitchy comments for daring to take any of her beloved Draco's attention away from her. Harry was working to get some Ravenclaws or Hufflepuffs to join them, but so far the only one who had seemed potentially willing was a Hufflepuff third year named Cedric Diggory. He hadn't shown up yet, but Harry was cautiously optimistic.

Heading into the library, he gave a respectful nod to the Librarian, Madam Pince, and settled himself at his usual table. A quick glance around found the usual upper years scribbling away at their homework, and a handful of giggling couples hiding in the dark corners and getting handsy.

Rolling his shoulders, Harry pulled out his homework planner and glanced over it to refresh his memory. There was nothing major that needed his attention except a Transfiguration essay, so he pulled out the other assignments that needed a quick finishing touch so he could get them out of the way.

He let his mind drift as he worked, pondering his latest puzzle. The Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Quirrel, was beginning to irritate him. Everything about him was clearly fake, and it was beginning to frustrate him that nobody else seemed to pick up on it. The timid demeanour and stutter were clearly put on, and not particularly well at that; and the sharp pains in his scar that he always got in the man's presence was suspicious in the extreme as well. He planned to talk to his Hounds about it the next time he saw them, since he was beginning to form a rather unpleasant theory regarding the turbaned man. If Quirrel was possessed, like he suspected, then he had bigger problems than acquiring the Stone for Flamel.

A bag thumping onto the table next to him drew him from his thoughts, and he glanced up to see Granger in all her frizzy haired, beaver toothed glory, with a rather irritated Draco a few steps behind.

"Good evening, Granger. How are you today?" Harry asked politely.

"I'm fine, Harry. Have you started your Charms essay yet? Did you want me to look over it for you?" Granger beamed, dropping into the seat with a thump and beginning to pull Harry's work closer to herself.

Draco slid elegantly into the seat opposite Harry, and graced her with a withering look.

"Granger, perhaps you should focus on your own work instead of trying to look superior to everyone else. Perhaps then your marks might actually get close to equalling Harry's. And speaking of Harry, I wasn't aware you were close enough friends to use his first name. When did that occur? Or were you just being rude again?"

Granger opened her mouth, fully prepared to argue, when Harry cleared his throat.

"Draco," he said, voice toned with mild disapproval. "There's no need to be rude, even if you are correct. Granger, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I don't need you to check my work. My grades are higher than yours in both practical and theory across the board, and I'm not currently struggling to understand any of the work." He watched as Granger's eyes welled with tears and her bottom lip began to wobble. Placing his hand over hers, he met her eyes and smiled gently. "If I ever do, though, you'll be the first person I ask for help. Alright?"

Granger sniffed and wiped her eyes.

"Alright. Thanks, Harry."

Harry let his face fall into a small frown. "Draco did have a point about being overly familiar though. You shouldn't use someone's first name unless you are specifically asked."

The girls face contorted in frustration. "But we're friends, aren't we? And besides, that's a silly archaic rule. I don't see why such a thing would still be used in today's society."

Raising his free hand to cut her off before she could start ranting, Harry sighed.

"Granger, we aren't close enough to warrant using each other's first names; we are close acquaintances at best. Did you read the etiquette book Draco recommended for you? If you're going to be part of this world, then you need to understand it and assimilate to a degree. If you want to change something, you need to know why it is the way it is first, rather than just bull ahead thoughtlessly. You're not stupid, so don't give the impression you are. The connections you make now, in school, will affect the rest of your life." He widened his eyes slightly, taking on an earnestly innocent look, gripping her hand slightly tighter. "Besides, don't you want to fit in here?"

Granger nodded hesitantly, then dropped her eyes and pulled her hand away.

"I suppose. I just thought, since we were both muggle raised…" She trailed off, head drooping so her hair fell forward to cover her reddened cheeks.

"Well, we all have our flaws, I suppose," Parkinson's obnoxious voice interjected. "Still, you could at least try not to broadcast your lack of class."

Draco's face tightened as the girl dropped down next to him, leaning against his arm.

Harry's eyes narrowed. He may not like Granger particularly, but she had the potential to be a researcher in the same league as Shot if he could get her to start thinking outside of the library. As such, she was his until he decided to cut her loose or kill her.

"Hello Parkinson. It's plain you're the expert on class. Your parents must have spent a fortune on the finest tutors to turn you into the perfect lady to represent your family." He waited until Parkinson flushed slightly from the praise, and then struck. "Pity it was wasted."

A passing fifth year Ravenclaw choked slightly, before sniggering and hurrying off to pass on the latest gossip. Apparently Potter could be savage.

Even Draco was surprised into widening his eyes slightly. Granger's jaw dropped, and her eyes darted between Harry and Parkinson.

"Um, a-are we interrupting something?" Longbottom, Crabbe and Goyle stood behind Parkinson, having arrived just in time to catch Harry's last comment.

"Not at all," Harry smiled smoothly. "Have you started your Transfiguration essay yet?"

The three newest arrivals sat down, pulling out their assignments.

"N-not yet," Longbottom stammered, warily eyeing the livid Parkinson. "I think I understand the theory, but I can't seem to get the spell to work properly." He looked down, flushing with shame.

Crabbe and Goyle nodded in agreement. Both boys were considerably more intelligent than they appeared, but they did struggle with the practical work.

Harry pursed his lips as he thought.

"Alright, if you want we could maybe have a practice session after we get the essay done? See if we can figure out where things are going wrong for you."

"Perhaps you aren't as smart as you think you are if you can't see that the issue is that all three of them are practically squibs!" Parkinson spat. "Honestly, all three of them should just leave and stop embarrassing themselves!"

Longbottom shrank into himself, taking the words to heart, but Crabbe and Goyle both narrowed their eyes slightly. A quick glance at Draco confirmed that there would be at least three letters being sent home immediately after study group.

"Leave."

Harry's cold tone had everyone at the table freezing in place.

Parkinson, however, was too intent on putting the little halfblood back in his place, and missed that even Draco had paled nervously and was trying to discretely edge away from her.

"Why should I?" She scoffed.

Harry's frigid gaze never left hers, and after a few moments, the Pureblood Princess began to realise that she might have miscalculated.

"Everyone in this group takes their studies seriously and are willing to put the work in to achieve the results that they want. You are sabotaging their efforts, and your petty attempts a bullying are beyond pathetic. We could put up with that, but you have gone too far this time. You have blatantly insulted my friends, and I will not tolerate it any longer. You are no longer welcome to join us. Please leave."

Pansy looked to Draco for support, only to find him watching her coldly, obviously in complete agreement with the halfblood upstart. Huffing angrily, she stood and grabbed her bag, paying no attention to her chair tipping backwards and landing on the floor with a loud bang. Leaning over the table and pointing a finger threateningly in Harry's face, she snarled, teeth bared.

"This is not over, Potter!"

Turning on her heel, she stormed out of the library, doing her best to slam the heavy doors behind her.

"Why do people keep saying that to me?" Harry mused quietly. "First Snape, and now Parkinson. Maybe they should get together and brainstorm better exit lines. I'm sure between the two of them they could come up with something much better."

The other children at the table sniggered quietly, and turned back to sorting their homework and various related paraphernalia.

"Sounds like we missed something interesting," Zabini observed as he and Thomas approached. The Italian boy righted Pansy's chair and sat, Thomas settling next to him.

Draco smiled in welcome, nodding to Thomas.

"Oh, you have no idea!" He glanced at Harry, fighting down a wide grin. "Wait until my father hears about this!"

Harry snorted and shook his head, shuffling his parchment and drafting the key points he wanted in his Transfiguration essay. He was well aware that Lucius would be laughing his arse off at the Parkinson bitch being put in her place. The girl has aspirations to be the next Lady Malfoy, but Lucius would probably disown Draco if the boy ever seriously considered it.

The group spent the next hour and a half drafting the last of their outstanding assignments, and coaching each other through their weaker areas. Surprisingly, Longbottom was an absolute whiz at Herbology, something which frustrated Hermione immensely since he would often offer up little details that she couldn't find in the books, but that Madam Sprout confirmed to be completely correct and complimented them on including.

Eventually, the group packed up and migrated to an empty classroom.

"Alright, let's start at the beginning. What's giving you trouble? The words? Movements? Something else?" Harry asked the three chubby boys.

All three shrugged, looking at their feet.

Harry sighed, and ran a hand through his hair, retying his ponytail afterwards. He'd faded the glamours over the past month and a half, and was now nearly back to his usual appearance. Only his height and weight were still concealed, with the latter barely adjusted at all.

"Longbottom, let's start with you. When you first held your wand, what did you feel?"

Neville's eyes darted around nervously, before he sighed and let his shoulders droop sadly.

"Not much. Kind of scared, I guess?"

Harry blinked, frowning.

"By any chance, is your wand preowned? Were you given several to try before this one?"

The timid boy shook his head, fingers clutching his wand tightly.

"N-no. Gran just gave me this one. It," he paused, looking ashamed. "It was my dad's."

Harry adopted Sympathetic Look Number Seven. He knew that the Longbottom's currently resided in the long term care ward at St Mungo's Hospital after being tortured into insanity shortly after Harry had supposedly defeated the Dark Lord.

"That's most likely your issue then. I've seen you in class, you aren't very confident, but you've got the motion and incantation right. The wand chooses the wizard, according to Ollivander, so using your dad's wand, especially while it's still bonded to him won't work for you very well. I'd recommend getting a new wand and seeing the difference. I bet you'll do really well with a properly matched wand." He smiled reassuringly at the hopeful look on the Longbottom Heir's face. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Granger practically vibrating with curiosity about Longbottom's father, but Draco whispered harshly in her ear and she subsided with a pout.

"Goyle? What about you?"

"Don't know," the boy grunted.

"Ok, why don't you show me a spell you know you can do. Something simple."

Goyle pointed his wand at a chair, the tip swishing and flicking just the way Flitwick had taught them.

"Wingardium Leviosa," he muttered.

The chair lifted slightly, wobbling in the air and then dropping back to the floor harshly when Goyle dropped the spell.

Harry observed critically, as did Draco. The blonde moved closer, looking at how his friend was holding the wand.

"Can you do that again?" He asked, his eyes never leaving the meaty paw in front of him.

"Wingardium Leviosa."

"Are you seeing what I'm seeing?" Harry asked Draco quietly.

"I think so? Something's wrong with his hand?"

Harry nodded.

"Can I see your hand for a moment?" Taking Goyle's hand in both of his, he gently flexed and rotated it, testing the range of movement. He then spread the hand out flat, and grabbed the other, comparing the two.

"Have you injured this hand?" Harry asked, poking at a few spots around the meat of the thumb and wrist.

Goyle shifted uncomfortably, before grunting an affirmative.

"Did you get it treated?" Harry looked up knowingly.

Looking guilty, Goyle shook his head.

"I'm guessing you punched something or someone, but didn't hold your fist right, and were too worried about getting in trouble to tell your parents you were hurt. Am I right?" Harry released the captured hand, stepping back, Draco half a step behind. Seeing Goyle flush red, he grinned a little. "It looks like you broke your hand, and it's healed wrong. You're having trouble with the wand motions because you don't have full range of movement in your hand. You'll need to go to the hospital wing and see what Madam Pomphrey says. She might be able to fix it for you, or you might need to see your family healer. Either way, it should hurt a lot less once you get it fixed. I'm guessing it aches a lot."

The hope spreading across Goyle's face was almost painful to watch. Draco had confided in Harry that Goyle's parents put a lot of pressure on him, and the beefy boy had been almost frightened of what would happen to him if he went home with his current low grades.

Shooing Goyle to go sit with Longbottom and the others, Harry turned his attention to Crabbe.

"Any thoughts?" Harry asked.

Crabbe shook his head, and simply gripped his wand and pointed it at the same chair Goyle had demonstrated on.

"Wingardium Leviosa," he grunted quietly.

The chair rattled slightly on the floor, rising a centimetre or two unevenly, then dropped to the floor again.

Harry blinked in surprise. If he hadn't been so close when Crabbe incanted the spell, he might have missed it entirely. Crabbe's voice was extremely nasal and breathy, and sounded like it took a lot of effort to produce sound. He was reminded of one of his Ghosts, Trent Donnolly. When the boy had come to them, Marcel had noticed that the extremely quiet boy had a habit of making grunting or growling noises, and when he did speak, he was very breathy and nasal. He also found speaking to be very tiring, and could only do it for short periods of time. A thorough medical investigation had turned up a cleft soft palate. Apparently it was rare enough in the magical world that most Healers wouldn't have even looked for it.

Harry tilted his head, thinking. It was plausible that the minor speech impediment was enough to disrupt the spell, even though the incantation had in fact been spoken properly.

"Crabbe, this is going to sound weird, but can you open your mouth wide and tip your head back a little? I want to check something."

Crabbe gave him a confused look, but complied. Harry stepped close, resting a hand on the side of the boy's neck and jaw for stability. A quiet Lumos let him see the roof of Crabbe's mouth clearly. A quick examination confirmed his theory.

"I think you have what's called a submucosal cleft palate. A friend of mine had it too, though his was more severe and noticeable than yours. Do you get a lot of ear infections? Find it difficult to talk for long periods? When you were a baby, did you have trouble swallowing and learning to talk?" Each nod of agreement cemented the theory further. "You definitely need to see Madam Pomphrey, apparently once it's been identified it's really easy to treat, but you might need some speech therapy afterwards. You'll find eating a lot easier too, because it will be easier to swallow. You shouldn't get so many ear infections either. While you're there, get Pomphrey to check your hearing as well, since repeated ear infections can damage your hearing."

Crabbe clearly wasn't sure what to make of what Harry's claims, but he seemed willing enough to go with Goyle to the Hospital wing and get checked on the off chance Harry was right. His parents didn't pressure him as much as Goyle's did, but he didn't want to disappoint them.

"We'll go with you and explain," Draco offered. Both boys nodded, looking grateful.

The group separated, Zabini, and Thomas heading off down the hall in opposite directions while Longbottom lingered, waiting for Granger.

The girl hesitated, clutching a bundle of books to her chest. She watched Crabbe and Goyle exit the room, Harry and Draco on their heels.

"Potter?" She called as the blond and brunette reached the door.

Pausing, they both turned back to her, Harry raising a questioning eyebrow.

"Earlier, when you stood up for me against Parkinson? I just wanted to say thank you." She blushed, fingers tightening on the books.

"You're welcome," Harry nodded.

"Did you realise that you called me your friend, to her?" The girl asked, a mischievous grin sliding hesitantly across her face. "Does that mean I get to use your first name now, since by your own admission I'm now more than a close acquaintance?"

Harry laughed lightly.

"I suppose it does, Hermione." He grinned, then headed into the hallway.

Granger turned hopeful eyes on Draco.

The aristocratic blond looked at her for a moment, his face stoic.

"No." Spinning on his heel, he strode after his friends, leaving a pouting girl and chuckling Longbottom Heir behind.

"Well," Neville offered, "one out of two isn't bad?"

Hermione nodded ruefully.

Harry was sitting in front of the fire and reading his most recent letters from Connor, and his other kids. There was the usual childish rambling about pranks and hobbies, friends, school yard rivalries, and whatever else had caught their attention recently. Each of his kids had included a letter in the packet, and Elise had even sent along a picture she had drawn of a unicorn. Harry squinted at it and tilted his head slightly, trying to work out what the unicorn was doing, since despite appearances he was sure it wasn't supposed to be eating a cat.

"Reading your fanmail, Potter? I suppose it's the next best thing to a letter from your family," Parkinson scoffed, drawing the attention of everyone else in the common room.

"Parkinson, if you have an issue to address with me, then get to the point. Otherwise, do everyone a favour and spare us your poorly thought out insults. Your nasal whining is giving me a headache." Harry didn't bother to look up, merely turning the current page over so he could read the back.

He could hear some amused tittering from older students, and Draco, who was sitting on the couch to the left of his armchair, snorted quietly in agreement.

Parkinson glared at the blond, her perpetual pout drawing down unhappily.

"Draco?"

Draco rolled his eyes and looked at her over the top of his book.

"Sit down, Parkinson. You're embarrassing yourself."

The girl's lip wobbled, blue eyes filling with tears.

"Draco Malfoy, you… you jerk!" She cried, spinning on her heel and running from the room with tears beginning to leak down her cheeks.

Harry rolled his eyes and folded up his letters, casually slipping them back into the envelope.

"So dramatic. Someone should encourage her to put on a stage production."

Draco ginned, shutting his book and putting it on the arm of the couch.

"Would you really want to sit through a play where we have to hear her talk?"

Harry grimaced.

"I take it back."

Standing, he stretched until his muscles burned, then relaxed with a sigh.

"I need to go for a walk before bed. I'm too restless to sleep yet."

"Did you want me to come with you?" Draco offered.

"No, thanks, I'll be ok. I should be back by curfew anyway." Harry smiled, and put his correspondence in the pocket of his robes.

The blond nodded, and picked up his book again.

Harry strode out of the soothing green common room, making sure that the 'hidden' door was shut properly behind him. His heels clicked on the smooth stone floors as he walked down the empty hallways, lost in thought.

He really needed to get moving on a plan to retrieve the stone for Flamel. The man had been very clear that he had no specific time limit for the job, provided that the stone was back in his possession within the next year, since that was when he would need the stone to make his next dose of the Elixir of Life. The man had been surprisingly open about the situation when he met with Sergei, much to Harry's surprise. He couldn't imagine why someone would be so open about the object's potential when talking to a representative of a Crime Lord, but he supposed his reputation for always delivering was aiding him in this case. After all, if he screwed over the client and kept the stone for himself, it wouldn't be good for future business.

"You're thinking very hard," Warthog purred as she emerged from the shadows.

Harry smiled in welcome, stroking her head and massaging her ears.

"Mm. I have to get to work on a job, and I was thinking about how best to go about it."

"I see. Anything I can help with?"

"Not at this point, but I might need your help later. Just keep exploring the castle and let me know if you find anything I might be interested in."

"Of course. In that vein, you might like to know there is a massive dog with three heads in the third floor corridor, that I have in no way been tormenting every day since a week after we got here." Warthog peered up at him, blue eyes shining innocently.

Harry snorted a laugh despite himself.

"Of course you haven't. Anything else up there that you know of?"

The puma thought for a few moments.

"Well, I've smelled a plant of some sort, but I can't tell you what. It has an undertone of blood and rotten meat though, so I'd guess it's something you might want to set on fire, because as far as I'm concerned, whoever decided to enhance carnivorous plants with magic was out of their fucking gourd. I've also smelled something truly rank, but I couldn't tell you what it might be. All I know is that the smell was so bad it nearly knocked me out and my nose was so traumatised by it I couldn't smell anything afterwards for an hour."

"I see," Harry mused. "Have you overheard anything from any of the teachers while you were roaming around? Or from your little friend?"

"Mr Potter," a deep voice intoned silkily. "Out after curfew? Tsk tsk. Perhaps a detention with me tomorrow after dinner will teach you the error of your ways, though given that you are as thick headed as your father, I have no doubt that the lesson will fail to stick."

Turning his head calmly, Harry observed Snape as he loomed over the much shorter boy. A deliberately obvious look at his watch had Harry raising an enquiring eyebrow.

"I still have forty minutes until curfew, and it will take less than five to get to the common room from here. Is there another issue you would like to address with me while we lack an audience?"

Snape scowled.

"Your insolence will not be tolerated, Mr Potter. So far, I have seen nothing to convince me that you are anything other than a selfish brat like your father. If you did not have your mother's eyes, I would have given up on you entirely! You may have everyone else fooled, but I will be watching you, and when you slip up, and you will, I will be waiting. Now, get back to the common room, and take that beast with you."

Harry watched as Snape spun on his heel, content that he would be obeyed. As the man rounded the corner with his robes billowing dramatically behind him, the boy stared thoughtfully after him.

"My mother's eyes, hmm?"