Chapter 4: Year Two, Part 1

Harry closed the door, took off his glasses to rub his eyes, then replaced them and opened it again. The creature was still there: the size of a small child, with bat-like ears and a pencil nose, and wearing what looked like a tattered pillowcase. Protuberant green eyes peered at him as it wrung its spindly hands.

He edged into the room, eyeing the wand on his bedside table. "What are you and what do you want?"

"Dobby is a house-elf, sir. Dobby has come to warn the great Harry Potter of a dreadful plot—"

"Now, hang on a tick." He shut the door and retrieved his wand as the freaky creature watched him without blinking. "You said you were an elf?"

Dobby nodded vigorously, causing his ears to flop around. "A house-elf, sir. Dobby is bound to serve a wizard family for life. Dobby cleans, and cooks, and tends the garden, and runs errands..."

Harry held up his hand. "Okay, okay, I get it. So if you're a house-elf, does that mean there are other kinds? Say, a wood elf, or a high elf?" He tried not to sound too hopeful.

"Dobby sometimes likes to climb high places," the so-called elf offered. "But house-elves never go into the woods, sir, unless the master orders us to."

Harry sighed. "Sit down, Dobby," he said, doing so himself and patting the bed next to him. "Let's talk."

"S-sit down?" The house-elf started tearing up. "Never before was Dobby offered a seat by a wizard! Dobby has heard of Harry Potter's greatness, but—"

"Sit down and shut the hell up," Harry ordered, giving Dobby what he hoped was a menacing look. It seemed to have worked, for the elf quieted down and meekly perched on the bed.

"Has your kind always looked this way? You weren't ever taller, or..." Harry bent forward to rummage in a drawer and withdrew a paper tube. Unfurling it, he revealed a poster of an elven ranger in a chainmail bikini. "More like that?"

Dobby's eyes bulged out even more than usual. "No, sir, house-elves always looked like Dobby—ever since we started tending the first masters' homes many many years ago."

"The wizarding world has left me in despair," Harry muttered, scrutinizing Dobby's pointy ears with dismay. "Whatever, go ahead and tell me about your stupid plot."

"...And that is why Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts," Dobby finished the haphazard explanation, gazing at him with imploring eyes.

"I appreciate the warning, Dobby." Harry took hold of the excitable house-elf's shoulder before he could start genuflecting again. "But I have a dream to work for, magic to learn—and I have friends."

Dobby looked at him slyly. "Friends who don't even write to Harry Potter?"

"Write? You mean, like, a letter?" He wrinkled his nose. "I just use Skype like a normal person."

Dobby's ears drooped. "Dobby is not knowing that magic. Dobby thought, if he blocked Harry Potter Padmy's letters, Harry Potter might not want to go back..."

Harry's eyes widened at the stack of envelopes the house-elf pulled out of the threadbare sack he was wearing. A girl had sent him letters. They might even smell of perfume, or have little hearts drawn on them. To think, he might've triggered Padma's flag, and this wretched creature was preventing him from going further down her route! He sprang to his feet.

"Dobby will give them back—if Harry Potter sir promises not to r-return to Hogwarts..." The house-elf retreated from Harry's approach until he was backed into a corner.

"Oh." Harry blinked, lowering the wand he didn't even remember drawing. "Sure, I promise."

Dobby wiped his brow with the back of his hand. "Sir is being honest?"

"I swear," Harry said solemnly, crossing his fingers behind his back. He was going to have to cajole his uncle into giving him a ride to the wizarding post office in Diagon Alley.

Uncle Vernon lifted Harry's fancy trunk out of the boot of the car and loaded it onto a trolley. They entered the King's Cross station and proceeded towards the magical platform. Harry kept shooting his uncle surreptitious looks, noticing how he became more and more apprehensive as the number of oddly dressed individuals in the crowd increased. By the time they stepped onto Platform Nine, Vernon was constantly swiveling his head and eyeing the passers-by with trepidation.

"Here's fine, Uncle Vernon," Harry said.

Looking relieved, the man shook his nephew's hand. "You have a good year, then."

"Thank you, uncle."

His job done, Vernon fled briskly, glowering at anybody who dared look anything other than perfectly ordinary. Harry shook his head. It was regretful that his family found magic so objectionable, but it was them who chose to reject his world; he would've welcomed Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and even Dudley had they given him the chance. As it was, he was just glad the summer was over—he was tired of tiptoeing around the fact that he was now a wizard-in-training.

He pushed his luggage, trying to build up speed before going through the barrier. Despite having done it last year, the experience was still unnerving, and he closed his eyes right before the seemingly solid brick wall.

The surrounding noise changed abruptly, and Harry opened his eyes to find himself among his people. He breathed in the smoky smell emanating from the Hogwarts Express and smiled. He'd missed this.

"What were the positions in this game again?" Harry asked as they were making their way down to the field.

Tony sighed. "Like I said: three Chasers, two Beaters, a Seeker, and a Keeper."

He snickered. "Beaters, like Kirito?"

His friend gave him a reproving look. "At least try to control your power level in public."

They continued on their way, and in spite of Harry dragging his feet, soon neared the gathering of black-robed wizards and witches at the edge of the Quidditch pitch.

"I'm not sure this is a good idea," Harry said, coming to a halt. "You know I never played in my life."

Tony clapped him on the back. "Buck up—Hooch said you were a natural during the flying lessons. Think of how popular you'll be if you get on the team!"

Imagining girls cheering him on from the stands made him start walking again. They joined the other Quidditch hopefuls and waited while an older boy��Roger Davies, Tony told him—pointed at people and shouted orders. Harry slouched in an attempt to make himself less noticeable, but the upper-year's eyes soon landed on him.

"What are you two midgets doing here?" he asked, looking them up and down critically. "No reach, no arm strength. Seekers, right?"

Tony bobbed his head. "Harry's really good."

"We'll see," Roger said. He waved at the rest of the group. "Seeker candidates, over here!"

Five people came up, all third-year and above. Harry got distracted by a pretty Asian girl who stood next to him clutching a polished broomstick, and missed most of the captain's speech. He forced himself to look away and listen.

"...So, all you have to do is catch this Golden Snitch," Roger finished, his gloved hand holding up a small gleaming ball with delicate wings. "You'll start as soon as the Chasers are done." He pocketed the Snitch and went back to watching the fliers.

"That's it?" Harry blurted out. He winced as everyone turned to stare. "I mean... seems easy, is all."

The pretty girl narrowed her eyes at him. "It's the most important position in the game!"

"Er, sorry." He took a step back and leaned in to whisper into Tony's ear. "Why is she so angry?"

"That's Cho Chang, the reserve Seeker," Tony said in a hushed voice. "The starter graduated, so she's a shoo-in for the position."

He glanced at Cho to find her still glaring and gulped.

Roger returned not a moment too soon, carrying a handful of shabby brooms. "Everybody ready?"

Harry coughed. "Uh, I think I'm going to sit this one out."

Cho snorted. "Chickening out? You said it was easy."

Clenching his jaw, he picked up a battered Shooting Star. "Changed my mind."

The others received identical broomsticks; Cho looked unhappy to part with her personal one but did so without complaint. Roger released the Snitch, which soared upwards until disappearing from sight, and started counting down from ten. Harry and the rest mounted their brooms.

"Go!" the captain yelled.

Harry kicked off, but his broom veered left and he struggled to control it, nearly smacking into Roger who hastened out of the way. He compensated by gently pulling to the opposite side and finally took off. A peal of laughter reached him from above, his competitors already much higher in the air, and a burning desire to show them up welled up inside him.

A smile curved his lips as he ascended. He'd missed this sensation, this freedom of leaving all his worries on the ground. He went even higher as his competitors circled the pitch below, and tried some dips and turns to get a feel for his broom. It did have a tendency to pull to the left, but it was nothing he wasn't used to, having learned to fly on these old Shooting Stars last year.

He returned his attention to the field, staying at roughly the maximum height the Snitch was known to reach. His competitors had differing strategies: Cho ran circles in the middle of the pitch, her ponytail billowing in the wind, while the others flew along the edges or hovered near the goalposts.

A boy near the stands picked up speed, leaning along his broomstick in an unmistakable posture of pursuit. Harry instinctively mimicked the pose, squinting at the field ahead and quickly locating the glimmer of gold. Cho, by virtue of being near the middle, joined the hunt as well; Harry could see others turning their way out of the corner of his eye, but they were much too far.

Soon Cho and the unknown Ravenclaw were chasing the Snitch side-by-side as Harry trailed overhead. He flattened himself along the handle and accelerated until he was right above the pair, waiting for an opportune moment.

The tiny ball darted upwards and he cried triumphantly, extending his hand. As if sensing danger, the Snitch reversed directions and plummeted, brushing the robes of the two would-be Seekers with its wings.

Harry reacted without conscious thought, going from horizontal flight into a head-first dive. He was dimly aware of Cho doing the same; the third flier fell back, unable to change course so quickly. The fluttering Snitch was keeping just out of his grasp as the ground drew ever closer.

His finger brushed the metal wings and he made to grab the ball, but something jostled him and it darted out of his reach. He glared at Cho and tried again. Their hands touched for an instant, then the girl drew back. Hardly believing his luck, Harry lunged forward and closed his fingers around the cool metal of the Snitch.

His eyes widened when he realized how close the surface of the pitch was. Releasing the golden ball, he tugged his broomstick up with both hands, the ancient Shooting Star creaking in protest as its braking charms struggled to stall the momentum. Its bristles skimmed the ground and the broom lurched violently sideways; he lost his grip and was thrown off, the impact knocking his breath out. He slid along the dewy grass for several feet until coming to a halt beside Roger Davies.

"Well, the broom's done for," Roger said as though that was an everyday occurrence. He extended his hand. "Can you stand?"

Clasping the proffered hand, Harry got up shakily. He was winded, but a smile was already spreading across his face. To think, he considered Quidditch just a silly sport until now!

Cho landed next to them and dismounted gracefully, followed by the rest of the candidates. All of them were looking rather disgruntled.

Roger clapped his hands once. "Good show, people! I think we all know who the winner is. Brilliant flying, Potter—welcome to the team. Chang, you're on reserve."

"Piece of cake," Harry mouthed to her, still high on his victory.

Cho glowered. "I would've caught it if I was flying my Nimbus!"

"Sorry, rules are rules. Everybody on a level playing field," Roger said.

The girl gave Harry a withering look and flounced off, but he didn't find it in himself to care.

"Told you it would work out," Tony said as they headed back to the tower.

Harry hummed. "I don't know... I still think you should've tried out for Seeker. I mean, the Snitch is made of gold."

Tony groaned. "Take another dig at me being Jewish, I'll tell everyone what you've been using your invisibility cloak for."

While Harry's schedule became busier with the addition of Quidditch, he took solace in not having to memorize all those play diagrams the captain sketched for the Chasers. No, he was a Seeker: the star who could make or break the game, an ideal position for the hero. There was little for him to do besides polishing his broom-handling skills.

That turned out to be a blessing when Gilderoy Lockhart started a Dueling Club, because there was no way Harry was going to pass on an opportunity to learn to defend himself. The near-fatal encounter with Voldemort was still fresh in his mind, and he never wanted to feel so helpless again.

The Dueling Club proved immensely popular, largely because of the growing disquiet among the student body after Colin Creevey was petrified by an unknown assailant. The first meeting was a fiasco owing to Lockhart's utter lack of forethought, but the Heads of the houses picked up the slack after that, dividing the members by year and running smaller gatherings every week.

A tournament ladder and a promise of an award were all that was necessary to get Harry fired up. He advanced through the brackets with ease, surprising himself with his natural ability and impressing the teachers with his enthusiasm. The second-year duels weren't very fun to spectate, he had to admit—after watching upper-year battles they seemed outright boring, with two kids repeatedly exchanging low-level spells—but participating in one always got his blood pumping.

"The second round of the semi-finals," Professor Flitwick announced in his squeaky voice, "Harry Potter and Terry Boot!"

He climbed up the podium with an excited grin and nodded. Boot responded with a ceremonious bow like Harry had seen some older students do, and he tensed up, guessing the boy had received formal training.

"Begin!" Flitwick said.

"Expelliarmus!" Harry yelled, stepping aside to dodge an identical charm from Terry. "Locomotor Mortis! Expelliarmus!"

The boys leapt and dived to evade the colorful jets of light, Terry with a look of fierce concentration, Harry with a joyful smile. He felt the most comfortable with the Disarming Charm and could cast it the fastest; though his aim was poor, Terry was still forced to duck lest he get hit by a lucky shot. In contrast, Terry used a variety of precisely cast jinxes, but his lower speed allowed Harry to interrupt him or get out of the way. A minute passed with neither getting the upper hand.

"Expelliarmus, Expelliarmus, Wingardium Leviosa!" Harry cast with alacrity, the uncommon combination of charms giving Terry pause.

"Petrificus Totalus!" Boot responded, the long incantation allowing Harry to prepare and avoid the spell.

The battle lulled as both Ravenclaws stared at each other, breathing heavily.

"Do you even know how annoying you are?" Terry ground out, surprising Harry with how frustrated he sounded. "Your form is atrocious, and your aim is even more so. All you do is jump around like a monkey!"

Harry gaped at his opponent. "What the fuck is your problem?"

"Mind your language, Mr. Potter," Flitwick rebuked him. "Don't make me disqualify you."

Harry waved his wand in a familiar pattern. "Expelliarmus!"

This time, Boot didn't even bother dodging, letting the spell sail past him harmlessly. "Immobulus! Petrificus Totalus!" he cried, launching two binding spells.

Harry dodged the Freezing Charm with ease, but the unexpectedly fast follow-up sent him tumbling to the floor. He scrabbled to get up, but had to roll to the side to avoid a nasty Everte Statum.

"Stop embarrassing our house and just forfeit already," Terry said, looking down at him in contempt. "Surely you can see who the better duelist is."

Harry chuckled as he rose to his feet. "You're good, I'll give you that. It's time for me to get serious."

Boot scowled at him. "What are you on about?"

"I'm not left-handed." Grinning savagely, he transferred his wand to his dominant hand.

"Oh, snap!" Tony's voice said from the rows of spectators.

Terry's eyes widened in understanding and he jumped left to avoid an Expelliarmus whizzing straight for his torso. He raised his wand to retaliate, but was too slow.

"Expelliarmus. Expelliarmus. Expelliarmus," Harry repeated with relish, unleashing attacks that were both more precise and rapid than before. Forgoing the fancier hexes, he decided to overwhelm his rival with volume.

Not capable of casting any shield spells, Boot frantically tried to dodge, but Harry's carpet-bombing tactic proved successful and he was clipped on the arm. Harry caught the boy's unusually short wand and inspected it curiously. Perhaps Terry was such an ass because he was feeling inadequate.

"Victory to Mr. Potter," Flitwick announced to perfunctory applause from the second-years.

"What are you playing at, Potter?" Terry growled, snatching back his wand. "That wasn't a wizard's duel, it was a farce!"

"No one likes a sore loser, Mr. Boot," the Ravenclaw Head of House chided. "Mr. Potter's strategy, however unorthodox, did not break any rules. Clear the platform for Mr. Malfoy, please."

Harry smirked at his try-hard dormmate and faced his last challenge that evening. Having watched a few of Draco Malfoy's duels, he didn't intend to mess around. The boy had mopped the floor with his previous opponents without losing that perpetually smug look on his face.

They bowed, and Harry opened with his habitual Disarming Charms, intending to overpower the Slytherin before he had a chance to counter-attack. Malfoy evaded the barrage with ease; where Harry and Terry had hopped side to side clumsily, he took small, efficient sidesteps, which were just enough to get out of the way. Impressed despite himself, Harry tried to emulate him.

"Tarantallegra!" Malfoy cast as soon as there was a sufficient gap between Harry's attacks. "Rictusempra, Immobulus!"

The spells left Draco's wand in a flurry, his gestures smoothly flowing one into another. Harry was never more thankful for all the dodgeball he'd had to play in primary school.

"Expelliarmus," he snapped off while moving, breaking Malfoy's flow. "Somnium!" It was a spell that was seldom employed offensively, given that it was possible to throw off through sheer force of will, and he was hoping it would surprise his opponent.

It didn't. Malfoy began attacking in earnest, putting Harry on the defensive. Still, he managed to duck every jet of light hurtling his way, until...

"Serpensortia!" Malfoy uttered gleefully, aiming at the platform halfway between himself and Harry. A bang resounded, and a glossy black snake appeared, hissing angrily.

Flitwick spoke up. "Mr. Malfoy, surely you remember the rules—"

"It's not venomous, sir," Malfoy assured. "Probably."

Venomous or not, it was big, fanged, and plenty scary. Tasting the air hungrily, it slithered towards Harry.

"Immobulus," he tried to freeze it, but his aim was off because of his shaking hands. "Immobulus!" Now within range, the creature raised its head to strike, and he panicked. "Everte Statum!"

The spell made contact and sent the snake into the mass of spectators, resulting in alarmed shouts. Abandoning the duel, Harry ran up to the edge of the platform and saw the enraged serpent round on a pale-faced Slytherin girl.

"Oh dear," muttered Flitwick, who was situated on the opposite side of the podium. "Make way, students!"

The snake reared its head, and without thinking, Harry ordered, "Stop."

Every head turned his way—including that of the serpent—and a stunned silence descended upon the Great Hall. Even the diminutive professor stopped trying to clamber up the platform and stared at him.

Harry's brain went into an overdrive as it processed what happened. He looked at the now-docile snake, then at its would-be victim. The aristocratic features, the green-and-silver tie, the badge on her robes—she was the prefect who'd tricked him and Tony last year.

"Wrap around her," he said spontaneously, hearing a hiss escape his mouth.

The snake slithered up the girl's legs, coiling around her stomach in several loops.

"P-Potter, please," she begged, barely moving her lips in fear of provoking the serpent.

"Climb higher," he commanded.

The snake wound around the whimpering witch until its head rested on her shoulder. Its coils stretched the fabric of her robes taut across her chest, outlining her breasts. Harry's lips twisted into a dopey grin.

"Now squeeze her—"

"Vipera Evanesca!" a high voice pronounced, and the serpent vanished in a puff of smoke. Professor Flitwick scuttled up to him, looking more furious than Harry had ever seen before. The students all stared at him in horror.

"Worth it," he muttered.

Harry was harangued by Professor Flitwick in his office for half an hour and assigned a month-worth of detention. The Ravenclaws eyed him cautiously upon his return, the story clearly having spread to the tower, but most were willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. The study club members stuck with him from the beginning—save for Padma, who kept her distance until Su's placid countenance convinced her that Harry wasn't about to start setting snakes on them.

"Why didn't you ever tell me you were a Parselmouth?" Tony demanded.

"Would you believe me if I told you it slipped my mind?" Harry asked. "I only spoke to a snake once, way before I knew I was a wizard."

"If I were you, I'd be speaking to snakes all the time," Tony said. "It's totally badass!"

"It's a Dark ability, and it's scary," Padma protested.

Tony shrugged. "Like I said—badass."

"There's nothing good about being Dark!"

"Harry's still the same person," Su said quietly.

Padma winced. "Sorry, Harry. I didn't mean to say you were... evil or anything. But did you really have to goad the snake into attacking that Slytherin?"

"Serves her right," Tony said vehemently. "Did you know she docked ten points from Ravenclaw after Malfoy's goons bumped into me in the corridors? Told me to bloody watch where I was going!"

"Next time, just hiss at her and watch her run," Harry suggested with a grin.

"Right on!"

The two high-fived while Padma shook her head in exasperation.

Several other students approached Harry to ask about Parseltongue, although they seemed disappointed after he explained that he'd just learned about the ability himself. When an older boy summoned another snake and requested a demonstration, he obliged by making it slither up his shoulders and then onto a few brave volunteers. The reactions were mixed, but overall positive: while a few girls left claiming it was 'creepy', the majority of Ravenclaws were curious, attempting to create an impromptu Parseltongue dictionary and vowing to do more research about it in the library.

Unfortunately, the rest of the school didn't share the same attitude. Hufflepuffs shunned him, Slytherins shot him calculating looks, and Gryffindors gripped their wands as if daring him to attack. Things became even more tense right before Christmas, when another student, Justin Finch-Fletchley, was found petrified. After getting hexed from behind, Harry took care not to leave Ravenclaw tower without backup.

"Hey, Harry, what are you up to?" Tony glanced around before sitting down at the table across from him.

"Just reading." He reclined in the armchair and yawned. "Where have you been?"

"The loo," Tony said quickly.

"Okay..." Harry trailed off. He'd seen him enter from outside the tower, but he wasn't about to ask for details.

"So, what do you think of Finch-Fletchley?" Tony blurted out.

"Nice bloke, but very gullible," he answered, remembering how Justin had run away from him in the hallways. "Shame about what happened. Hang on, didn't you speak to him in Herbology a few days ago?"

"Oh, er, yeah." Tony tittered, scratching his nose.

Harry had never seen his friend so nervous. There was just one explanation. "You fancy him, don't you?"

"W-what?" Anthony stared at him with a horrified expression.

"Justin. You have a crush on him. It's okay, it's okay"—Harry held up his hands placatingly—"I'm not going to judge. Blonde curls, posh accent... Not my thing, but I imagine people find that attractive."

"I'm not gay," Tony objected, his face red as a tomato.

He grinned. "I won't think any less of you—"

"For the last time, I'm not a poofter!" Tony roared, jumping up so hard his chair clattered to the floor. Thankfully, there was no one else in the common room to see his outburst.

Harry stared at him. "Merlin's bollocks, Tony, chill out."

"Um, I gotta go," the boy mumbled, turning to leave.

"Hold it." Harry seized his arm, an entirely different suspicion forming in his mind. "What is the wise wolf's favorite food?"

"Let go of me!"

"Answer my question first," Harry insisted, reaching into his pocket.

The boy's eyes darted around wildly. "Er... chicken?"

"Who the hell are you?" he asked coldly, pointing his wand at the fake's neck.

"Help! Help!" The impostor broke away and ran for the exit, screaming like a madman and nearly tripping over his own feet.

Harry took aim at his back. "Petrificus Totalus!"

He strode through the Hogwarts corridors seething with anger. The broom closet Weasley had said they hid Anthony in turned out to be empty, and he had no idea whether that was because Weasley had lied, or because his Body-Bind Curse was so weak that Tony eventually managed to throw it off.

Scouring the whole castle wasn't feasible, and Ronald had probably barricaded himself in the Gryffindor tower at this point so Harry couldn't grill him for answers again. That only left him with one source of information: Hermione Granger, who (as Weasley informed him) had stayed behind in the infamous haunted lavatory on the second floor. He had to hurry, or she would slip away as well.

As Harry rounded a corner, he ran face-first into the very reason the loo was haunted. Shuddering from a sudden chill washing over his body, he turned to stare at the ghost responsible. The ghost stared right back, her silvery face uncomfortably close.

"Have you come to laugh at her? Oh, it's so awful," she said gleefully. "Just wait till I tell everyone!"

He sighed in relief. "Granger's still there, then. Look—Myrtle, right? Could you keep this a secret?"

She crossed her arms and frowned. "What's in it for me?"

"Er... I could owe you a favor," Harry offered, taken aback by her capricious manner. From his experience, Hogwarts ghosts were generally affable and helpful.

"A favor?" Myrtle floated even closer, peered at him through her horn-rimmed glasses, and giggled. "You're kind of cute. Alright then, I'll keep quiet—but don't forget about our agreement!"

"I won't," he promised, already regretting making the offer. The ghost girl's mood swings were freaking him out. "I'll just... be going now."

"Come visit me any time." She winked at him and shot up through the ceiling, her shrill giggles echoing in the hallway.

Harry ran down the corridor, trying to put the whole encounter out of his mind. Having arrived at his goal, he looked around carefully before opening the door and stepping inside.

The bathroom was damp and looked like it hadn't been used—or cleaned—in years. He walked towards the row of stalls, weaving between the puddles on the floor.

"Granger? Hermione Granger?" Harry called out uncertainly, trying not to botch her quaint first name.

"W-who's there?" a muffled voice asked from one of the stalls.

"Harry Potter," he introduced himself as he stepped closer, grabbing his wand just in case. "Your pal Weasley told me everything. Come out and face the music."

There was a squeak inside the stall, followed by frantic rustling. Harry sighed. It might've been amusing at first, but he was getting tired of people reacting to him this way. "Look, I'm not going to hurt you. I only want to talk."

"What did you do to Ron?" Hermione asked from behind the door.

He rolled his eyes. "Sent him packing. Kid nearly peed his pants when I caught him impersonating Tony. What kind of a Gryffindor is he?" He waited for an answer, but none came. "Come on, are you going to hide in there forever?"

"I can't come out. I look ghastly."

"The potion should've worn off by now," Harry said, recalling Myrtle's words with some concern. "Did you botch it? I heard it was very advanced, but it worked fine on Weasley."

Granger sniffled pitifully. "It—well, I tried to get Marietta Edgecombe's hair, you see. She's staying for the holidays, and she's also a girl, so it wouldn't be all weird for me, and I know she's spending all her time in our common room with her Gryffindor friend, and I thought I could help Ron if something went wrong, but I, er, made a mistake. It was cat hair, and I have no idea how that happened, but Polyjuice isn't meant for animal transformations, so there was an adverse reaction, and it has now been seventy four minutes, and—and I'm still not changing back."

When Harry pieced together the facts from her rambling speech, his heart skipped a beat. It was a revelation on the level of finding out magic was real.

"Hermione," he said in as calm a voice as he could muster, "can I see?"

"W-what?"

"Please. I just want to, uh, make sure you're alright."

"Promise not to laugh?"

"I promise," he said solemnly.

The door creaked open an inch, and Harry strained his eyes against the darkness, suppressing the urge to rip it open and gaze upon world's first genuine catgirl. He nodded encouragingly and backpedaled to give Granger some space. A shaky intake of breath could be heard from the stall before the door opened completely, and she stepped outside.

A wave of emotion washed over him—elation, delight, astonishment—and then his heart sank. True, Hermione had a pair of luxuriously fluffy cat ears, and a matching tail was poking up from under her skirt; yet her face and the hands she was shielding it with were covered in fur, and he could even see nascent whiskers on her cheeks.

He sighed. Hermione had gone full furry.

"Potter?" she called out through her palms.

"Don't worry," Harry said in a dead voice. "I'm sure Madam Pomfrey will be able to fix this. A cat is not fine too, whatever people say."

Hermione lowered her hands to peer at him with yellow feline eyes. "You think she'll be able to undo it?"

"Oh, certainly. It's just too bad about that wasted potential." He gazed at her wistfully.

"What do you mean?" She tensed and raised her hands again, acting as if the Ravenclaw boy was the one who'd become half-animal. Her nails were curved and pointed.

"Well," Harry drawled, circling her and inspecting the effects of the botched Polyjuice with an almost academic interest. "Your ears and this thing"—his hand grasped the fluffy tail that had been flicking side to side—"are amazing, but that fur on your face ruins everything."

"Eek! S-stop that," Hermione squeaked. Stumbling, she tried to swat Harry's hand away.

Harry let go of the furry appendage and turned to hide his heating cheeks. "I was just curious. Think of it as an experiment to determine if the extra parts are connected to your nervous system," he tried to justify himself.

Hermione covered her backside protectively, pressing her skirt downwards. "They are, so don't do that again. What did you mean by 'amazing', anyway? I look hideous."

All embarrassment forgotten, Harry jumped to the defense of catgirls. "You don't! If you figured out a way to keep the tail and the ears, you'd be the cutest girl in our year, no contest."

"Are you serious?" She reached up to caress her cat-like ears, a blush visible through the fine fur coating her skin. "What's so great about these?"

"What's so great about them?" he repeated incredulously. "You just don't understand, Granger! Catgirls give off the impression of someone cute, innocent, and vulnerable, someone who appeals to your protective instincts—yet because of their animalistic side, they're also playful and naughty! Catgirls are love... catgirls are life."

Hermione was backing up throughout his impassioned speech. "Potter, you're scaring me."

He stared at the trembling girl, then cursed himself inwardly. He should have known better than to confuse 2D with 3D. This was a frightened thirteen-year-old witch who had a magical accident, not his waifu.

"Sorry, Hermione. Let's cover you up and get you to the hospital wing."

"Why do you do this to me, oh gods of romantic comedy? Why do you tempt me with a divine possibility, yet pull it out of my grasp at the last moment?" Harry lamented as he climbed up the Ravenclaw tower. "Well, I won't give up. Not until these hands of mine pet soft catgirl ears!"

"What are you raving about?" asked a boy's voice from behind him.

Harry whirled around. "Tony! Wait—what is Trigger's best series?" He reached for his wand surreptitiously.

"Kill la Kill, I guess," the boy said.

Harry relaxed and grinned at his best mate. "Good to have you back. Oh, and it's Inferno Cop, you pleb."

While Harry's Parselmouth talents were on their way of becoming nothing more than a party trick in the Ravenclaw common room, the same couldn't be said for the rest of the school. After two weeks of glorious relaxation in the half-empty castle during the Christmas break, he wasn't pleased with having to be constantly on his guard again. But then the Weasley twins, Fred and George, approached him in a most amusing manner.

Harry was taken aback when they walked up to him and began supplicating and thanking him for sparing their foolish little brother, but he quickly found a common language with the two, and they soon could be seen walking in front of him between classes as his trusted minions. The little game proved to be an entertaining distraction.

"Make way for the Dark Lord Potter!" the Weasleys shouted, scattering the lower-years from the corridors and cackling madly at the chaos.

"Oi, I told you to call me the Eternal Warlock," Harry said.

"So sorry, Your Warlockness. Please don't turn me into a statue."

The other twin pointed at a boy wearing a green-and-silver tie. "Turn him instead!

Harry narrowed his eyes and hissed, and the kid darted away, eliciting gales of laughter from the Weasleys.

The good times lasted until two more students—Hermione Granger and Penelope Clearwater—were petrified, and rumors started about a possible closure of the school. The twins deemed the joke to be in poor taste even for them and dropped the act. Well, there was also the matter of McGonagall dragging them off by their ears and docking fifty points from Ravenclaw and Gryffindor both. Harry might've gotten away with it, had he not been carrying a snake around his shoulders at the time.

"Harry, you're alright in our book," Fred told him the next day, while George demonstratively wrote in a small orange volume. "A bit of a scrawny geek, but alright. We don't think you're evil."

"But even such excellent judges of character as ourselves can be wrong sometimes," George picked up, putting the book away. "So here's a friendly warning: don't hurt anyone, and everything will be fine."

"But step out of the line, and we'll have words. You don't want us as your enemies," finished Fred.

Harry gulped at their serious tone. He hated being threatened, but he supposed they were just looking out for their family.

"I'll be good," he promised.

As the twins nodded in unison and turned to leave, Harry called out, "Hey, wait! Were it the two of you pranking me lately?"

The Weasleys exchanged glances. "Like how?"

He frowned and started ticking off fingers. "Suits of armor keep falling on me, rugs try to trip me, and the stairs become all slippery. It's getting bloody annoying." It was as though somebody with an invisibility cloak like his own was stalking him.

"The mere implication!" Fred exclaimed. "We're artists, maestros, virtuosos of pranks—we wouldn't settle for something so trite."

George nodded. "You need to watch your back, old chum. There's no shortage of people who want to get you in the castle."