Half Evans

His first night at Hogwarts, Harry gets a crash course in his personal history.

It annoys him, a little bit, because he feels like he should have the most information on his past, not some random kids he was matched up with at boarding school. But he bites down his irritation in favor of soaking up every little detail he can from the people around him.

He learns about Voldemort, about blood supremacy, and about the band of rebels that his parents belonged to. He learns that there’s a killing curse, which stresses him out, and that he’s the only person in the history of the world to have survived it, with only his lightning bolt shaped scar to show for it. He learns that Voldemort died that night, and that he’s been heralded as a hero since that day, which makes him feel all sorts of different things.

He also learns more about their school. He learns that Gryffindors are supposed to be brave, and Slytherins are supposed to be evil, Hufflepuffs are kind and just kind of there, according to his new friend Ron, and that Ravenclaws are stupidly smart.

He also learns that Slytherins are really into blood supremacy, which makes him want to set that bloody hat on fire for putting Dudley, a person with two non-magical parents in that house.

When he finally is allowed to drift off to sleep – because Gryffindors are apparently endlessly chatty – he dreams of green light, a screaming woman, and he and Dudley fighting to the death as house enemies.

Harry is quite relieved in the morning to discover Dudley not only alive, but looking well rested. He’s tucked in between some kid whose name Harry can’t quite remember – something fishy, maybe? – and Theo. He’s pleased to see Theo talking animatedly to Dudley, who’s nodding along gaily, and Harry begins the walk over to them when suddenly he is grabbed by two redheads.

“Oh no you bloody well don’t!”

“Hey!” Harry struggles against their tight grip as they drag him away from the Slytherin table and towards the Gryffindors.

“You’re a Gryffindor, you can’t be eating with the Slytherins every morning!”

“Honestly, show a little house pride, will you?” Harry glares at the two boys as they lift him and plop him onto the bench as if he weighs nothing.

“I want to go see my cousin!” He snaps, but the boys merely position themselves on either side of him, grabbing handfuls of bacons and sausages as they do.

“Sorry, mate. But I think your housemates deserve some of your time too.” The one to the left drops a fistful of bacon onto Harry’s plate, giving him a meaningful look.

“Well eat up, then. Don’t make us feed you.” Harry contemplates for one moment not eating anything out of spite, but he’s not entirely sure that these two won’t force it down his throat. So he picks up a piece of bacon and shoves it into his mouth, chewing angrily.

“I’m Fred by the way, and this is George, my brother.”

“Charmed.” Harry deadpans through a mouthful of food. “So what’s the plan then? Keep me away from my cousin at all costs?” Fred – or George, he can’t really tell them apart – has the decency to at least look aghast.

“Never!” He exclaims. “We love family! There’s nothing we value more than family relationships. Isn’t that right, Percy?” The Gryffindor prefect looks up from the head of the table and glowers at the two of them.

“Our brother,” George (or Fred) says.

“Well, one of them.” The other adds.

“There are seven of us.” Harry forgets his anger for a moment as his mouth, full of toast, drops open.

“Seven of you?”

“There’s Bill, Charlie, Percy,”

“Us, of course.”

“Ron, and then Ginny.”

“Wait, Ron is your brother?” Harry asks. The boys grin.

“Couldn’t you tell?” Harry glances down the table to where Ron is shoveling food in his mouth and feels himself flush.

They’re pretty near identical.

“Right.” He mumbles, before tucking into some porridge. Fred/George claps him merrily on the shoulder.

“Don’t be embarrassed, love. It’s better than most, who assume that any redhead in the school is a Weasley. We’re plentiful –“

“But not that plentiful.” Harry hides a grin behind a goblet of some delicious tasting juice.

“Hey Harry,” He looks up to find Dudley standing nervously behind him.

“Dud!” He exclaims, and jumps off the bench, wrapping his cousin in a big hug he’s sure he needed. Dudley returns the gesture with slightly less enthusiasm than Harry’d had. “How was your night? I was going to come sit with you until I was absolutely kidnapped by this lot.” Dudley grins.

“I saw,” He says. “S’alright. I chatted with Theo and Vince a bit. They’re quite nice.” Behind him, the twins snort, which Harry pointedly ignores. “Did you get your timetable yet?” Harry reaches into his robe pocket and pulls a crumpled piece of parchment out and they compare schedules.

As it turns out, Gryffindor and Slytherin have potions, herbology, and flying lessons together. Harry is quite excited for flying, while Dudley can barely contain his fear.

“What if I can’t fit on the broom?” He asks quietly as they make their way through the corridor with the throngs of students. Harry scoffs at this.

“You’re not a bloody giant, Dud. Nor are you the first fat person to ever grace the wizarding world. I’m sure you can fit just fine.” But he can tell that Dudley’s fears are not assuaged.

Harry hates Potions.

Dudley, on the other hand, seemed to quite enjoy it, finding it endlessly fascinating how many different potions one can make. Harry glances back at him and sees both him and Hermione flipping through the textbook, whispering excitedly about things he can’t bring himself to care about. He imagines it might be easier to care if it weren’t for who teaches it.

Within the first five minutes of class, Professor Snape calls Harry a celebrity, asks him a series of potions questions he has no idea how to answer (although Hermione seems to know), and removes ten house points from him, much to the irritation of every Gryffindor in the room.

Herbology goes much better. Professor Sprout doesn’t seem to care on whit one way or the other about Harry and his supposed “celebrity status”, and he’s quite delighted to see all the magical herbs and plants. Not as excited as a pudgy boy in his house, Neville something, but delighted nonetheless. Dudley, on the other hand, is bored nearly to tears, and Harry recalls with fond amusement how much Dudley hated gardening back at home. Herbology, he decides, will not be his class.

Finally, flying lessons roll around and Harry is ready to get his feet off the ground.

Madam Hooch, a small, stout witch with short white hair is standing in the centre of a circle of broomsticks when they arrive on the field.

“Alright now, everyone let’s not waste time. Find a broom, stand beside it. Quick, quick now. Now lollygagging.” Her brusque tone reminds Harry fondly of his aunt Petunia, and he grabs Dudley and finds two empty brooms next to one another.

When all is said and done, Draco Malfoy stands next to Dudley, with Theo Nott beside him. Hermione stands directly across from Harry – as does Ron – with a terrified expression on her face.

“Right now. All of you hold your hand over your broom and say up! Put some force into it, you’re commanding your broom, not asking it.” Harry watches in amusement as everyone tries to command their broom, with little to no success. Ron’s broom rolls over like a lazy dog, Hermione’s does absolutely nothing, Neville’s comes up and whacks him straight in the nose, and Malfoy’s hovers a few inches off the ground before collapsing once again.

Only one broom shoots off the ground and into the hand of its rider.

Dudley’s.

Dudley stares at Harry with his eyes wide, and Harry smiles at him, genuinely pleased.

“Great job, Dud!”

“Excellent, excellent! Five points to Slytherin!” Dudley beams at Madam Hooch’s praise. “We’re not angry with the broom, Mister Malfoy, we’re simply in charge of the broom.” Harry focuses his attention back onto his own broomstick, which is still stubbornly refusing to move.

“Up!” He commands. The broom doesn’t listen. “Up. Up! UP!” Finally, the broom surges up through the air and into Harry’s outstretched hand. He grins.

“Got it!”

The next step – after much frustration on both Draco and Hermione’s part – is to mount their brooms and kick off. Harry is much more adept at this, swinging his leg over like he’s riding a bike. Dudley, he notices, is quite a bit more timid, attempting to balance precariously on one leg while swinging the other over. He also notices Draco Malfoy, who had swung onto his own broom and was now hovering a few feet off the ground, watching Dudley with a piqued interest, and he is immediately suspicious.

“Just swing your leg!” He hisses to Dudley, who’s looking closer and closer to tears with every failed attempt.

“I’m trying!” Dudley whimpers back, and Harry huffs in frustration. Malfoy is no longer being discreet, instead openly staring at Dudley with narrowed eyes.

“Just, look! Fall over it, Dud. It’s not hard.”

“It is to me!”

“Just, lift your leg, Dudley! Come on!”

“I’m trying Harry!”

Madam Hooch finally comes over with an equally tearful Neville and takes over teaching the two of them how to properly mount their brooms.

“Nice job teaching, Potter.” Harry grits his teeth. Never in his life has he heard a more grating and irritating voice than that of Draco Malfoy.

“Well we can’t all be as talented and smart and altogether amazing as you, Malfoy.” He sighs.

“Don’t forget handsome.” Harry groans frustratedly.

“What do you want, Malfoy? Just come to watch the show?”

“Just came to see if the great Harry Potter is really all that they say he is. You know your father was like a star quidditch player.” Harry tries to hide the swell of emotion that bursts through him and he swallows hard, his heart pounding loudly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Too bad you don’t seem to have the same talent he does.” And with that, Harry watches as Malfoy flies in small circles higher and higher.

“Malfoy!” Hermione hisses. “We’re not supposed to go more than a few feet!” Malfoy shrugs as he continues to rise.

“She’s busy on ground patrol.” He says, pointing down to where Neville and Dudley are being critiqued on their form. “Hope you like the view, Potter!”

At this point, Harry would like to say that he remained calm. He’d like to say that he called over Madam Hooch. He’d like to say that he was perfectly unbothered by Malfoy’s lazy ascent into the sky.

But Harry is unfortunately not that person.

He swung his leg over his broomstick and kicked up hard, sending dirt and grass flying and flew straight up.

He was quite pleased to discover that flying was not nearly as difficult as Madam Hooch made it out to be. Tilt the end of the broom up, you’d go up. Press it down, you’d go down. Lean to the side you want to turn, and there you are. Basic, really. Malfoy’s eyes widened with surprise as Harry matched his own height quickly, and Harry gave him a little wave.

“You know, I think I actually do like the view.” He sneered, and Malfoy glared at him.

“You think you’re such hot stuff because you can fly straight in the air? Please.” And with that, he takes off.

Harry does not even glance down at the growing crowd of concerned – and yet silent – students. Instead, he tears off after Malfoy, following his movements as closely as he can.

Malfoy rolls his broom.

Harry rolls his broom.

He feints left, narrowly avoiding a tree.

Harry feints left.

Malfoy goes up.

Harry goes up.

Malfoy goes right.

Harry goes right.

Malfoy whips through all sorts of complicated maneuvers that Harry mimics with relative ease until..

A strange sensation wraps around his middle and his wrists, locking him onto the broom. He pulls furiously but can’t unlatch himself. One look at Malfoy tells him that he is suffering the same fate. And then, without warning, both brooms plummet to the ground, and Harry screams as the grass rises to meet him until he comes to an abrupt – yet soft – landing on the pitch below. He nearly sags with relief as the invisible restraints release him until he is yanked to his feet by a red-faced, furious Madam Hooch.

“Class dismissed!” She snarls, and begins stalking towards the castle, both Harry and Draco clutched in her furious fists. He manages to catch one glimpse of a line of empty broomsticks floating towards the broom shed before he is whisked through the great stone doors of Hogwarts.

By the time Harry and Malfoy are released from Professor Dumbledore’s office, they have both lost fifty house points, been given two weeks detention with Madam Hooch, and are having letters written to their parents. Malfoy is less concerned about the letter home than Harry, who is already dreading having to face Aunt Petunia at the Christmas holiday. He trudges despondently down to the Great Hall to join the rest of his classmates at the supper feast.

“It was bloody brilliant though!” Ron, who apparently watched the whole thing with adoring eyes, is eagerly recounting the entire ordeal. “Malfoy kept trying to shake him, trying more and more complex maneuvers and Harry kept getting it!” Fred and George were equally impressed.

“You’re going to try out for quidditch next year, yeah?” One of them asks.

“You can train up this year with us and be ready for September.” Harry shrugs his shoulders, grinning in the limelight. While he was sorry for his behavior, he had never felt so exhilarated as he had while flying, and he couldn’t wait to get himself back on a broom.

“You know he lost us fifty points with that stunt.” Percy says callously, and Harry flinches. “And it’s only the first full day of school!” Fred and George beam at him.

“Must be a new record!” Fred says tearfully.

“I reckon it is.” George adds, and Harry can’t help but grin. The twins, he’d learned, were troublemakers and not well liked by their elder brother Percy. But Harry, as it turned out, quite enjoyed them.

“I mean, Slytherin lost fifty points too, Percy.” Ron points out, but Percy is not assuaged.

“That doesn’t make it okay, Ronald.” Ron shrugs.

“Makes it a bit better.” Harry grins in spite of himself, and in spite of Percy’s near constant glowering.

It wasn’t perfect, but today was pretty good.