Chapter Text
Ever since Harry had returned 'home' for the summer holidays, his uncle had been treating him like a bomb that might blow at any given second. Just because he was a wizard, a recent graduate of his first year at Hogwarts, he was mistreated by his only remaining relatives. They tried their hardest to stifle any and all things magic. If they were disgruntled by his return, however, it was nothing compared to his misery.
Harry missed Hogwarts so much that he felt nauseous just being here. The house on number four, Privet Drive, was nothing like the magnificent castle he had come to love. The hidden passages, a multitude of ghosts, and even his classes. Most of them, anyway. He missed his bed in the tower dorms, getting mail delivered by owl, and visiting Hagrid, as well as his friends Ron and Hermione. More than anything, he longed to play Quidditch again. Scratch that; the thing he missed most was undeniable— Draco.
Before the end-of-year feast, they had sworn to write to each other; well, Harry promised, and Draco kind of demanded it. Unfortunately, the moment Harry got home, his uncle locked away all his belongings and refused to allow him to let Hedwig out of her cage. So he had been unable to write anyone, not that it seemed to matter. No one had written him all summer. Had they forgotten him already?
When his cousin Dudley had said that very thought to him, he threatened the pudgy boy with made-up words as if he were going to cast a spell on him. He had a good laugh at that but ended up doing a myriad of chores for it; washing the car, mowing the lawn, trimming the hedges, repainting the garden bench, etc. All while the sun beat down harshly on him. Harry didn't mind the manual labor so much, he had been doing it all summer after all, but today of all days?
Tonight, the Dursleys had 'very' important dinner guests and he was to keep to his room and make no sounds. After he had finished, muscles aching, his aunt Petunia called him inside to eat his supper— some bread and cheese— before sending him upstairs to his room for the remainder of the night.
Happy birthday to me, he thought bitterly, wanting nothing more than to throw himself into bed and let this miserable day be over with already. But when he opened his door, there was already someone sitting on his bed. Harry almost screamed at the creature before him, with large ears and bulging green eyes; it wore what looked to be an old pillowcase with holes torn for its arms and legs. It was quite the sight. It hopped off his bed and bowed so low that its nose touched the floor.
Harry struggled through his conversation with the house elf, Dobby. The thing kept wailing so loud, he was sure it could be heard downstairs. The house-elf admitted to receiving regular punishments from the wizard family he served. "The young master is actually really kind when the master is away." Dobby had said. And things like, "Dobby has heard much about you from his young master, you are truly as great as they say."
Harry can only awkwardly listen to Dobby prattle on about him for so long before asking him why exactly he was here; and to get to the point.
"Harry Potter is brave! He has faced many dangers already! But Dobby is here to protect him and warn him... Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts." There was a silence broken only by the clinking of utensils downstairs.
"W-what? I have to go back— term starts on September first. I don’t belong here; I belong at Hogwarts."
"No, no, no," Dobby squeaked, shaking his head fiercely. "Harry Potter must stay safe. He is too important to lose. If he returns to Hogwarts, he will be in great danger."
"There's nothing for me here, all my friends are at Hogwarts—"
“Friends who don’t even send letters to Harry Potter?” Dobby remarked with a sly grin.
“I suppose they’ve just been—hold on a second,” Harry said, furrowing his brow. “How do you know that my friends haven’t been writing to me?”
Dobby shifted his feet nervously. “Harry Potter mustn't be upset with Dobby. Dobby only wanted to help.”
“Have you been preventing my letters from reaching me?”
"Dobby has them here, sir," the elf said, nimbly stepping out of Harry's reach as he produced a thick stack of envelopes from the pillowcase he was wearing. Harry recognized Hermione's neat handwriting, Ron's messy scrawl, and even a childish scribble that looked like Hagrid's. Among them, one letter caught his eye with its swirling cursive; it seemed oddly familiar— it must be from Draco.
Dobby looked up at Harry, his eyes filled with anxiety. "Harry Potter mustn't be angry... Dobby hoped... if Harry Potter thought his friends had forgotten him... Harry Potter might not want to return to school, sir." But Harry wasn't paying attention. He lunged for the letters, only for Dobby to jump out of reach once more.
"If Harry Potter will give Dobby his word that he won't return to Hogwarts, he can have them."
"No," Harry snarled. "Give me my letters!"
The elf looked contemplative for a moment before dropping the letters. "Then you leave Dobby no choice," he said sadly before bolting from the room and dashing down the stairs.
"Shit," Harry hissed, grabbing the letters and tucking them under his bed before he ran after the elf, trying his best to stay silent. He ran up the hall into the kitchen and felt his stomach drop when he saw his aunt's pudding floating near the ceiling, Dobby crouched on top of a cupboard in the corner. "Please," Harry croaked. "They'll kill me."
"Harry Potter has to say he’s not returning to school—"
"Dobby... please..."
"Say it, sir—"
"I can't—"
Dobby looked at him with a pained expression. "Then Dobby must take action, sir, for Harry Potter's own good." The dessert hit the floor with a deafening crash, sending cream splattering across the windows and walls as the dish broke apart. With a sharp crack, Dobby disappeared.
Harry had received a letter from the Ministry of Magic because of that incident, which of course enraged his uncle further; since he hadn't told them he wasn't allowed to use magic outside of school. The following morning bars were put on his window, and his door was locked up tighter than Azkaban. They even installed a little doggy door to feed him through, and he was only given two bathroom breaks throughout the day.
Harry was only thankful he had managed to keep his letters, they were the only thing he had to occupy himself for the foreseeable future. It had already been three days and the Dursleys showed no sign of letting him out anytime soon. He lay on his bed, reading over his letters for the hundredth time.
Ron had asked him to come stay at the Burrow about twelve times while Hermione had asked about school and if he had done his homework yet. Hagrid had asked after his wellbeing. All of them had gradually gotten more worried as time passed without a reply from him. He smiled softly, grateful they hadn't truly forgotten about him like he had previously worried.
Then there were the two letters from Draco. The first one made him chuckle at the thought of Draco's signature pout when he wrote it.
Potter,
You seem to have the impression that I am a patient man; that is your first mistake. I recall you making a promise, yet I have to reach out to you first? Reply swiftly, or prepare to be hexed the next time we meet.
Draco Lucius Malfoy.
The second did not bring the same feeling.
Potter,
I bet you're having a right laugh, aren't you? Making me believe you actually wanted friendship, then mocking my extended hand once more? You think yourself above me, Potter? Don't make me laugh. Be lucky we aren't in the same house, or I would slit your throat in your sleep for this. Expect to face my rage when next we meet.
Your eternal rival,
Draco Lucius Malfoy.
On the one hand, an angry Draco sends an excited shiver down his spine, but on the other, he doesn't want him to think he ignored his letters by choice. Harry scrubbed a hand over his face, finding himself once again frustrated at his situation. When he opened his eyes again, moonlight was shining through the bars on his window. He couldn't remember falling asleep. He sat up, putting his glasses into place and almost fell out of bed when he noticed a freckled face gaping at him from his window.
"Ron," Harry gasped, jumping up and opening the window so they could talk through the bars. Harry's mouth dropped when he realized that Ron was leaning out of the backseat of an old teal car that was parked in midair. Fred and George were grinning at him from the front seat.
"You all right, Harry?" asked George.
"What's been going on?" Ron asked. "You haven't replied to any of my letters, and then Dad mentioned you got a warning for using magic in front of Muggles."
"It wasn't me— how did he know?"
"He works for the Ministry," Ron explained. "You know we're not supposed to do spells outside of school."
"You should talk," Harry remarked, eyeing the floating car.
"Oh, this doesn't count," Ron defended. "We're only borrowing this. It's Dad's; we didn't enchant it. But doing magic in front of those Muggles you live with -"
"I told you, I didn't— it'll take too long to explain now. Look, can you tell them at Hogwarts that the Dursleys have locked me up and won't let me come back, obviously I can't magic myself out, because the Ministry will think that's the second spell I've done in three days, so -"
"Stop gibbering," Ron interrupted. "We've come to take you home with us."
"But you can't magic me out either -"
"We don't need to," Ron said, grinning and jerking his head towards the front seat. "You forget who I've got with me."
"Tie that around the bars," Fred instructed, tossing the end of a rope to Harry.
"If the Dursleys wake up, I'm dead," Harry remarked as he securely tied the rope around a bar while Fred revved up the car.
"Don't worry," Fred reassured. "And stand back."
Harry moved into the shadows next to Hedwig, who seemed to understand the gravity of the situation and remained still and quiet. The car revved louder and louder until, with a crunching noise, the bars were yanked out of the window as Fred drove straight up into the air. Harry rushed back to see the bars hanging a few feet above the ground. Ron, panting, hoisted them into the car.
Listening anxiously, Harry heard no sounds from the Dursleys' bedroom. Once the bars were safely in the back seat with Ron, Fred reversed the car as close as possible to Harry's window.
"Get in," Ron urged.
"But all my Hogwarts stuff is all locked in the cupboard under the stairs, and I can't get out of this room—"
"No to worry," George interjected from the front passenger seat. "Out of the way, Harry."
Fred and George climbed through the window into Harry's room like nimble cats. Harry couldn't help but admire them as George took an ordinary hairpin from his pocket and began picking the lock.
"Most wizards think this sort of Muggle trick is just a waste of time," Fred said. "But we feel some skills are worth knowing, even if it takes more time." There was a small click and then Fred opened the door.
"We'll get your trunk, grab what you need from here, and pass it out to Ron," George whispered as the twins disappeared down the hall. Harry hurried to gather all his belongings, tossing them out the window to Ron. When he finished, he went to help Fred and George get his trunk up the stairs and into the car.
"Alright, let's go," George whispered.
"I still need Hedwig," Harry said, the owl in question letting out an indignant screech for almost being forgotten. The sound was followed almost immediately by his uncle's booming voice, and Harry scrambled to get her cage to the window.
"That blasted owl!" Uncle Vernon banged on the door and it swung open, for a second he stood there frozen; then he let out a bellow like an angry bull and dove at Harry, grabbing him by his ankle. The three boys already in the car seized him by the arms and pulled with all their strength. After a massive tug from the Weasleys, Harry's leg slipped from his uncle's grasp and he was in the car slamming the door closed behind him.
"Punch it, Fred!" Ron yelled, and the car shot off into the night sky. Harry almost couldn't believe he was actually free, he rolled down the window and looked back to see his aunt, uncle, and cousin all hanging, stupefied, out of Harry's window.
"See you next summer!" Harry yelled down to them and they all roared with laughter as he settled back into his seat.
"Let Hedwig fly behind us, she hasn't been able to stretch her wings for ages." He told Ron; George passed back the hairpin, and seconds later she was soaring happily out of the window.
Harry told them everything that had happened and they debated for a while whether it was real, or some hoax. When Fred asked if there was anyone who hated him at school, Ron said Malfoy; Harry wasn't so sure though, as it didn't sound like something he would do. No, Draco wouldn't send someone else to do his dirty work, he would want to be the one to make Harry pay, he thought with a smile.
Harry was pulled back to the conversation when it shifted from Draco to his father. "I've heard Dad talking about him before. Said he was a big supporter of you-know-who" Said George.
"And when he vanished," Fred added, "he claimed he never meant it. Load of bull, I say. Dad thinks he was right in the inner circle." Their conversation changed to a more pleasant one after that; Errol, their owl, Percy, who had been 'acting weird all summer', and their dad's love of Muggles. And of course, the fact that they didn't exactly have permission to take the car.
They came upon the main road just as the sun began to peek over the horizon, lighting up with a faint pinkish glow. Fred brought the car lower, landing with a small bump on the ground near a ramshackle garage in a small yard. The house itself looked like it had once been a large stone pigpen, with extra room added haphazardly until it was several stories high. About five chimneys were perched atop the roof's red shingles and a crooked sign was posted in the ground near the entrance that read, The Burrow.
"It's not much," Ron said.
"It's fantastic," said Harry happily as they all clambered out of the car.
"Now, we'll go upstairs really quietly," said Fred, "and wait for Mum to call us for breakfast Then, Ron, you come bounding downstairs going, `Mum, look who turned up in the night!' and she'll be all pleased to see Harry and no one need ever know we flew the car."
"Got it. Come on, Harry, I sleep at— at the top." Ron's words fizzled out and his face had taken on a nasty shade of green, his eyes locked on the house. The other three spun around to find Mrs. Weasley marching towards them across the yard, chickens scattering. For a short, plump, kind-faced woman, it was almost scary how much she looked like a fanged beast.
Needless to say, they were thoroughly scolded. She made sure he didn't feel at fault for their reckless behavior, even though he was thankful they did it, and assured him he was more than welcome here. When the boys were punished to de-gnome the garden, he volunteered, never having done it before. To Harry, it felt more like a game, than a chore; tossing gnomes over the hedge, seeing how far they could throw the little buggers.
For the next week or so, life at The Burrow was like a dream come true. Harry got to spend time with Ron and the twins practicing Quidditch; all of them taking turns on Harry's Nimbus Two Thousand. He was fed proper meals, for every meal, finally putting some weight back on after the near starvation at the Dursleys. And he got to know more about the Weasleys in general. He and Ron made sure to write Hermione to let her know all was well and planned to meet her in Diagon Alley on Wednesday.
When it was time to leave, Harry was nervous as all hells; he had never traveled by Floo before, and it didn't look too appealing. Fred and George went first, taking a pinch of Floo powder, tossing it into the fireplace, and stepping into the green flames before shouting the intended location.
But of course, when it was Harry's turn he choked on ash and botched his words. It felt like being sucked down a drain, he was spinning uncontrollably and there was a deafening roaring ringing in his ears. He knocked his elbow once or twice before getting spit out into an unknown shop and falling face-first into the floor, snapping the bridge of his glasses.
Dizzy, bruised, and covered in soot, he carefully got to his feet, holding his broken glasses to his eyes. He looked around, and all he could tell was that he was in what looked like a large, dimly lit wizard's shop. Nothing in here looked like the sort of things he would need for Hogwarts— rather, it was all suspiciously— dark. Spiked instruments, human bones, devilish masks, bloodstained cards. He shivered. The sooner he left, the better.
Harry moved towards the door but halted in his steps when two people appeared on the other side of the glass. "Draco," He breathed softly, mesmerized by the sight of the boy who had been plaguing his thoughts all summer. Harry looked around swiftly, shooting into a large black cabinet to his left, and pulled the doors closed, leaving a small crack to peek out of.
Moments later, a bell clanged, and Draco, followed by a man who could only be his father, entered the shop. Mr. Malfoy looked just as intimidating as the last time he had seen him, back in Madam Malkin's roughly a year ago. He crossed the shop, cold, grey eyes lazily glossing over the items on display, and rang a bell on the counter before turning to his son.
"Touch nothing, Draco." Mr. Malfoy drawled callously. "We can get you a racing broom after this. If you behave."
"What's the point in that? I'm not even on the team," Draco muttered, bending down to examine a shelf filled with skulls. Harry had to keep his eyes from drifting to his— admittedly ample rear. He had to bite his knuckles and close his eyes. He could not get distracted now and alert them to his presence. He most definitely could not be looking at how Draco's tailored trousers pulled tight around that biteable arse.
"I will ensure you get on the team, Draco. So stop whining about Potter, need I remind you to be cautious when you speak of your distaste for the boy. Especially when most of our kind regard him as a hero who— ah, Mr. Borgin."
A slouched man with greasy hair had shuffled up to the counter. "Mr. Malfoy, always a pleasure to see you." His voice was as slick as his hair.
"Delighted—"
"And young Master Malfoy, too. How may I be of assistance?"
"I'm not buying today, Mr. Borgin, but selling," said Mr. Malfoy.
"Selling?" The smile fell slightly from Mr. Borgin.
"I'm sure you've heard that the Ministry has been operating more raids as of late." Mr. Malfoy said, pulling out a roll of parchment and handing it to the shopkeeper. "I have a few— items at home that might be, embarrassing if the Ministry were to find them. I have yet to receive a visit, the Malfoy name still commands respect. But they grow ever more meddlesome. Rumors of a new Muggle Protection Act— no doubt from that flea-bitten, Muggle-loving fool, Arthur Weasley."
Harry felt a surge of white-hot rage course through him,
"As you can see, some of these poisons might make it seem—"
"I understand, sir," Mr. Borgin said. "Let's see here—"
"Can I have that?" Draco interrupted, pointing to a withered hand on a cushion.
"Ah, the Hand of Glory," Mr Borgin said, dropping Mr. Malfoy's list and scurrying over. "Best friend of thieves and plunderers this is, place a candle in and it will give light to just the holder. Your son has good taste, sir."
"I expect my son will amount to much more than a common thief, Borgin," said Mr. Malfoy harshly. "Though if his grades don't pick up—"
"I'm only behind Granger," Draco protested.
"And you should be ashamed that some no-name Mudblood beat you in every exam," snapped Mr. Malfoy, his nostrils flaring.
"It's the same everywhere," Mr. Borgin said in his greasy voice. "Wizard blood means less and less everywhere—"
"Not with me," Mr. Malfoy said through gritted teeth.
"No, sir, nor with me, sir," said Mr. Borgin, with a deep bow.
"Perhaps we can return to my list," said Mr. Malfoy shortly. "I am in something of a hurry, Borgin, I have important business elsewhere today."
They began haggling, but Harry's attention was fixated on Draco as he drew closer to his hiding spot. He paused to read a card propped on a magnificent necklace of opals, caution: do not touch. Cursed— has killed nineteen muggle owners to date. He scrunched up his nose in disgust, turning away and saw the cabinet right before him. His breath caught in his throat when their eyes locked.
Harry was frozen on the spot, he couldn't pull his eyes away as Draco walked forward, placing a hand beside the open door. Harry wanted to leap out of this damned stifling box and wrap his arms around him; Merlin he had missed that pouting lip and— he shivered, that stormy glare. Would he tell his father that Harry Potter was hiding in here, eavesdropping on them? He isn't sure if he would care at this point, he just wanted to get his hands on Draco.
"Come, Draco. We're done here," Mr. Malfoy said coldly, not even glancing at his son as he made his way to the door.
"Yeah," Draco replied softly, before clearing his throat. "Yes, Father."
Harry waited until Mr. Borgin had gone into the back room before sneaking out of the shop. He emerged in some shady alley that looked to be shops devoted specifically to the Dark Arts. Thankfully Hagrid had found him before anything happened and led him out to Diagon Alley. Shortly after they found the Weasleys, who had all been worried about him, and Hermione with her parents too. A short trip to Gringotts and everyone went their separate ways to get their school supplies.
Harry bought ice cream for his friends as they wandered along the Alley, looking at the various shops. Ron stopping to gaze longingly at a full set of Chudley Cannon robes; Hermione dragging them to buy ink and parchment. They met Fred, George, and their friend Lee Jordan in Gambol and Japes Wizarding Joke Shop stocking up on various prank items. In another shop, they found Percy immersed in a book about Prefects. All in all, it was an exciting venture.
An hour later, they headed to their previously agreed-upon rendezvous at Flourish and Blotts. There was a massive crowd surrounding the shop, most assuredly due to the contents of a banner hanging across the upper windows: GILDEROY LOCKHART will be signing copies of his autobiography MAGICAL ME today from 12:30 P.m. to 4:30 P.m.
"We can actually meet him!" Hermione squealed. "I mean, he's written almost the whole booklist!"
Harry, Ron, and Hermione squeezed past the crowd of middle-aged witches to get inside. A long line snaked through the shop, all the way to where Gilderoy Lockhart was signing his books. The trio made their way through to where the rest of the Weasleys were standing with Hermione's parents.
"Oh, you're here, good," Mrs. Weasley said, sounding breathless as she repeatedly patted her hair. "We can see him in just a minute."
Gilderoy Lockhart was seated at a table, surrounded by pictures of his own face, all flashing dazzling white teeth and winking to the crowd. A short, cranky-looking man was taking photos from different angles as he danced around. "Out of the way, this is for the Daily Prophet," he snarled at Ron.
"So what," Ron grumbled.
Gilderoy Lockhart heard him however and he looked up, saw Ron and then he saw Harry. Then he leaped to his feet and shouted, "It can't be, Harry Potter?" The crowd began whispering excitedly as they parted for Lockhart, who snatched Harry by the arm and pulled him to the front. Harry's face felt hot as Lockhart shook his hand and smiled at the man taking pictures. "Big smile now, Harry," Lockhart said. "You and I are going to be on the front page."
Harry had to bite his tongue to not snap at the man when Lockhart threw an arm over his shoulder and pulled him back in. Then a stack of books were shoved into his arms and the crowd was cheering again. What at that pretentious blonde wanker say? He was going to be their new Defense Against the Dark Art teacher— great. Harry finally managed to escape, shimmying to the edge of the room next to Ginny.
"You can have these," Harry muttered, dropping the books into her cauldron. "I'll get my own—"
"Bet you loved that, Potter," Harry's head shot up to find Draco standing before him with an unusually nasty glare. He must still be mad I never wrote back, Harry thought. "The famous Harry Potter," Draco continued. "Can't even go into a bookshop without making it onto the cover of the Prophet."
"Leave him be, he didn't ask for that!" Ginny said, glaring up at Draco.
Draco shifted his eyes to her before barking out a laugh. "Oh, I see. You went and got yourself a little girlfriend, Potter." Ginny's face went as red as her hair.
"What? No, that's not—" Harry tried to clear up the misunderstanding.
"Save it, Potter. I really couldn't care less."
"Oh, it's just you again," Ron said, appearing beside them with Hermione. "Surprised to see Harry, huh?"
"Considering we all need books from here, not in the slightest." Draco retorted. "Though I am surprised to see you in here, Weasley. I imagine your parents will—"
"Draco," Hermione cut him off, giving him a warning look.
"Sorry... I've been with my Father all day, you know how it is." Draco replied to her, scratching the back of his neck.
"It must be the end of the world," Ron muttered. "Draco Malfoy apologizing."
"Shut it, Weasley. Or I'll finish what I started."
"Ron," Mr. Weasley said, pushing through the crowd with Fred and George behind him. "Let's take this outside, boys."
"Well, well, well— Arthur Weasley." Mr. Malfoy came up behind Draco, placing his hand on his shoulder and sneering nastily.
This is getting more hectic by the second, Harry thought. So naturally, he tuned out of the verbal battle and focused on Draco; who had visibly stiffened when his father appeared. His fists were clenched tightly at his sides, and his face distorted to match his father's look of disdain. Their eyes locked and Harry could see him wavering; he doesn't want to do this.
And then Ginny's cauldron went flying as Mr. Weasley threw himself at Mr. Malfoy, knocking into a bookshelf and sending dozens of spellbooks down on all of them.
"Get him, Dad!" Fred and George shouted.
In the chaos, Harry sprung forward, pulling Draco against him just as a heavy book almost landed on his head. He dragged the stunned boy aside, facing him. "Unhand me, Potter." Draco hissed at him. "Why don't you go rescue your little girlfriend instead?"
"She's not—" Harry sighs, "she's not my girlfriend."
"I'm sure," Draco scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Dammit Draco," Harry pushes Draco back, crowding him into the bookshelf and sliding his hand up to the nape of his neck; dark fingers twisting in an almost gentle caress in light strands. "I don't want her," He leans in as he whispers, dangerously close to just saying 'fuck it' and kissing the boy right here, onlookers be damned. "I've never wanted her," His eyes slid down to soft lips, open as a small breath is sharply inhaled. "And I will never want her." He lifts his gaze, verdant grass clashing hazily with storm clouds. "What I want— who, I want is—"
"Draco!" Mr. Malfoy's sharp voice rang out. "We're leaving." Without even bothering to search for his son, he spun on his heel and marched out the door, sporting a newly acquired black eye.
Harry reluctantly let Draco slip from his grasp, watching as he practically fled from the shop. No worries, Harry thought; I'll get another chance.
Summer came to an end too soon for Harry's liking, staying with the Weasleys had been like a dream compared to the Dursleys house. He was fed proper— and deliciously homemade— meals, and most importantly, treated with love and care. The Weasleys had let him in with open arms and Harry had never felt so at peace.
He was excited, however, to get back to Hogwarts. To see Draco again. He had tried sending him a letter when he had first arrived at the Burrow but had never gotten a reply. And he hadn't been able to clear up the misunderstanding back at Flourish and Blotts either. He tossed and turned all night, unable to get proper rest with too much going on in his mind.
The next morning was hectic as everyone ran around gathering all their school supplies. Three times they had someone run back to the house as they were leaving because something was forgotten; But they finally made it to King's Crossing at a quarter to eleven, with only fifteen minutes to spare. Everyone hurried from the car and made their way to Platform Nine and three-quarters.
Percy went first, followed by Mr. Weasley and then the twins. Mrs. Weasley took Ginny next and it was just Harry and Ron left; but when they made to run through the barrier, they crashed violently to the ground instead. The two boys looked at each other and made up their minds. They would get to Hogwarts.
So they went back to the car, used its invisibility booster, and lifted into the air; they had to move quickly when the booster stopped working though and they reappeared mid-air. Driving up above the clouds so they were out of sight, they made regular checks on the train below. At first, the thrill of it was exhilarating, but after a few hours with nothing to drink and sweat sticking them to their seats, Harry longed for the train they followed.
When the car started making an ominous whining noise, they both silently agreed to pretend it was nothing; but as the sky got darker, the noise grew louder. Finally, they could see the dark silhouette of the castle high up on a cliff overlooking the lake in the distance. The car gave a nasty wobble and took a nosedive towards the ground, they barely missed the dark stone walls.
Ron pulled out his wand, panicked as he yelled frantically. "Stop, stop," hitting the dashboard to no avail.
With an ear-splitting crash of metal on wood, they landed roughly into a large tree and dropped to the ground. The car was a wreck, and Hedwig was screeching in fear. Harry rubbed at a lump forming on his head, and Ron let out a low anguished groan. "My wand," he said in a quivering voice, holding up the now snapped nearly in half, wand.
Before Harry could reassure him that they could probably get it fixed, massive branches came crashing down on the car. The trunk was bent low as twisted limbs pounded every inch of the car it could reach. Ron screamed as another gnarled branch slammed into his door. They tried to throw their weight against the doors to make a run for it, but a vicious uppercut from the tree had them knocked about.
Just as they feared all hope was lost, the engine restarted and the car shot backward until the still violently swinging branches could no longer reach them. Before they could breathe a sigh of relief, the car doors swung open and dumped them and their belongings promptly on the ground before rumbling off into the night.
"Dad's gonna kill me," Ron said despondently.
"Come on," Harry replied tiredly as he began to gather up his trunk and owl.
They made it up to the Great Hall where the Sorting Ceremony was about to begin, Professor McGonagall was setting the hat onto a stool near the front and anxious first-years were eagerly waiting to be sorted. Harry's eyes fell to an empty seat at the head table, and as they were debating on where Snape could be, their luck only got worse. He was behind them.
They of course got detention, thankfully evading expulsion, and after a lecture from McGonagall and Dumbledore, and berating from Snape; they made their way up the winding corridors and moving stairs to their dorm room in Gryffindor Tower. Hermione found them outside, not knowing the password to open the portrait of the Fat Lady, and reluctantly didn't give them a lecture as well.
They were bombarded by uproarious applause as they entered, everyone having heard of their arrival by now. Lee Jordan believed people would be talking about their crash land into the Whomping Willow for years, Fred and George had wanted to have flown to school as well; Percy and Hermione looked disappointed in them.
They excused themselves to their bedroom, getting slaps on the back along the way. The other second-year boys came in shortly after— Seamus, Dean, and Neville— and they all spent a good while catching up with each other before they finally went to sleep for the night.
If asked who Draco most despised, he would not hesitate to tell you that, without a shadow of a doubt, it is Potter. Stupid Potter who lies. Stupid Potter who breaks promises. Stupid Potter with his stupidly handsome face and annoyingly mesmerizing green eyes. Stupid Potter for making him feel like an idiot.
He had patiently waited all summer— began fuming a week in— for Potter to write to him. Had graciously written the first letter— angrily. And when he did not receive a response, he was even kind enough to write him again— threateningly.
When he finally saw Potter again, that short glimpse in Knockturn, he had hunted him down to confront him. But when he got there, Potter was with his new girlfriend. A Weasley. He should have known Potter was into redheads, considering he surrounds himself with the whole brood, but... It bothers him for some reason.
Draco angrily stabs at his plate of eggs and bacon, not feeling hungry in the slightest. He could see Potter across the Great Hall, talking with his friends, and further down the table he was not surprised at all to see the little Weasley staring at Potter.
"You alright, darling?" Pansy asked beside him.
"Fine," Draco replied, jaw clenched as he watched the little Weasley tucking her hair behind her ear and blushing over at Potter.
"Really? Because I'm pretty sure you've long since murdered those eggs."
He looks down at that, his plate looking like a scramble homicide. He pushed his plate away. "Just not hungry."
"I think I know what will cheer you up, look." Pansy pointed at a scraggly-looking owl flying into the Great Hall.
"I don't think some half-dead bird is going to—"
"Not the bird, look what it's got. A Howler."
They watched as the owl crash-landed at the Gryffindor table, right in front of Weasley and Potter. "Actually, you're right Pans. I feel better already knowing it's for them."
Wesley looked horrified, and Draco couldn't hold back his grin when the Howler was opened and a booming voice echoed throughout the Great Hall.
"STEALING THE CAR! I WOULDN'T BE SURPRISED IF THEY'D EXPELLED YOU, YOU WAIT TILL I GET HOLD OF YOU! I DON'T SUPPOSE YOU STOPPED TO THINK WHAT YOUR FATHER AND I WENT THROUGH WHEN WE SAW IT WAS GONE—
A LETTER FROM DUMBLEDORE LAST NIGHT, I THOUGHT YOUR FATHER WOULD DIE OF SHAME, WE DIDN'T BRING YOU UP TO BEHAVE LIKE THIS, YOU AND HARRY COULD BOTH HAVE DIED—
I AM ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTED—
YOUR FATHER'S FACING AN INQUIRY AT WORK, AND IT'S ENTIRELY YOUR FAULT. IF YOU PUT ANOTHER TOE OUT OF LINE WE'LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT BACK HOME."
A ringing stillness settled as the red envelope burst into flames in front of Weasley. Draco and Pansy burst into laughter at the dumbfounded look on their faces.
After getting their class schedules from Professor McGonagall, Harry, Ron, and Hermione went to the greenhouses. They had double herbology with the Hufflepuffs, so after repotting mandrakes and sweating in the dirt all morning, they washed quickly and went to Transfiguration with Mcgonagall next. Harry seemed to have forgotten everything he learned last year over the summer. They were supposed to be turning beetles into buttons, but all he could manage to do was give his beetle a workout as it scurried over the desktop.
Ron had it worse though, with his broken wand; he had wrapped it with some Spellotape, but it looked irreparable; randomly shooting out sparks, and engulfing Ron in a thick gray smoke that smelled like rotten eggs whenever he waved it.
It was honestly a relief to hear the lunch bell.
After lunch, they sat in the courtyard; Hermione reading Voyages with Vampires, again. While Harry and Ron were talking about Quidditch; when Harry noticed a small, mousy-haired boy watching him. He held what looked like a regular Muggle camera, and as soon as Harry looked at him, he blushed furiously.
"I'm— I'm Colin Creevey," he said, taking a step closer nervously. "I'm in Gryffindor too. Could I— would it— Can I get a picture with you?"
"A what?" Harry asked blankly.
"For proof that I've met you," Colin said eagerly. "I've heard all about you; How You-Know-Who tried to kill you, but you survived, and still have a scar from it on your forehead." His eyes glanced at Harry's hairline. "And a boy in my dorm said the pictures will move if they're developed in a certain potion." He drew in a breath of excitement and continued rambling. "It's amazing here, I never knew all the weird things I could do were because of magic, till I got my letter. My dad's a milkman, he was just as shocked as I was. So I'm taking plenty of photographs to send him, and it would be awesome if I could get one of you."
He looked pleadingly at Harry, "Could your friend take it, so I could stand beside you? And then, could you maybe sign it for me?"
"Giving out signed photos now, Potter?" Loud and mocking, Draco's voice echoed in the courtyard. He stopped just behind Colin, flanked by his usual group; Parkinson, Zabini, Crabbe, and Goyle. "Guess the fame really is getting to your head."
Harry stepped forward, not caring for their audience. "You're obviously still mad at me. Do you even care to hear what really happened?"
Draco glared up at him, fists curling at his sides. "I don't, actually. I don't need your excuses, I'm not one of your fans, or your Weasley girlfriend."
"Oi, leave my sister out of it, 'Princess of Slytherin'," Ron said pulling out his wand; he instantly regretted it however, when the four Slytherins behind Draco pulled their wands on him.
"Don't you dare call me that Weasley," Draco hissed. "Speaking of you though, Weasley; maybe you should give him a signed picture, Potter. Merlin knows he could use the money." The Slytherins around snickered at that.
Harry snatched up the front of Draco's robes, pulling them face-to-face. "This is between you and me, Princess. Stop focusing on other people when I'm the one you're really here for," Harry growled lowly. Draco only narrowed his gaze at him.
"Let him go, Potter," the girl, Parkinson said, wand pointed at him now.
Harry slowly looked her up and down, assessing the threat, before shoving Draco back; he stumbled into Crabbe and Goyle, who caught him and asked if he was okay.
Draco straightened his robes, "I'm fine, thanks." He turned back to Harry just as the bell rang. "This isn't over, Potter," shoving past him.
When they were out of earshot, Hermione asked, "Harry, what was that about?" He didn't respond, jaw set as he gathered his bag.
Their next class was Defense Against the Dark Arts, with Professor Lockhart. Harry took a seat at the back of the class, wanting to stay as far away from the man as he could; he then proceeded to stack all of his books in front of him on the desk so he wouldn't have to look at the man in question. Ron and Hermione sat to either side of him.
"You best hope Ginny and Colin don't meet, or they might start a Harry Potter fan club," Ron said.
"Piss off," Harry snapped. He really didn't need Lockhart hearing that phrase, and having another talk with him about fame and himself; Lockhart had pulled him aside this morning before Herbology, and wouldn't even let Harry get a word in, the wanker.
Not only that, he didn't want to think about Ron's sister; it was obvious the girl harbored a fascination with him, he had caught her staring at him on multiple occasions over his stay at the Weasleys. And coming back to school changed nothing, he still caught her ogling him a few times already, and they really only shared meals together.
Worst of all, Draco noticed. Of course, he had. He might have been able to convince him otherwise if they had more time back in Flourish and Blotts, but there wasn't enough time; to explain he wasn't interested in Ginny, and why he never responded to Draco's letters until he made it to the Burrow. The first night he was there he sent Hedwig off with an apology, but Draco never replied to it, now the boy was convinced he was dating his best mate's sister of all people.
Harry dropped his head onto the desk in frustration as Lockhart passed out quiz papers for them all to complete after the man had talked himself up more, of course. Harry wasn't surprised to find the quiz itself being fifty-four questions about Lockhart; Like what's his favorite color, or secret ambition. Harry couldn't care less if he was being honest.
Thirty minutes later, they were wholly unprepare for the Cornish Pixies Lockhart realeased into the room. It was all-out chaos, the electric blue pixies darted off in every direction like miniature rockets. Neville was dragged up onto the chandelier, ink bottles were sprayed at them; papers and books were shredded; bags were thrown through the windows, glass showering down on the class.
Within minutes, half the class had taken shelter beneath the desks. "Come now, round them up, they're only pixies," Lockhart shouted. He rolled up his sleeves, pulled out his wand, and said, "Peskipiksi Pesternomi!" It had no effect whatsoever, and one of the pixies snatched his wand from him and tossed it out the window, too. Lockhart dove under his own desk, almost getting squashed by Neville when the chandelier fell. When the bell rang, Harry, Ron, and Hermione weren't quick enough in their escape and Lockhart had them round up the rest of the pixies before he himself fled.
With one thing after another, Harry was ready for the weekend. They planned to visit Hagrid on Saturday morning, however, Harry was woken up much earlier than he would have liked. Harry squinted up at the Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, Oliver Wood.
"Come on, Quidditch practice!" Oliver said way too cheery first thing in the morning. Harry peered out the window and saw that the sun hadn't fully risen yet and a thin mist was coating the grounds.
"It's the crack of dawn," Harry croaked.
"Exactly, none of the other teams have started yet so let's get a move on."
Harry climbed out of bed, yawning as he tried to find his Quidditch robes.
"Meet you down on the field in fifteen," Oliver said, leaving the room.
After he finally found his scarlet robes and pulled on his cloak for extra warmth, Harry left a note for Ron letting him know where he went. With his broom over his shoulder, he was almost out of the portrait hole when he heard a clatter behind him and Colin Creevey came bursting down the staircase. Great, Harry thought.
The entire way down to the pitch, Colin bombarded him with questions and only found repreive when he went inside the changing rooms. The rest of the team was already there, Oliver being the only one who looked fully awake. The Chasers, Angelina Johnson, Katie Bell, and Alicia Spinnet were stifling yawns and trying not to nod off. The Beaters, Fred and George were sitting with their eyes close, hair tousled from sleep.
"Now that we're all here—" Oliver began, holding up a diagram of the field as he explained his new training program that he had devised over the summer. It took almost twenty minutes for him to explain, but there were two more boards under the first one. "That just about covers it, any questions?"
"Yeah," said George. "Why didn't you tell us this yesterday when we were all awake?"
"Listen up, everyone," he said sternly. "We should have won the Quidditch Cup last year. We're the better team, but due to circumstances beyond our control..." Harry shifted guiltily, recalling his absence during the final match, which left Gryffindor short-handed and led to their worst defeat in centuries. Wood paused, clearly affected by the memory. "This year, we’ll train harder than ever. Now, let’s put our new strategies into action!" He grabbed his broomstick and led the way out, with his team following behind, still stiff and yawning.
They had been in the locker room so long that the sun was up, though mist still lingered on the grass. As Harry stepped onto the field, he saw Ron and Hermione in the stands. "Are you guys done yet?" Ron shouted, surprised.
"Haven't even started," Harry replied, eyeing their toast and marmalade with envy. "Wood's teaching us new moves." He hopped on his broomstick and took off, the cool morning breeze waking him up better than Wood's speech. It felt amazing to be back on the Quidditch field as he zipped around the stadium, racing Fred and George.
"What's that clicking sound?" Fred shouted as they rounded the corner. Harry looked up to see Colin in the stands, snapping photos.
"Hey, look over here, Harry!" Colin yelled.
"Who’s that?" Fred asked.
"No clue," Harry lied, speeding away.
"What’s going on?" Wood asked, frowning. "Why is that first year taking pictures? He could be a Slytherin spy."
"He’s in Gryffindor," Harry replied.
"And the Slytherins don’t need a spy," George added.
"Why not?" Wood shot back.
"Because they’re right here," George said, pointing.
A group in green robes entered the field with broomsticks. "I can't believe this!" Wood shouted, furious. "I reserved this field!" He landed hard, stumbling off his broom as Harry, Fred, and George followed. "Flint!" Wood yelled at the Slytherin Captain. "This is our practice time! You need to leave!"
Flint smirked. "There's plenty of space, Wood." Angelina, Alicia, and Katie joined Oliver, while the Slytherin team glared.
"But I booked it!" Wood insisted.
"Ah, but I have a note here from Professor Snape granting us permission to practice today. Since we need to train our new Seeker."
"You have a new Seeker, who?" Oliver asked.
Harry's eyes widened as the six large Slytherin boys stepped aside, revealing the much smaller boy; Draco had a smirk on his face, and to the untrained eye, one would think him haughty. But Harry knew better, he could see the little furrow in his brow that he got when he was uncomfortable.
"Isn't that Lucious Malfoy's son?" Fred asked, frowning down at Draco.
"It's funny that you brought up Draco's dad," Flint chuckled, as the entire Slytherin team grinned even wider. "Check out this amazing gift he got us for the Slytherin team when Draco made Seeker." They all proudly displayed their broomsticks, showcasing seven shiny, brand-new handles with elegant gold lettering that read Nimbus Two Thousand and One, sparkling in the morning sun right in front of the Gryffindors. "This is the latest model, just released last month," Flint said nonchalantly, brushing off a bit of dust from his own broom. "I hear it totally outperforms the old Two Thousand series. And as for those Cleansweeps," he shot a smug look at Fred and George, who were both holding Cleansweep Fives, "they don't stand a chance." The Gryffindor team was momentarily at a loss for words.
"Check it out, a field invasion," Flint said with a smirk. Ron and Hermione were making their way across the grass to figure out what was happening.
"What's going on?" Ron asked Harry, noticing the lack of action on his part. "And why is Malfoy here?" He shot a glance at Malfoy, in his Slytherin Quidditch robes.
"I'm the new Seeker for Slytherin, Weasley," Malfoy replied coyly. "Everyone's just admiring the new brooms my father got for our team." Ron stared in disbelief at the seven top-notch broomsticks displayed before him. "Pretty impressive, right?" Malfoy continued smoothly.
"Maybe the Gryffindor team can scrape together some cash for new brooms too. You could always raffle off those Cleansweep Fives; I bet a museum would be interested." Flint said and the Slytherin team erupted in laughter.
"Even with new brooms, the Gryffindor team is still going to win, they all got in on pure talent after all," Hermione said sharply, glaring up at the large boy.
"No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood," Flint spat.
There was an instant uproar at that, Flint had to dive behind the rest of the Slythering team to avoid Fred and George jumping at him. Alicia shrieked, "How dare you!"
Ron pulled out his wand, yelling, "You'll pay for that, Flint!" A loud bang echoed around the field and a blast of green light shot out of the wrong end of his wand, knocking him onto the ground.
"Ron! Are you okay?" Hermione shouted. Ron opened his mouth to reply but several slugs dribbled out instead. The Slytherin team was laughing so hard, that they were practically incapacitated. Flint was leaning on his broom for support when Draco rounded on him.
"I told you to leave her out alone," Draco snarled at Flint and then rapidly shouted a barrage of spells at his own team Captain. "Expelliarmus, Flipendo, Furnunculus!" Flint was wholly unprepared to defend from his own team member; his wand flung away from him then he flipped through the air, landing roughly on the ground as Draco approached him. It looked quite comical really, Draco's smaller stature glaring daggers down at the large boy as boils began to appear all over Flint.
Both teams were gaping at the scene; the Gryffindors gathered around Ron had their jaws dropped in shock; the Slytherin team had stepped back, not daring to interfere and risk a Malfoy's wrath that could ruin their families. Harry was transfixed, utterly captivated as Draco dug his heel into Flint's throat; that same maniacal grin he had seen before, plastered on his face.
"I'll only say this once, Hermione Granger is off limits you fat fuck." Draco spit at him, teeth bared and eyes wild. "Now apologize."
Flint grit his teeth, "I'm... sorry."
"Not to me," Draco nodded his head towards Hermione.
"I'm sorry, Granger," Flint hissed as he spoke to her. Seemingly satisfied with that, Draco released him. He walked past the stunned crowd to where the trio stood, stopping before Hermione.
"Sorry, I warned him before not to mess with you," Draco murmured, as if ashamed, and then lifted a brow down at Ron. "You should stop using that faulty wand, before you get seriously hurt, Weasley."
Ron raised a finger to Draco, but gave a huge heave and hunched over again as more slugs dribbled down his front.
"Let's take him to Hagrid, it's closest," Hermione said, giving Draco a soft smile in thanks as she pulled Ron to his feet. Draco didn't even spare Harry a glance as he spun on his heel and strode back to his team, straddling his broom and lifting off into the air. "Harry, are you coming?"
"Ye— yeah, sorry," Harry tore his gaze from the sky and tossed Ron's arm over his shoulder, supporting his weight. "Was just surprised is all."
"You and everyone else," Ron groaned. "That was a little scary if I'm being honest."
That was hot Harry wanted to say, instead, he replied with, "I guess even Malfoy stands up for his friends."
Colin rushed over, his eyes wide with concern as he asked, "What’s going on, Harry? Is he sick? You can fix him, right?" He had jumped up from his seat and was now bouncing around them as they made their way off the field. Ron was struggling, slugs oozing down his shirt, and Colin, clearly intrigued, lifted his camera. "Can you keep him still, Harry?" he asked eagerly.
"Move aside, Colin!" Harry snapped, frustration bubbling up as he and Hermione helped Ron out of the stadium and toward the forest's edge.
"Almost there, Ron," Hermione reassured him as they spotted Hagrid's cabin in the distance. "Just a bit further—you're going to be okay." They were just a few steps from the door when it swung open, revealing Gilderoy Lockhart in his light mauve robes, striding out.
"Quick, hide!" Harry whispered urgently, pulling Ron behind a bush. Hermione followed along, a bit hesitant.
Lockhart was chatting loudly with Hagrid, insisting, "It's really straightforward if you know what you're doing! If you need any assistance, just let me know! I can give you a copy of my book. Honestly, I'm surprised you don't have one already—I'll sign it tonight and send it over. Anyway, see you later!" With that, he marched off toward the castle. Once Lockhart was out of sight, Harry yanked Ron out of the bushes and led him to Hagrid's front door, knocking frantically.
Hagrid opened the door right away, looking quite grumpy, but his face lit up when he recognized them. "Been wonderin' when you'd come to visit—come in, come in! I thought you might be Professor Lockhart again," he said. Harry and Hermione helped Ron inside the cozy one-room cabin, which had a huge bed in one corner and a warm fire crackling in the other. Hagrid didn't seem bothered by Ron's slug issue, which Harry quickly explained as he settled Ron into a chair. "Better out than in," Hagrid said cheerfully, placing a large copper basin in front of Ron. "Get 'em all up, Ron."
"I guess we just have to wait for it to pass," Hermione said nervously, watching Ron lean over the basin.
"It's a tough curse, especially with a broken wand..." Hagrid bustled about making tea, while Fang drooled on Harry.
"What did Lockhart want, Hagrid?" Harry asked, scratching Fang behind the ear.
"Just giving me tips on kelpies," Hagrid grumbled, clearing the table. "As if I need his advice. He wouldn't stop bragging about some banshee he supposedly banished. If that's true, I'll eat my kettle." It was unusual for Hagrid to criticize a Hogwarts teacher, surprising the trio.
Hermione added, "I think you're being a bit harsh. Dumbledore believed he was the right choice."
"He was the only one for the job," Hagrid replied, offering treacle fudge as Ron coughed in the basin. "Finding someone for the Dark Arts position is becoming quite the challenge. It seems like nobody wants to take it on anymore; folks are starting to think it’s cursed. No one has lasted in that role for quite some time." Hagrid then nodded towards Ron and asked, "So, who was he trying to put a hex on?"
"Flint said something really nasty to Hermione, and it sent everyone into a frenzy," Harry explained.
"It was definitely bad," Ron chimed in, looking pale and sweaty as he peeked over the table. "Flint called her 'Mudblood,' Hagrid—" He quickly ducked down again as a new wave of slugs appeared.
Hagrid was visibly furious. "He didn’t!" he growled at Hermione.
"He did," she replied. "But I’m not sure what it means. I could tell it was really offensive, though."
"It's one of the worst things he could say," Ron said, resurfacing. "Mudblood is a disgusting term for someone with Muggle parents. Some wizards think they’re superior because they’re pure-blood. But we all know that doesn’t matter. Just look at Neville; he’s pure-blood and can barely manage a cauldron." He burped slightly, and a slug plopped into his hand, which he tossed into the basin.
"And Hermione can do spells that they haven’t even invented yet," Hagrid added proudly, making Hermione blush a deep shade of magenta.
Ron shook his head, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Calling someone that is vile. Dirty blood? Absurd. Most wizards are half-blood anyway. Without mixing with Muggles, we’d be extinct." He grimaced and ducked out of view.
Hagrid, booming over the slugs splattering, said, "I get why you want to curse him, Ron, but your wand backfiring might be for the best. At least you’re not in real trouble." Harry thought about how slugs spewing from his mouth was pretty bad trouble, but he couldn’t speak since Hagrid's treacle fudge had glued his jaws shut. Suddenly, Hagrid remembered something. "Harry," he said, "I heard you’ve been giving out signed photos. Why haven’t I gotten one?"
Infuriated, Harry forced his mouth open. "I haven’t been giving out signed photos," he retorted. But then he saw Hagrid chuckling.
"I was just kidding," Hagrid said, patting Harry on the back, sending him crashing into the table. "I knew you weren’t doing that. I told Lockhart you didn't need to, you’re way more famous than him without even trying."
Harry sat up rubbing his chin, saying, "I bet he wasn't too happy about that."
Hagrid, with a twinkle in his eyes, replied, "I don’t reckon he was." He continued, "Then I mentioned that I hadn’t read any of his books, and that was it for him. Treacle fudge, Ron?" he asked as Ron came back into the room.
Ron weakly responded, "No thanks, I think I’ll pass."
"Come see what I've been growing," Hagrid said as Harry and Hermione finished their tea. In his vegetable patch, massive pumpkins loomed, the largest Harry had ever seen. "They're perfect for the Halloween feast," Hagrid beamed.
"What have you been feeding them?" Harry asked.
Hagrid glanced around. "Just a bit of... assistance," he replied, eyeing his pink umbrella that was likely hiding his old wand. Hagrid had been expelled from Hogwarts in his third year— and wasn't allowed to use magic— but he avoided the topic whenever it was mentioned.
"An Engorgement Charm?" Hermione suggested, amused. "You've done a great job."
"That's what your little sister said too," Hagrid said, nodding at Ron. "She came down here just yesterday, and said she was just looking around, but I think she was hoping she might run into someone else at my house." He winked at Harry. "Bet she wouldn't say no to a signed—"
"Oh, shut up with that," Harry groaned.
Ron snorted with laughter, sending slugs flying everywhere. "Careful now!" Hagrid shouted, yanking Ron away from his beloved pumpkins. With lunchtime approaching and Harry having only nibbled on a piece of treacle fudge since morning, he was eager to head back to school for a proper meal. They bid farewell to Hagrid and made their way back to the castle, with Ron hiccuping every now and then, but thankfully only managing to bring up a couple of tiny slugs.