Chapter Text
Know-It-Alls and Broomsticks
Harry was tired of listening to Ron going on about the "Bossy Little-Know-it-All," but he really wasn't sure how to tell him. Ron was his best friend. Nobody had ever wanted to be Harry's friend before Ron, so he didn't know how to tell a friend to stop being a jerk.
Yeah, it was true that Hermione Granger was a bit bossy, but Harry didn't see what was wrong with being smart. He had read all of his schoolbooks before term started, which had all been very interesting, and he wanted to know everything there was to know about magic. Admittedly, all of the theory was well over his head. But the spells looked cool, and A History of Magic was gripping, even providing the perfect name for his new pet owl.
Even his Potions books were fascinating, but Harry wished his memory was better. Losing a point in his first-ever Potions lesson for suggesting that Professor Snape let Hermione respond to the questions when she obviously knew the answers was particularly galling.
Harry had read his Potions book, and he had read One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi. He thought that maybe Snape wouldn't hate him so much if he had been able to remember everything and answered the questions properly. Harry had meant to ask Hermione later if she had any tips for improving his memory. But then he forgot all about it after visiting Hagrid's hut and seeing the newspaper clipping about the Gringotts' break-in.
Before Harry knew it, another week had almost gone by, and the next time he noticed Hermione was on the Thursday that the Gryffindors had their first Flying Lessons together. He saw how terrified Hermione was of her broom. Then that creepy little bully with blond hair—the one who thought he was better than everyone else, Draco Malfoy—stole Neville's Remembrall.
Harry grabbed his broom, ready to go after Malfoy, but Hermione tried to stop him.
"No—Madam Hooch told us not to—you'll get us all in trouble," she shouted.
Harry almost ignored her completely, but then he remembered that he wanted to talk to her later, noticing that she looked extremely distressed and on the verge of tears.
"Look—Malfoy's the one causing trouble, Hermione. You have to stand up to bullies—if you don't, they think they can get away with anything."
That seemed to work. Hermione looked conflicted for a moment, then nodded.
"Just be careful, Harry—I don't want you to get hurt or blamed unfairly."
Of course, when McGonagall stormed out of the castle furiously, it appeared for a short while that Harry would get into loads of trouble. Hermione's voice was among the chorus of voices trying to tell the stern professor it wasn't his fault. Hermione seemed quite appalled when she noticed that Malfoy's part in things had gone unremarked when Harry was unceremoniously dragged off by Professor McGonagall—possibly to get expelled.
However, things didn't work out like that at all; to Harry's great surprise, he had been drafted onto the Gryffindor Quidditch Team instead. Harry was thrilled not to be expelled and excited to learn that he was good at something his father had also excelled at.
But then things went all wrong again—and, in retrospect, Harry had to question McGonagall's decision to hold the threat of punishment over his head to make sure he trained hard at Quidditch. At the time, he had been too excited by the prospect of being on the team to consider how much that might cut into his study time.
In any case, Harry was beginning to seriously question his own decisions. It had been thoroughly stupid to allow himself to be goaded into an after-curfew Wizard's Duel with Draco Malfoy. What did he know about duelling?
They were running from Filch in the middle of the night. Just as Hermione was gasping, "I—told—you," clutching at a stitch in her side, Harry remembered he barely knew any spells and wanted Hermione to give him some study tips. Yet there he was, gallivanting around the castle in the middle of the night simply for the sake of showing up Malfoy. Harry didn't even have the justification of standing up to bullying at that time; he had seen Hermione's distress and ignored it.
"Malfoy tricked you," she reproached him. "You realise that, don't you? He was never going to meet you—Malfoy must have tipped Filch off."
"You're right, Hermione," said Harry, shame written all over his face. "I'm sorry—I should have listened to you."
Hermione's eyes widened in surprise at being acknowledged and receiving an apology as if it were an extremely rare occurrence.
Ron gave Harry a strange look as if Harry was a nutter for apologising to Hermione Granger, the Bossy Know-It-All. Then Peeves the Poltergeist showed up, and Ron idiotically took a swipe at him, which only caused Peeves to create even more of a ruckus. After running into the room with that mad giant three-headed dog thing to escape Filch once more, Hermione was infuriated all over again.
"We could have been killed," Hermione snapped, glaring at Ron and Harry when they returned to the Gryffindor Common Room, "or worse, expelled. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed."
"No, we don't mind," Ron said to Hermione, glowering as she stormed off, "You'd think we'd dragged you along," he snarled at her as she gave them one last withering look.
Harry hadn't said anything at the time. Hermione was right—about Malfoy tricking him and about the fact the dog was guarding something, most likely whatever was in the package Hagrid had retrieved from Gringotts. But Harry had just stood next to Ron in silence, not wanting to say anything to the first friend that he'd ever had.
Hermione didn't talk to either of them for a week. And every time Harry caught her eye and wanted to say something, Ron started loudly going on again about the Bossy Know-It-All. And Harry still hadn't said anything—because Ron was the first friend that he'd ever had.
Hermione bit her lip and turned around, stalking away crossly the first time, and looked closer to tears after each following incident.
At the end of the week, Harry received a Nimbus 2000 broomstick at breakfast. He excitedly tore off the wrappings, but then he caught Hermione glaring at them as he gloated with Ron about how it was really all thanks to Malfoy being a bullying git.
Harry's face fell. He instantly felt guilty, and thought he should try apologising again for the previous week. Hermione's eyes flickered when she saw Harry's expression change; she opened her mouth to say something.
But then Ron looked up and scowled at her.
"I thought you weren't speaking to us," he snarled. "Don't stop now—it's doing us a world of good."
Hermione whirled around and marched off angrily.
For the first time since meeting him, Harry felt like hitting Ron—but he said nothing to his first-ever friend, and it started to eat away at him. Harry could barely concentrate in classes all day as all he thought about was his upcoming first-ever Quidditch Practice—and Hermione Granger.
Despite everything, once in the air, Harry felt an exhilarating rush of freedom. He caught every golf ball the Gryffindor team captain, Oliver Wood, hurled into the air. Harry wanted to try it with the real Golden Snitch, but Oliver didn't want to lose it, as it was getting close to dusk. Finally, an extremely impressed Oliver said it was too dark to go on, and they packed it in for the night.
The next few weeks passed quickly. Lessons were growing extremely interesting now that Harry had mastered the basics. But the pressure was on, as he had team practice three nights a week. Oliver strongly reminded him that Professor McGonagall had bent the rules to allow a First Year student to play Quidditch and suggested that Harry practise every day.
As much as Harry loved Quidditch and flying, he also wanted to do well in school. He was afraid he would start falling behind—especially as Ron wasn't keen on spending their time together doing homework. Harry was beginning to feel desperate, and he couldn't get Hermione Granger out of his head either.
And it wasn't just because he was interested in study tips—he really wanted to get to know her as a friend. He had wanted to be her friend ever since she said she didn't want him to get hurt or unfairly punished for going after Malfoy—the day he had told her you had to stand up to bullies.
And every time Ron bad-mouthed Hermione when she was nearby, Harry's feelings of guilt and resentment grew stronger. If there was one thing he hated, it was bullies. But Ron was his first-ever friend, and he had no idea how to tell a friend to stop being a bully.
~o0o~
Before Harry knew it, Halloween arrived, and he was glumly sitting in Charms class with Seamus Finnegan, wishing he could switch places with Ron, who had been partnered with Hermione by Professor Flitwick. Harry couldn't tell who was angrier between Ron and Hermione. All he knew was that he felt like exploding himself.
They were all trying to make feathers fly of their own accord. Seamus managed to make his and Harry's feather burst into flame. Professor Flitwick brought them a new feather and patiently demonstrated the spell again.
"It's a nice simple wrist movement," squeaked the diminutive professor. "Remember—swish and flick."
Ron was flinging his arm around like a propeller.
"Wingardium Leviosa," he yelled at the feather.
"You're saying it all wrong," Hermione fumed.
Harry reckoned Ron's problem went a lot deeper than poor pronunciation. But he paid close attention when Hermione pronounced it correctly.
"It's Win-gar-dium Levi-o-sa… make gar nice and long and put the accent on the o…" she said.
"Go on then, little Miss Know-It-All," snarled Ron, "Let's see you do it if you're so bloody clever!"
Harry had to admire Hermione's restraint and composure, considering the great duress Ron was putting her under. She sniffed haughtily and delicately flicked her wrist as she precisely enunciated the incantation. The feather lifted several feet off the desk and floated in mid-air. Harry focused his attention, ignoring Ron's huffing, and copied Hermione meticulously.
"Oh look…" Professor Flitwick remarked loudly, "Miss Granger and Mr Potter have both gone and done it—well done, you two! Five points apiece to Gryffindor!"
When Ron's ears turned beet red, Harry thought he might see steam shoot out of them at any moment. Ron was in the foulest mood he had ever seen—not even Draco Malfoy, Snape, or Filch had ever managed to infuriate Ron so completely.
When the lesson was over, Harry walked out of class quickly, hoping to avoid Ron, but Ron barged through the other students and rushed up beside him.
"Can you believe her? Win-GAR-dium Levi-OOOOOO-sa," Ron sneered, miming an effete wrist movement, "It's no wonder she doesn't have any friends—she's a bloody nightmare!"
Several other students giggled and nodded. Hermione pushed past Ron and Harry, bursting into tears, and ran down the hallway sobbing. She darted around the bend and was gone.
Harry stopped dead in his tracks and stared at Ron as something snapped inside him.
"What's wrong with you?" asked Ron.
"What's wrong with me?" Harry shouted. "You should be asking yourself that! You sound like my bloody cousin Dudley—a big bullying git—and you eat like him, too!"
Ron's jaw dropped. He stood in the middle of the corridor gaping in bewilderment at Harry's bizarre pronouncement as he watched his best friend storm off to look for the Bossy Know-It-All.
Harry never found Hermione, and she wasn't in any of their classes all afternoon. He sat as far away from Ron as possible, who kept squirming, shrugging, and shooting Harry befuddled "What did I do?" looks.
Harry had never been more miserable on Halloween. Not even the Halloween decorations, the hundreds of live bats fluttering above, or the sumptuous feast held any interest for him. Hermione was still nowhere to be seen. Harry refused to look at Ron, who was still trying to get his attention with a hurt expression.
Harry picked at his food until he saw Parvati Patil glowering at Ron and overheard her telling Lavender Brown that Hermione had been crying in the girls' bathroom on the first floor all afternoon. Ron flushed uncomfortably, the first sign of remorse that Harry had seen on his face all day.
But Harry wasn't feeling in a particularly forgiving mood. He reckoned Hermione probably thought he hated her too, or else surely he would have defended her like he had defended Neville. He pushed his plate away and went to look for the girls’ bathroom to apologise to Hermione. Ron looked even more confused and started eating a piece of Pumpkin Pie.
Not more than twenty minutes later, Professor Quirrell skidded into the Great Hall, stammering and sputtering loudly with a terrified expression on his face.
"T-t-t-troll… in the dungeon!" he shouted before his eyes rolled into the back of his head. He keeled to the floor and passed out.
The Great Hall erupted into bedlam as students began screaming and squealing. Ron's eyes bulged when he anxiously realised that Harry still wasn't back. He had no idea where Harry had gone. Beginning to panic and not knowing what else to do, Ron swivelled around and tried to get Percy's attention. But Percy was too busy being a pompous prat and trying to order everyone around to listen to anything Ron had to say.
Ron caught Parvati's eye and swallowed his pride, suddenly realising where Harry had gone.
~o0o~
Harry managed to find the first-floor girls' lavatory relatively easily. Swallowing nervously, he pushed the bathroom door open a crack and heard sobbing. Feeling reassured that no other girls were using the facilities, he entered the bathroom.
"Er… Hermione—is that you?" he asked tentatively.
Hermione's sobs halted. She called out in a shaky voice from the stall she was hiding in.
"Who's there? This is the girl's loo—go away! I want to be alone!"
"It's me… I mean, it's me, Harry! I just found out you were in here, and…er… I wanted to apologise. I'm sorry, Hermione."
"Why do you even care about me?" she shouted. "Why now? After all this time? Ron's been mean to me for weeks—and…" Her voice broke into another loud sob, "…and you never said anything then!
"I thought you must hate me too. I'm just a stupid Bossy-Know-It-All! Who could possibly like me enough to stand up for me?" She lost it again and began sobbing uncontrollably.
Harry's heart shattered into a million tiny little pieces. He knew how much it hurt to feel alone—like nobody cared about him. But he hated talking about it. How could he not? For one thing, he just wanted to forget the Dursleys existed. For another, it would be like admitting he really was a freak who deserved a good thumping, and the last thing he wanted was pity. He had never told anyone—not even Ron.
All Harry had ever told Ron was that his relatives were horrible and didn't like magic—that they made him wear Dudley's old clothes and didn't give him any presents.
Trembling, he moved towards the toilet stall where Hermione was crying and opened the door. He swallowed again, not sure how to begin.
"I… I'm really sorry, Hermione. It's hard for me to explain. I never had any friends before I met Ron on the train."
Hermione stifled her sobs and peered at Harry incredulously.
"You're just saying that to try and make me feel better because you know I don't have any friends. How can you not have any friends? Everybody knows you—you're famous! You're in all those history books."
"I didn't even know I was a wizard until a month before school term," Harry said quietly, steeling himself to tell her the truth. "That's why I didn't know what you were talking about on the train. My aunt and uncle hate me. They hated my parents because my mum and dad were wizards.
"They never told me anything except lies—that my mum and dad were drunks who died in a car crash. And they never let me have any friends—they told all the neighbours that I was a dangerous nutter and wouldn't let me play with anyone—they let my cousin and his gang beat me up all the time—my uncle…" Harry croaked up, barely able to say it.
"…Uncle Vernon… He hits me too sometimes—he calls me a freak—they all do."
Hermione looked utterly horrified. She bore a sickly expression of revulsion, but Harry kept going. He didn't know why, but now that he had started talking, he couldn't stop.
"…I never even had a bedroom—they used to lock me in a cupboard under the stairs until they started getting my Hogwarts letters. So, erm… so when I met Ron on the train, he was the first person besides Hagrid who ever liked me.
"I'm sorry! I know it's not a good excuse, but that's why it was hard for me to say anything to Ron when he was being mean to you! Ron is my first real friend."
Hermione started crying again, but as her tears rolled down her cheeks, her ragged breath was barely audible.
"That is a good excuse. I'm sorry—I had no…"
"No!" Harry interrupted her. "It's not… I hate how he treats you, and I hate myself for letting him! And today was just too much for me to take anymore! I…" He gulped when he got to the hardest bit, "…I'd rather be your friend, Hermione."
Suddenly, Hermione lurched forward.
Harry flinched, not knowing what to expect. He was shocked when she flung her arms around him and buried her bushy head under his chin. Usually, when people came at him, Harry had to dodge blows. He had never been on the receiving end of a hug before—at least not in his memory. He stiffened awkwardly, but the heat of Hermione's embrace—teary as it was—began to melt his glacial tension.
"I'd like that very much too, Harry," Hermione sniffled into his chest. "But you don't have to give up your friendship with Ron just for me. I understand now, and it's all right to have more than one friend, even if they don't like each other. I can try harder to ignore him like my parents told me I should when people make fun of me."
Harry gritted his teeth at Hermione's parents' terrible advice. But it was hard to stay cross while she was hugging him.
"You won't have to," he murmured as a fuzzy, warm sensation, unlike anything he'd ever felt before, filled him. "I'll tell him off from now on… Urgh! What's that smell?"
Harry wrinkled his nose; the toilet hadn't smelled this dreadful when he entered. Then, the whole lavatory shook as if there was a small earthquake. Harry spun around and peered out of the stall. His eyes nearly popped out of his head at the hideous sight. Hermione let out an ear-piercing scream.
It was a Troll—at least that was Harry's best guess—an ugly, dingy greyish creature at least four metres tall wearing a filthy loincloth and brandishing an enormous wooden club. The foul, stinking monster roared and swung his bludgeon.
Harry yanked Hermione out of the stall in the nick of time and shoved her behind him against the tiled wall. The club demolished the stall from which they had just departed on impact, shattering the toilet, and water began to geyser from the burst pipes.
"I'll distract him. Hermione, run!" yelled Harry as the beast lumbered towards them, splashing through the puddles and gushing water. But she was petrified with fright and couldn't move.
His heart pounding in his ears Harry wished he knew more spells. He couldn't think of anything that he'd learned yet that would be helpful in a fight with a gigantic monster. Then an idea struck him. He pointed his wand at the club as the troll began to swing again. He swished and flicked as he carefully muttered the incantation and the club soared out of the Troll's grubby hands.
The Troll paused and stared in bewilderment at his hovering bludgeon. Harry instinctively directed the bludgeon until it was several metres above the Troll's head and released the spell. The club fell straight down, slamming into the Troll's thick skull with a sickening crack.
Harry and Hermione held their breaths as the mountainous beast teetered dangerously. It slowly toppled, hitting the flooded stone tiles of the floor with a thunderous boom that rocked the entire lavatory, drenching them both.
They stared at the fallen beast, still in shock. Coming to his senses, Harry noticed Hermione was still shaking. Instinctively, he wrapped his arms tightly around her as a sharp voice caught his ears.
"Good Heavens!" gasped Professor McGonagall, who had suddenly appeared in the doorway with Ron and Parvati. Her eyes bulged, her features ashen as she took in the scene.
Snape's face appeared beside hers, no less pallid—but that was his usual colouration. Only the narrowing of his dark, glittering eyes suggested any emotion. Fresh anxiety churned in Harry's gut as he wondered how much trouble they might be in.
Quirrell brought up the rear, trembling like a leaf at the sight of the unconscious Troll.
"Well… I never—how did you…?" Professor McGonagall could barely get her words out.
"Harry saved me!" Hermione finally managed to squeak, still somewhat shakily. "He... Harry used the Wingardium Leviosa spell and bonked the Troll on the head with its own club."
"A First Year bringing down a Mountain Troll all by himself? Truly astonishing—well done indeed, Potter!" McGonagall eyed her student proudly. "Fifty points to Gryffindor for your quick thinking and chivalry! I must say that when Mr Weasley and Miss Patil brought your disappearance to my attention, I feared the worst."
Ron glanced at Hermione, who was still in Harry's embrace. When the pair of them peered back at Ron in surprise, he shuffled and stared at his feet abjectly.
"I'm really sorry, Hermione—it was my fault you were in here all day, and that Harry had to come find you. I was horrible to you. I'm sorry for being such a prat," Ron looked up again at Harry.
"I tried to get Percy to help," he continued stiffly, "but he wouldn't listen. Parvati suggested we get McGonagall when we both realised you must have gone looking for Hermione. I just want you to know that I'm sorry too, and I hope we can still be friends, Harry."
Harry felt a lump in his throat and gazed back at Ron uncertainly. All Harry was sure of at the moment was that he liked Hermione and didn't want anyone to be mean to her. But Harry had to admit that he still liked Ron, even if he was a bit thick and rude. They did have loads of fun together sometimes, and Ron was always good for a laugh.
"Just try to be a bit nicer, alright," he sighed, giving Ron a half-smile. Harry caught Snape's dark gaze again, taken aback to see that the glittering malevolence had dissipated; the Potion Master's features were now inscrutable.
"Well, I must say I am quite pleased you three have worked that out," said Professor McGonagall. "And I must give you some credit, Mr Weasley, for being brave enough to admit your culpability and make amends. Alright then, come along, everyone, off to Gryffindor with you—the Feast is continuing in the Common Room."
As they made their way to Gryffindor Tower, Harry and Hermione thanked Parvati warmly, both remembering how she'd stuck up for Neville on the day of the Remembrall Incident. Ron ambled slightly behind everyone, still feeling awkward but much happier now that Harry had at least conditionally accepted his apology.
Harry gave Professor McGonagall one last hesitant look when they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady.
As McGonagall watched Harry pass through the entrance, she had the distinct impression he had wanted to tell her something but thought better of it, perhaps to leave it for a more appropriate time.
She had almost reached the gargoyle that guarded the entrance to Dumbledore's office when it suddenly struck her. Potter was clearly taken with Miss Granger, perhaps her most fastidious student. The House Mistress of Gryffindor groaned when she realised she might have to make some adjustments if she wanted Mr Potter to remain on the Quidditch Team.
McGonagall shook her head as she acknowledged her appalling behaviour regarding Harry Potter's best interests. His education must take precedence over her desire for a House Victory at any cost. As she climbed the staircase to Dumbledore's Office, Professor McGonagall took some solace in the fact that Harry Potter was a Natural, born to fly, with remarkable hand-eye coordination. There was a good chance he could perform just as well on match days with far less practice if necessary.