Chapter Text
After the incident with the mountain troll, Hermione joined their little group. She was far more relaxed about breaking the rules, and much nicer for it. She no longer glared at Harry whenever Harry got something right ahead of her - instead, she seemed to take it as a challenge, and Harry and her were soon neck and neck for the top spot in their year. It was nice, having someone to study with - neither Ron nor Neville were particularly studious, so Harry and Hermione were often studying together while the other two did whatever.
“It’s Friday!” Ron moaned as the two girls headed to the library. “The first quidditch game’s tomorrow - surely homework can wait?”
Harry and Hermione exchanged exasperated looks.
“You’re not going to let up, are you?” Harry asked, amused.
Ron grinned, and Harry sighed. Hermione slumped, knowing what that meant.
“Sunday, then,” Hermione grumbled, as they switched directions to head to the common room. “If I get a bad mark because of you, Ron, I’ll -”
Ron rolled his eyes. “Like you’ve gotten anything less than an O.”
“But if I do,” Hermione pressed, “I’ll - I’ll -”
Ron looked rather smug. “You’ll what?”
“I’ll sic Harry on you!”
It was the first allusion any of them had made to Harry’s vicious side, and her eyes widened. Ron, though, just rolled his eyes again.
“Harry wouldn’t hurt me,” he said confidently.
“Fine,” Hermione huffed. “Then I won’t help you with your homework.”
At this, Ron looked alarmed for the first time. “Wait, Hermione -”
There was a satisfied smile on Hermione’s face. “I’m not taking it back.”
Harry met Neville’s eye and he pretended to sigh, a long-suffering look on his face. Harry giggled. Ron and Hermione got on like oil and water - which was to say, not at all - but their bickering was amusing, at least. And she had Neville to suffer through it with her.
~
The next morning dawned very bright and cold. Everyone seemed to be looking forward to a good quidditch match - the Great Hall was filled with cheerful chatter. They trooped out onto the field, clutching their scarves, and piled onto the stands.
“None of you have ever seen a quidditch game, have you?” Ron was saying as they sat. “You just wait, it’s wicked, the best thing in the world -”
They heard Madam Hooch’s whistle as the players rose into the air, and Ron fell silent.
"And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor - what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too-"
"JORDAN!"
"Sorry, Professor."
The Weasley twins' friend, Lee Jordan, was doing the commentary for the match, closely watched by Professor McGonagall.
It was lovely - there were cheers from the Gryffindors every time they scored, and howls and moans from the Slytherins. Harry watched the seekers, flying high above the action, and wondered what it’d be like to be amongst them.
A flash of gold caught her eye. She looked back at the seekers and made a frustrated sound, leaning forwards.
“What is it?” Ron asked, oblivious.
“The snitch is right there,” Harry said. “Why can’t they see it?”
Ron stared at her. “You see the snitch already?”
“Yes, but I don’t know why they can’t,” Harry complained.
Ron’s gaze turned evaluative. “You’re one of the best fliers in our year,” he said slowly.
Harry blinked at him. “And?”
“If you had a good broom…” Ron turned away and started muttering to himself, before his eyes widened and he practically lunged at her. “How do you feel about quidditch? Do you like it?”
Harry blinked again, nonplussed. “I suppose? It’s entertaining enough.”
Ron seemed to consider this for a moment before shrugging. “Good enough. You’re trying out for seeker next year.”
“I am?”
“You are.”
“... Alright,” Harry said, not too sure what had just happened.
~
The game had been uneventful. The real drama came the day after. Mrs. Zabini had written to Dumbledore at Death’s prompting and gotten her a tutor, who was, surprisingly, fourth-year Slytherin Lucian Bole. Ron was appalled.
“A Slytherin?” he said in disbelief. “What if he does something?”
“What’s wrong with Slytherin?” Harry asked.
Ron stared at her. “You-Know-Who was a Slytherin,” he said.
Harry blinked. “So?”
Ron spluttered. “So - so -”
“The Hat almost put me in Slytherin,” Harry said. “If it had, would you have stopped being friends with me? Because I’d have shared a house with You-Know-Who?”
Ron wilted. “No,” he said. “No, of course not. It’s just - Slytherins have a reputation, all right? So - please be careful.”
“I will, if it makes you feel better,” Harry conceded. “But I really don’t think his house says anything about his character. There’s nothing wrong with being cunning or ambitious.”
There was a pause.
“I suppose,” Ron said, clearly not convinced.
“We’ll see, then, won’t we?” Harry replied, and by mutual agreement, they dropped the subject. Hermione and Neville, who hadn’t spoken, exchanged looks.
~
She and Bole coordinated their first meeting through letters and met in a corner of the library, at a table practically hidden from passersby. When she arrived, he was already there, working on an essay. He looked up when she approached, blinking in surprise.
“Potter,” he said. “You’re here?”
Harry tilted her head. “... Yes? We did agree on the time and place, didn’t we?”
“Yes, I just didn’t think - never mind,” Bole said, stowing away his essay and pulling out a sheaf of notes.
“You didn’t think I’d show up,” Harry guessed, sitting down.
Bole looked at her contemplatively. “To be blunt, no, I didn’t.”
“Because you’re a Slytherin?”
“Yes.”
“I think that’s silly,” Harry said decisively. “I need a tutor for History of Magic and you’re willing to be that tutor. Your house doesn’t matter to me as long as you’re willing to teach me.”
Bole blinked. “That’s… awfully pragmatic of you, Potter.”
“Thank you.” Harry beamed. “I try. But for the record,” she added, “I asked for you, once Mrs. Zabini told me you were looking to get a Mastery in History of Magic.”
He choked. “Mrs. - you don’t mean Aida Zabini?”
Harry cocked her head. “I do,” she said. “She’s my lawyer, but she has a son in my year, which is how I figured she knew, so -”
“Merlin,” Bole said, looking pale. “Alright. Alright.” He hesitated. He looked at his notes, then at her, then at his notes again. Finally, he met her very confused gaze. “I have to know, though - how exactly did you come to have her as your lawyer?”
“My family friend said she was good,” Harry said, nonplussed.
“Your family friend,” Bole repeated. “Who is…?”
“Morrigan Peverell.”
Bole stared at her. “Peverell, as in the Noble and Most Ancient -”
“Yes.”
“Merlin,” Bole repeated, with feeling. He stared at her for a moment longer. “Remind me to never get on your bad side, Potter.”
Harry blinked. “Is that necessary?”
“Yes,” Bole said emphatically. “Yes, it really is.” He took a breath. “Now then, shall we begin?”
Harry beamed. “Yes, please!”
~
Ron pounced on her the moment she entered the common room.
“Are you alright?” he demanded. “You’re not bewitched, are you? You’ve got all your limbs?”
“Yes, no, and to the best of my knowledge, yes,” Harry answered promptly.
“To the best of your knowledge?” Ron echoed shrilly, pulling at his hair. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well, sometimes limbs just fall off and you don’t notice until you trip over your own arm, do you?” Harry said reasonably. “Or sometimes you just pull at a leg and it comes off. I do that to you all the time.”
“Wh-”
“She’s pulling your leg, Ronald,” Hermione sighed. “A bit too literally, in this case.”
Ron gaped at her before turning to Harry, who was sniggering. “This isn’t funny!”
“It’s a little funny.”
“Hermione!”
“She’s clearly fine, Ron,” Neville said, ever the peacemaker. “How’d it go, though, Harry?”
“He thought I wouldn’t show up because of his house,” Harry said. “And there was a strange bit at the beginning when he learned that Mrs. Zabini was my lawyer and Morrigan Peverell was my family friend, but apart from that -”
“Hang on,” Ron said. “As in Aida Zabini?”
Harry gave him a strange look. “That’s exactly what he said.”
“You’re not answering the question!” Ron shrieked. Thankfully, the common room was empty.
Harry sighed. “Yes, as in Aida Zabini,” she said impatiently. “I don’t see what the problem is, Morrigan said she’d won nearly every one of her cases -”
“Because she’s bloody terrifying, that’s why!” Ron cried. “Nearly every single one of her husbands has died under suspicious circumstances!”
“Really?” Harry asked, intrigued. “Interesting.”
Ron pulled harder at his hair. “What do you mean, ‘interesting’?!”
“Because,” Harry said patiently, “she struck me as a very pragmatic person. The deaths of her husbands must’ve benefited her in some way, if she is indeed the culprit, but I don’t see how that has any bearing on her abilities as a law witch. Besides,” she added, “Morrigan recommended her.”
“Morrigan,” Ron repeated faintly. “As in, Morrigan Peverell. As in, that Peverell family? The Peverell family known for producing necromancers?”
“Yes,” Harry said confusedly.
“Necromancers,” Ron repeated. “Necromancers!”
“He took care of me when nobody else did,” Harry said quietly. “He believed in me, encouraged me, and told me the truth. He’s one of the best people I’ve ever known. I don’t care what reputation his family has, he’s never given me a reason to distrust him.”
Ron opened his mouth, then closed it again. He stared at her intently. “What do you mean, ‘he took care of you when nobody else did’? I thought you lived with your muggle relatives.”
“I do,” Harry said, looking away. “But they’ve never been exactly pleasant.”
“What does that mean, exactly?” Hermione asked slowly. Her brown eyes were large and concerned. “Harry, they’ve… did they ever hurt you?”
“We just don’t get on,” Harry said, not answering the question. “Listen, my point is that Morrigan’s been brilliant, and I’m very grateful for him. So I’d appreciate it if you don’t talk badly about him, especially when you don’t know him.”
“Of course not,” Neville said, stomping on Hermione’s foot. She scowled at him, before softening when she looked at Harry.
“We won’t.”
“Yeah,” Ron said quietly, still giving her that soul-searching look. “Promise.”