Switched

After that, Granger started hanging around them more often, despite, Harry was pretty sure, not actually liking any of them very much. He sort of suspected that she was hanging around for the same reasons he hung out with people — boredom, and adults were less likely to make concerned noises about you maybe one day blowing up the school if you appeared to have friends — though Blaise said it was because everyone else found her completely insufferable and she liked that they didn't only talk to her when they wanted her help with their homework...though that was really just because none of them wanted her help with homework. It wasn't like she ever had anything new and interesting to contribute, like Danny, Blaise, and Theo. Even Harry had learned a lot of stuff that was tangentially related to Potions and Herbology from books Snape had recommended, and Astronomy (and Geomancy) from looking up random stuff he heard about in the NEWT lessons he'd kept sitting in on because what else was he going to do at five in the morning? (And Sinistra still didn't have the heart to kick him out.)

Granger only ever put the things they learned in lessons in her homework, which was, as far as Harry was concerned, boring. In his opinion, her biggest contribution to their little friend-group was that she spoke French. Danny, Blaise, and Theo also spoke French, obviously, because it was the big international magical language, but it was a second language for all of them (third for Blaise, he'd learned Italian first). Theo's accent was terrible (he could read it much better than he spoke it), and the Tonkses barely ever spoke French at home, since Mister Tonks preferred English. Granger's father's mother was French and her father had grown up in France, so her parents had decided to raise her bilingually, which was really cool, and she was bossy enough to correct every little mistake he made trying to practise (which was annoying, but useful), while the boys generally wouldn't bother if they could tell what he meant to say.

Well, that and it annoyed Draco that they let her hang out with them. (For some god-unknown reason even Blaise couldn't satisfactorily explain.) Since Draco kept coming up with excuses to put off their duel (Harry being recently and unnecessarily hospitalised after his encounter with the troll; attending school quidditch matches; their upcoming Potions exam, which he claimed to really need to study for; and most recently, having a head cold), anything that annoyed him was, in Harry's opinion, a good thing. Turnabout was fair play, after all, and his continued teasing was really annoying Harry. If he was going to chicken out, he should just say so and be done with it!

He hadn't really realised, though, that Draco being annoyed that Hermione was associating with them translated to Draco picking on Hermione when she wasn't hanging out with them. Yes, he knew the pointy blond jerk was giving her shite when he saw her sitting with them in the Library — less often, now that they'd commandeered an empty storeroom to use as a private study area, entirely so they could practise magic as well as doing their reading and writing essays — and Blaise had mentioned he tried to make digs at her in the corridor before and after Potions (which was the only lesson Gryffindor and Slytherin had together), but he hadn't known his least favourite cousin was going out of his way to corner the bookish muggleborn, for example, after dinner, on the third floor, where she'd clearly been minding her own business (that did occasionally happen), heading back up to Gryffindor. (Or possibly Ravenclaw — Danny had told her about the door-riddle system, and she didn't get on with her roommates any better than she did with anyone else, so she liked to hang out in their Common Room sometimes.)

And he definitely hadn't realised that Draco, who generally struck Harry as a cowardly little tit who wouldn't dare actually throw a hex at him and clearly didn't want to have that duel at all because Harry would definitely beat him like a drum, they both knew it, would actually throw a hex at Granger, either. Maybe it should have — Granger had about the same level of aggressive killer instinct about her as Professor Quirrell, even a mediocre coward like Draco was probably safe from any retaliation beyond her running to tell a teacher — but Harry just had a hard time seeing him as any sort of a threat. (He did still want to have that duel, but more because Draco was being an annoying little shit about it than because he thought it would be a good fight.)

He would probably have a hard time seeing him as a threat if he were in Granger's position, actually. Draco, Vinnie, and Greg had blocked her in with her back to the wall of a corridor, Draco holding her at wandpoint. Greg had taken her bookbag and was throwing shite on the floor while Draco nattered on about how dirty mudbloods like her shouldn't go trying to show up real wizards in lessons and being bloody know-it-alls when they didn't know anything, really.

Her eyes were red, her hands swollen from a stinging jinx — Theo had shown Harry that one, it felt like sticking your hand in a nest of fire ants (which Harry had actually done once, on a dare) and made it pretty impossible to use your wand, if she could even get it out of her pocket with sausage-fingers. Wouldn't stop him from whaling on Draco if he were her, but again, Granger was about as threatening as a frizzy-haired pudding.

"Pretty sure she doesn't have to try to show you up in lessons, Malfoy," he drawled, thumbs tucked casually into the pockets of his robes. "But maybe you're not a real wizard. I was under the impression that real wizards keep their word, and you keep ducking that duel you owe me."

He spun around on his heel, falling into a defensive position, like he thought Harry was going to hex him in the back. (He wouldn't, it wouldn't be sporting.) "Potter! Piss off, this has nothing to do with you!"

"I'm sure I could come up with an excuse for it to have something to do with me. Probably something about dicklicks who go around calling muggleborns 'mudbloods' are breaking the Truce, and it's everyone's responsibility to help them get back to licking dicks instead. Though I guess I could claim you're harassing my muggleborn client. That's better grounds for a duel than you making an arse out of yourself assuming I was some nobody muggleborn girl on the train."

"Oh, client is she — your little mudblooded know-it-all girlfriend, more like! Just like your father, aren't you? Think it runs in the family, fancying mudbloods?"

"I don't fancy Granger, but if I did, it'd be better than fancying Pug-Face," Harry sniggered. He let the comment about his 'mum' being a mudblood slide, because, well...so what? For one thing, Lily Evans wasn't actually his mum, and for another, what did it matter if she'd been muggleborn? She'd also been a crazy dangerous battlefield ritualist and a hard bitch who would definitely use her kid as bait to blow up a dark lord, and also very pretty. Harry would question James Potter's priorities if he didn't think she was fanciable.

"I don't fancy Pansy!" Draco snapped, over Vinnie braying with laughter and taunting Granger — "Hear that, Granger? Potter thinks you're just as insufferable as everyone else!" (As with Dudders and Piers, Harry suspected that Vinnie might actually be the better bully, despite clearly taking his lead from Draco.)

"She's not nearly as insufferable as that laugh, Crabbe. Is your father an actual jackass? Piss off before I decide to take exception to your treatment of my client. That goes for you too, Goyle, Malfoy. We all know you're too big of cowards to actually fight me."

"Big words for a little boy," Greg said, with a stupid little heh. He was the tallest bloke in their year and, like Dudley, probably weighed twice as much as Harry, but, unlike Dudders, Greg actually had some muscle on him. If Harry didn't know better, he'd say he was at least thirteen or fourteen.

"Everyone's bigger than me, Goyle. But even you aren't as big as a troll, and I'll bet galleons to knuts you don't heal as well, either. If you don't piss off, I'll shove your wand so far up your arse you'll be coughing up sparks for a week."

"I heard that troll put you in hospital, Potter. You don't get bragging rights for losing a fight! But then, you were stupid enough to pick a fight with a troll over this mudblood you definitely don't fancy, so maybe I shouldn't be surprised you don't know that."

"Stop calling my client a mudblood, Malfoy, before I demand public satisfaction for the insult to my House and because the more you talk the more I want to see you bleed."

They were progressing nicely, Harry thought, to a three-on-one scrap (which would really be a much fairer fight than just him versus Malfoy) when Granger — who had scrambled to pick up her things while the shite-brained Slytherins were distracted, and was clearly ready to make a run for it (leaving the broken quills and ink bottles, but with all of her books and folders safely retrieved, and the empty bag itself looped over one shoulder) — interrupted. "Stop calling me your client, Potter! What does that even mean?"

"Er...sort of like looking out for someone, in exchange for favours and loyalty, or whatever. Houses do it, too. Like, for example, Draco's mum kept Crabbe and Goyle's fathers out of Azkaban at the end of the War, and in exchange, these mooks keep anyone and everyone from kicking Draco's arse for being a poncy little dicklicking bully."

"What?!" both Draco and Hermione shrieked, outraged — Draco slightly more shrilly.

He seemed to realise that because he flushed and cleared his throat, letting Hermione say, "Well, stop it, then! I don't need your help, and I don't want to owe you a favour! That's not why you saved me from the troll, is it?!" before he chimed in with, "Now who's violating the Truce, Potter?" clearly annoyed to be ignored even for a couple of seconds.

"It's not violating the Truce to say House Malfoy saved the arses of every marked Death Eater currently not in Azkaban, everyone knows that's why your mum's got the Allied Dark by the balls. It's not like I said your parents somehow faked an Imperius Defence — or that that's a bad thing, and not just really bloody impressive and I want to know how they did it. Also, I didn't fight the troll for you, Granger, I fought it because it was fun."

Professor Snape, at least, knew that. He'd been completely unswayed by Harry's argument that he'd been saving a helpless Gryffindor in distress, just gave Harry a sort of you don't really think I believe you sort of look before repeating that Harry wouldn't be allowed to read outside materials in Potions for the next two weeks. Harry had pouted at him, but honestly...he sort of really appreciated that Snape couldn't be swayed by silly shite like whether Harry incidentally saved someone else's life while he was breaking the rules. Danny had clearly thought he was being unreasonable when Harry told him about it, but it was...reassuring, sort of, that Snape's rules didn't change based on circumstances Harry may or may not be able to predict.

Snape, more than maybe anyone Harry had ever met, seemed to understand that Harry needed him to be very, very clear what would happen if he broke the rules (like telling Harry up front that, if he ignored the no-reading-in-lessons punishment, he'd confiscate whatever Harry was reading and stop letting him check out Restricted books from the library), and actually enforce those rules when Harry broke them. Not that Harry liked being punished, he just...liked knowing where, exactly, they stood. Like with that list of priorities Danny's mum had sent him, sort of. Snape might not follow exactly the same list, but as long as he was honest and actually followed through on his word, they were still on the same page. Which was sort of a first for Harry, and he really, really appreciated it, even if it did mean there were consequences he'd had to suffer for his decisions and actions, regardless of whether those actions were taken under circumstances other adults might have considered mitigating.

It wasn't like Snape had been angry at Harry, or anything. He had given Harry ten points for saving Hermione, because ensuring that one of the other students didn't get killed by the troll was helpful to Snape (who was partially responsible for all the students' wellbeing, even if they weren't Slytherins or demon-children no one else was willing to take responsibility for), which was a Good Thing and should be rewarded and encouraged. But Harry had still ignored Snape telling him to go back to Ravenclaw, even though he'd been very clear about the consequences of doing so. Enforcing those consequences didn't make him a jerk, it made him...reliable. Trustworthy. And it was absolutely worth it, anyway, having to spend a few hours being mostly-bored in lessons (practising occlumency rather than reading other things) as the cost of fighting a bloody troll.

Honestly, Harry sort of always wanted to fight something. That had been the most serious fight he'd ever been in, and it had been great, thinking of ways to attack the thing with magic on the fly and then fooling around with the sword — he was sure he would've managed to slay the monster eventually, if Professor McGonagall hadn't distracted him and gotten him incarcerated in hospital for the next eighteen hours. (Which was completely ridiculous, he hadn't been hurt that badly. If Pomfrey had just let him sleep it off instead of waking him up every half hour with that stupid charm to check on him and interrupting his healing, he would've been well enough to go to the Revel. Even though she had, he still could have left in the morning.)

"There's something wrong with you, Potter, if you think getting your arse handed to you is fun," Vinnie said, with another jackass bray of laughter, monopolising his attention again as Hermione turned on her heel with a huff and stalked away.

"If you want to start a fight," she threw back over her shoulder, "go ahead, but don't say it's about me!"

Harry shrugged, turning back to Malfoy. "You're a coward who's afraid to fight me one-on-one because you're a mediocre wizard and you know I'll beat you like a drum. If you want your friends to help you, that's fine, but Big and Stupid—" He nodded at Greg and Vinnie, respectively. "—aren't going to be much help in a duel because they're even worse at magic than you are. Clearly being a pureblood isn't all it's cracked up to be, if you three are supposedly the pinnacle of magical breeding. But then, maybe you're not, really — I mean, we already know Vinnie's mum shagged a jackass, and Greg's father is probably a troll. What about you, Draco? Think that dirty cow you call 'Mum' actually—"

He broke off laughing to duck as Greg took a great lumbering swing at his head. Vinnie, on the other hand, went for a flying tackle, screeching, "Don't talk about my mother like that!"

Harry dodged him, too, but took his eyes off Draco long enough for the blond ponce to step in closer and pop him one, firmly in the nose. Not firmly enough to break it, and he seemed even more surprised to have actually hit Harry than Harry was to have been hit, but enough that Harry's eyes started watering immediately, and a trickle of blood escaped his left nostril.

He wiped it away with the back of his hand, which he then licked clean, mostly reflexively. Greg made a disgusted face at him, and Vinnie said something about his father clearly being a vampire, though Draco didn't seem to notice, too busy crowing over having gotten in a single lucky jab and making Harry's eyes tear up.

"Oh! That's right! Not such a big man, now, are you, Potter! Going to start crying like a little girl? Going to run back to your Tower now you know I'm not scared of you?"

Harry giggled, positively delighted to have finally gotten a rise out of the overconfident idiot. This was apparently unnerving — Draco's newfound confidence in his ability to kick Harry's arse clearly wavered a bit, there — so before he could lose his nerve completely, Harry tossed his bag aside, making a beckoning little bring it on gesture with his fingers. "Come on, then, if you think you're hard enough!"

What followed was nearly ten minutes of reasonably entertaining scuffling. It wasn't really a fight, as far as Harry was concerned — he'd been roughed up worse on the rare occasions the older boys had let him play rugby with them in Little Whinging, and he was being careful not to actually hurt the Slytherins, none of whom actually knew what they were doing in a fistfight any more than they would in a magical duel — but it was still three on one and all three of them were bigger than he was, and much more interested in kicking his teeth in for insulting their mothers. He did have to keep on his toes to avoid letting them, especially without taking them down hard enough they'd probably be in hospital for a week.

Mages could fix shattered joints, so if he broke Greg's knee to get him to lay off, it wouldn't be nearly as disproportionate as if he broke Malcom's knee, but still a bit much, and probably enough they'd never play with him again. (He raised his aim at the last second so his kick seriously bruised Greg's quadricep, but didn't dislocate his kneecap.)

Though that ship might have already sailed when he twisted Draco's arm the same way he had Dudley's that one time, thinking that Draco, like Harry himself, was magic, and therefore wouldn't just break if Harry was a bit rough with him. He knew immediately he was wrong — he felt the taller boy's left humerus snap under his hand as he wrenched his wrist around behind his back — even before he fell back, crying. Vinnie and Greg, clearly aware that Harry had (accidentally) crossed a line, started whaling on him with more vicious abandon, actually managing to knock the wind out of him and tackle him to the ground.

He'd just regained his feet — tripped Vinnie in front of Greg and got up while they were trying not to fall all over each other — and kicked Vinnie (still on the floor) in the stomach, causing him to retch and Greg to attempt to put Harry in a headlock from behind while Draco held his arm and snivelled over by the wall — when Professor McGonagall arrived, trailed by Hermione, who looked absolutely appalled, though not quite as furious as her Head of House.

"What is the meaning of this!" she demanded, magic settling around Harry and Greg as she did, forcing them apart and immobilising them, including preventing Harry from speaking.

Well, shite.

Draco was still preoccupied by his broken arm, apparently incapable of opening his mouth without crying, so it fell on Vinnie to say, "Potter attacked us, Ma'am. He's crazy! He broke Draco's arm, Greg and I were just trying to stop him—"

"That's not true!" Hermione objected heatedly. "They were picking on me and Harry came up and told them to stop!"

"And then, after we stopped, and you ran off to tattle like a baby—" ("Mister Crabbe!") "—he started saying things about our mothers and when we told him where he could shove it, he started laying into us! I swear, Professor! He started it!" Vinnie claimed, pointing very dramatically at Harry.

"Ooh, Potter... Miss Granger, please escort Mister Malfoy to the Hospital Wing. Mister Crabbe, Mister Goyle, Mister Potter, come with me!" Professor McGonagall snapped. Her spell faded enough for Harry to (reluctantly) follow along with the other boys.

"Where are we going, Professor?" Greg asked, as she led them down the nearest staircase.

"Fighting is not tolerated at Hogwarts, Mister Goyle! Regardless of the provocation! We are going to speak to your Head of House, to see whether Professor Snape has any recommendations on your punishment for this egregious violation of school policy!"

"But Potter started it!" Vinnie objected again.

Harry didn't deny it, he had been trying to pick a fight, even if he hadn't taken the first actual swing. He did have to mention, though, "I'm not a Slytherin. Are we going to talk to Professor Flitwick, too?"

McGonagall ignored him, as she was wont to do whenever possible.

Vinnie apparently thought this was funny, like Snape would definitely take their side and no one would defend Harry (which was probably true, since he knew Harry was a questionably sane demon-child), leering triumphantly at him behind the professor's back. Since Harry was already going to be in trouble no matter what, he took the opportunity of Vinnie not looking where he was going, still heading down the stairs, to use magic (not a spell, just normal magic) to grab his right ankle, holding his foot in place just long enough for him to lose his balance and stumble into the professor before tumbling down the four remaining steps with a girlish yelp.

McGonagall might not like Harry, but she didn't like the Slytherins much more. "Get up, Mister Crabbe!" she snapped, somewhat shaken by the way he'd nearly pulled her down with him. "I am quite certain that Mister Potter did not force the three of you to remain in that corridor to fight him rather than walking away as Miss Granger did! He may bear the greatest part of the blame for Mister Malfoy's injury — I will be writing to Lady Malfoy about this incident, Mister Potter! — but you two, and Mister Malfoy as well, are certainly also at fault! If Professor Snape does not assign all of you at least three hours of detention, I will certainly do so! But it is school policy to allow Heads of House to attend to conflicts between their own students—"

"Potter's not a Slytherin!" Vinnie objected.

McGonagall ignored him, too, continuing her march down to the dungeons. "—and quite frankly, I expect him to be even more concerned about you boys fighting than I am!"

Was she...just going to pretend that Harry was a Slytherin, then? Not that he really minded, but...

Professor Snape also objected when they finally reached his office, and Professor McGonagall explained the situation. As she understood it, of course, which wasn't entirely accurate, but close enough — Harry somehow doubted Snape would be less annoyed with him for just picking a fight than if he'd actually thrown the first punch.

And he was annoyed, pinching the bridge of his nose and glaring at McGonagall. "Inter-house disciplinary matters are the responsibility of the Deputy Headmistress to address, Minerva. Why are you bothering me about this?"

"Because, Severus, you are the only professor in this school for whom Potter actually seems to hold any degree of respect. Therefore, he is your problem!" she declared, turning on her heel and storming back out into the corridor.

Snape's glare shifted to Harry. Harry rolled his eyes. "It's not like I wouldn't show up for detention if she assigned it—" He had, actually, for the one she'd assigned him over his refusal to transfigure any more bloody needles. And every time he'd been caught out of bounds, for that matter! "—she just hates me for no reason."

Snape graduated from pinching his nose to rubbing his forehead. "Mister Crabbe, Mister Goyle, you and Mister Malfoy will serve three hours of detention next Saturday for engaging in fisticuffs with another student, and an additional hour for bullying Miss Granger. If Mister Malfoy objects, you may inform him that he should consider the broken arm a lesson on the wisdom of picking his battles poorly. It doesn't excuse him from the consequences of fighting in the corridors."

"We didn't pick the fight, though!" Vinnie insisted. "Potter started it!"

"No, Mister Potter may have escalated this particular incident to the point of physical violence, for which you will serve six hours of detention, Potter—" Harry nodded. "—but Mister Malfoy 'started it' when he unwisely challenged Mister Potter to a duel back in September," Snape corrected him. When Greg's eyes went wide with surprise, he added, "There are very few conflicts involving my students which I am not aware of, Mister Goyle. This will, however, be the end of it, Mister Potter." His glare shifted back to Harry. "I refuse to believe that you are unaware that Mister Malfoy has no intention of ever fulfilling his rash threat of meeting you in the duelling ring. Nor, quite frankly, is he capable of putting up a decent fight if he were to do so."

Harry scowled at him. "No, I know that. If he'd just admit it and withdraw the challenge, I'd let it go. But he won't, he just keeps leading me on!"

Snape's eyes flicked up, in the direction of the hospital wing. Harry fancied he was glaring at the absent Draco. "Be that as it may, if you keep pursuing a duel with Mister Malfoy, I will have no choice but to interpret it as a deliberate attempt to endanger another student, given that you know you will hurt him more severely than you did today if he is ever so foolish as to allow himself to be goaded into such a fight."

The unspoken or else there was that Snape would take steps to neutralise Harry as a threat to Draco, if he didn't drop it. Probably not by killing him, but quite possibly by getting him expelled, or something. The specifics didn't really matter, since the prospect of a shitty fight with a pansy-arse like Draco wasn't worth so much as a detention, but it was still annoying. "Fine. But I would like to put it on the record that I was being careful! I didn't think twisting his arm like that would break it. Blaise said mages are harder to hurt than muggles!"

"We are," Snape confirmed drily. "One's magic will react instinctively to prevent a bludger hit from breaking one's back, for example," he noted, referencing a particularly nasty foul in the Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch match a few weeks ago. "That doesn't mean that we're all as difficult to hurt as you. Mister Malfoy in particular has very little experience consciously resisting the effects of physical trauma. Your fellow students, by and large, share the same degree of fragility in the face of non-lethal trauma as comparably sized muggles."

Harry had no response to that other than an annoyed huff. "Fine. Now I know. I won't accidentally break anyone else's arms, promise," he offered, slouching sullenly in his seat. It wasn't his fault he'd overestimated other people's ability to not break when he wasn't even trying to break them.

Snape gave him a very unimpressed look. "If you harm any of your fellow students extensively enough that they must report to the Hospital Wing for care, whether intentionally or accidentally while engaging in activities which could reasonably be predicted to result in bodily harm, I will personally revisit the effects of their injuries upon you threefold."

Vinnie and Greg goggled at him, like this was a completely unreasonable thing to say, though Harry couldn't honestly say he found it surprising. Paying someone back in kind, or in kind times three, was sort of a traditional way of deciding punishments, wasn't it? What goes around, comes around, and all that?

Harry continued to pout. "I said fine, didn't I?"

"Yes, but I'm not certain you can be trusted to realise that this applies equally to, say, deliberately tripping your classmates down the stairs as it does to any damage you inflict in an actual fight without being explicitly informed of that fact."

Harry winced. Had Snape read his mind without him noticing? "Noted. Thank you. I will be sure to take your warning into account the next time I trip someone down the stairs." Then a thought occurred: "Wait, you mean I'll be in trouble even if they hit me first?"

Snape sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose again. "If you make a sincere effort to extract yourself from the situation without resorting to violence, I will not hold you accountable for any actions you take in order to resolve the threat you might hypothetically, in some universe, be subjected to. However, as that is not what happened here, nor is there anyone in the entire school so blind to their own self-interest as to attack you without extensive provocation, I sincerely doubt there is any cause for legitimate concern over such an eventuality occurring. Also, bear in mind that I will still hold you accountable for any injuries you inflict beyond those necessary to escape your hypothetical tormentors."

Harry nodded. Fine. It was better than being in trouble if he fought back against people trying to kick the shite out of him, which was a rule Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had tried to enforce the first time Dudley and his friends tried to beat Harry up at school over lunch. They'd been about seven at the time. Harry had ended up seriously bruised with a bloody nose, but Piers's nose had been broken, and Dylan had gotten kicked in the nads badly enough the school nurse had called his mum to pick him up. Dudley had enough blubber he hadn't been seriously hurt by most of Harry's retaliatory punches, but he had gotten a black eye trying to sneak up on Harry from behind.

Uncle Vernon had beaten the piss out of him for blacking Dudders's eye and beating up his friends; Harry had fought back and nearly managed to scratch out his left eye; Aunt Petunia had decreed that he wasn't to eat dinner for two weeks; Harry had decided that if he wasn't getting fed, he wasn't going to work to earn his keep; Uncle Vernon had been forced to smack him around for neglecting his chores; Harry had escalated by actually causing messes; Piers and Dylan had attempted to ambush Harry in revenge and gotten their arses soundly handed to them again; Uncle Vernon had beaten Harry for defending himself again; Harry had decided that no one got to sleep at Number Four until Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon agreed to drop the rule against fighting back against Dudley's friends; Uncle Vernon had very nearly gotten into a smashup on his third very sleep-deprived drive in to work; and Aunt Petunia had ungracefully conceded that if someone hit Harry first, he was allowed to hit them back, and it wasn't his fault if he was better at it than they were.

Score: Harry — 1; Dursleys — 0

(How Snape could possibly think Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had abused him, Harry didn't know. If he didn't think their rules were fair, he was more than capable of making them change them.)

"If you simply must commit violence against another being, you have my permission to kill acromantulae," Snape offered magnanimously — so much so that he was almost certainly joking. Not that Harry thought Snape would care if he did kill a few giant spiders, but he was pretty sure Snape didn't think Harry needed his permission to do so. Hagrid would, though, and Harry liked meeting new creatures and people out in the Forest, so he would resist the impulse to start fights with said giant spiders, at least until he was pretty sure that he'd learned everything he could from Hagrid and been introduced to everyone he knew.

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, Aunt Petunia hates spiders, too." Greg made a strangled little noise off to Harry's left, drawing his attention. Both he and Vinnie looked inexplicably terrified. "What?"

"Oh, yes, it's terribly unexpected that your classmates find it shocking that I need to warn you that you will be held accountable for indulging in gratuitous violence at the expense of your fellow students," Snape said, in an absolutely scathing tone which made it clear that he was being sarcastic, even though it sort of was. They had been attending lessons together for over two months now, and everyone knew about the troll, and he'd obviously been actively attempting to pick a fight with all three of them...

"Oh, don't be such pansies. I wasn't trying to hurt you, or Malfoy for that matter. Well, much. And now I know wizards and muggles are basically the same when it comes to arm-breakability, I won't accidentally put you in hospital, either," Harry assured them. (They didn't seem very reassured.) "May I go, then, sir?"

Snape nodded. "You will be notified of the details of your detention as soon as I find out when Minerva thinks she has a free evening."

Harry smirked. Possibly the best part of attending a boarding school was the opportunity to see teachers acting like real people. Snape setting his detention with McGonagall, presumably in protest against Harry being made his problem, was frankly hilarious. "Yes, sir."