The Slytherins' Wrong Way of Getting Attention

Morning sunlight streamed through a gap in the curtains as Harry lay curled up in bed, sleeping soundly. In her dream, she was riding a Firebolt once again, weaving between the towers of Hogwarts-

"Harry! Wake up!" Hermione's voice sliced through the dream like a sword. "Class starts in twenty minutes!"

Harry sat bolt upright, her red hair sticking out in a tangled mess.

She squinted sleepily at the brass alarm clock beside her bed. Its hands pointed mercilessly to eight forty.

"Merlin's beard!" She sprang out of bed and nearly tripped over her own dressing gown.

"I called you three times!" Hermione was already dressed, both of their textbooks clutched in her arms.

The two rushed out of the tower like a whirlwind. The Fat Lady shook her head behind them. Though she was worried they wouldn't make it to class in time, she still told them to slow down and be careful.

Harry pulled on her robes as she ran, a piece of toast Hermione had given her clenched between her teeth.

On the Moving Staircase, they nearly collided with a group of Hufflepuff first-years ambling along.

"The Potions Classroom is in the dungeons, right?" Harry asked breathlessly, almost slipping as she rounded a corner. She deliberately ran to the right.

"Left! Left!" Hermione pulled her into a chilly corridor. "Merlin, late on the first day! That gloomy Professor Snape will kill us!"

When they rushed into the classroom, the clock's hands pointed to nine on the dot.

Harry braced her hands on her knees and gulped for breath, then looked up and around. Ron and Neville sat in the third row, the red-haired boy waving frantically at them; Draco and his followers had claimed the prime spots in the back row.

When Harry looked his way, the platinum-haired young master immediately turned away and pretended to study his quill. His left leg, however, bounced nervously, the heel of his shoe tapping a rapid rhythm against the floor.

His face said he didn't care, but everything else about him looked uncomfortable.

Harry gave him another couple of looks, puzzled. Was Malfoy's leg cramping?

In the past, he might have laughed at him, but now she and Malfoy were neither close enough to make fun of each other nor on such bad terms that they had to pick a fight whenever they met.

Hermione pulled Harry into an empty seat in the middle. While the professor was still absent, she quickly opened her brand-new textbook.

The recipes in the book that had once given her headaches now looked unusually familiar.

After all, he had worn this book to pieces three times over in his last life to pass the Auror exam.

Though her grade had only been an "exceeds expectations," it was enough to handle first-year questions, at any rate.

The classroom door flew open, and Snape strode in.

Harry looked up and nearly choked on her own saliva.

The Potions Professor was wearing dark blue pajamas embroidered all over with golden stars, a style that was unmistakably Dumbledore's. His stern, gloomy face, paired with the ridiculous pajamas, made him look just like a bat forced into a costume.

"In my classroom," Snape said, his voice like an ice blade scraping across slate, utterly ignoring his ridiculous attire, "there will be no foolish wand-waving..."

Harry fought to control her expression, but the corners of her mouth twitched several times all the same.

Snape's gaze swept across the classroom, deliberately passing over Hermione before settling squarely on Harry. "If I asked you to make a Draught of Living Death, what would you add first?"

At the question, Hermione thrust her hand high into the air, almost rising out of her seat.

Snape ignored Hermione. "Miss Potter, can you answer my question?"

"Moonstone Powder, Professor. It needs to be ground to the consistency of fine sand and added at the same time as Infusion of Wormwood," Harry answered smoothly.

Snape's eyes narrowed slightly. "Explain why unground moonstone cannot be used."

"If the particles are too large, the potion's effects will be released unevenly, which may cause violent vomiting," Harry answered without hesitation. She had learned all this through painful lessons in her last life.

"Correct." The corner of Snape's mouth twitched, as though he were trying to force a smile, but the result looked more like a toothache. "Five points to Gryffindor."

Gasps of amazement filled the classroom.

Hermione turned to her, her brown eyes sparkling with admiration as she clapped until her palms were red. Harry took her hand and gently examined it, brushing her fingertips over the reddened palm. The gesture immediately drew two burning stares.

Ron watched them longingly from the third row, wishing he were the one sitting beside Harry. If his hands turned red, would Harry examine them just as carefully?

And Draco...

Out of the corner of her eye, Harry saw the quill in the platinum-haired young master's hand snap in two. He didn't even notice the ink splattering his expensive robes. Naked jealousy burned in his gray-blue eyes as he stared at Hermione's hand in Harry's grasp.

Damn etiquette... Draco thought through gritted teeth, torn inside.

Perhaps he should learn to be as shamelessly persistent as Weasley?

At least then he could touch Harry's hand.

"Quiet!" Snape's sharp shout interrupted everyone's thoughts. "Turn your textbooks to page twenty-three. Today we'll be making a Cure for Boils."

By the end of the lesson, Harry felt completely drained. Although she knew the material inside out, Snape had called on her to answer a question almost every ten minutes, his black eyes fixed on her every move.

"Harry, you were amazing!" Hermione exclaimed as she excitedly packed her bag when the bell rang. "You earned Gryffindor twenty points in a single lesson!"

Harry gave a strained chuckle and rubbed her temples. "Just lucky..." She stole a glance at Snape, who was sorting his lesson plans at the front of the classroom. Finding the professor looking at her too, she quickly looked away, feeling guilty.

Snape stood at the classroom door, watching the red-haired girl disappear into the distance. He looked down at his ridiculous starry pajamas and let out a long sigh. It seemed Dumbledore's "friendlier image makeover plan" had failed completely.

Damn it! He never should have trusted that old man!

If Potions was the class Harry least wanted to attend, Flying Class was her favorite, without exception.

Sunlight shone over the broad flying lawn. Madam Hooch had just finished demonstrating the proper way to summon a broom when Harry eagerly held out her hand. "Up!"

The old Cleansweep Seven immediately leaped into the air and landed firmly in her palm.

The familiar roughness of the broom handle made her heart tremble, and the distinctive smell of the wood reminded her of the excitement of riding a broom for the first time in her last life.

"Brilliant!" Hermione whispered in admiration beside her. Then she bit her lower lip and stared even more intently at her own broom. "Up... come on, up..." Fine beads of sweat had already appeared on her forehead.

"Huh, looks like Miss Potter isn't the only one with talent." Draco's lazy voice came from the other side. His broom flew into his hand almost at the same time, his platinum hair gleaming in the sunlight. He was about to show off some more when Ron's sudden yelp drew everyone's attention.

"Ow!" Ron rubbed his aching head.

His broom had not only failed to obey him but had smacked him hard across the face, leaving a red mark.

Harry couldn't help laughing, but she quickly stopped.

She watched Ron rub the reddened tip of his nose, stubborn determination shining in his blue eyes. The red-haired boy didn't ask anyone for help. He simply frowned and stared more intently at the broom on the ground.

"Up!" Ron tried again, his voice much firmer than before. The broom bounced once on the ground, then lay still again.

Draco snickered nearby. "Looks like the Weasley family's talent for flying ended with your generation."

"Shut up, Malfoy." Ron glared at Draco. "If you don't know how to talk, I don't mind making sure you can't."

"Ha!" Ron's threat did nothing to shut Draco up. He repeated Ron's words. "Looks like the only thing you're good at is flapping your gums, Weasley."

"Don't let him provoke you, Ron." Harry's voice reached Ron, bringing him to his senses just as he was about to drop his broom and start a fight. He lowered his head, ignored Draco, and focused all his attention on the broom.

The broom trembled and rose slowly, finally landing firmly in his hand. Ron opened his eyes, a brilliant smile spreading across his face. "I did it!"

He didn't look at anyone or seek praise. He simply felt the broom in his hand in silence, as though he had finished a contest with himself.

Sunlight fell on his messy red hair, giving it a golden edge.

Harry smiled without realizing it. This was the good friend she knew, Ron.

Clumsy, but with a determination that rivaled anyone's.

"Nicely done, Ron," she said softly.

Madam Hooch's whistle sounded. "All right, next we'll learn..."

Before she could finish, Neville had already taken off.

The moment Madam Hooch's whistle pierced the air, Harry's gaze locked onto Neville. Sure enough, the round-faced boy's broom shot uncontrollably into the air, just as it had in her last life, carrying its panicked owner on a crooked course into the sky.

"Neville!" Almost instinctively, Harry leaped onto her broom, pushed off the ground with both feet, and shot after him.

She moved with astonishing speed, her red hair trailing a vivid streak behind her. Before Neville was three meters off the ground, she had flown to his side and seized the back of his robe collar.

Neville cried out as he was pulled back to the ground, landing on the grass with a thump. He blinked in confusion, the fringe on his forehead damp with sweat from fright. "Th-thank you, Harry..."

By the time Madam Hooch hurried over, the riderless broom had flown high into the air. It then crashed down in the distance with a crack, breaking in two.

"Mr Longbottom," Madam Hooch said sternly, "you need to get your broom repaired." She turned to Harry, a flash of approval in her eyes. "Quick reflexes, Miss Potter. Five points to Gryffindor."

Neville walked dejectedly toward the castle. A small, crystal-clear ball rolled out of his sleeve and glimmered on the grass.

Harry was about to call it to his attention when she saw a platinum-haired figure bend down and pick up the Remembrall.

"Look what I found," Draco drawled, playing with the glass ball between his slender fingers. "Longbottom's Remembrall?"

Harry rushed over at once. "Give it back to him!"

An amused smile curled Draco's lips as he held the Remembrall high. Since becoming a girl, Harry was half a head shorter than Draco, and she couldn't reach it no matter how high she stood on tiptoe.

"If you can take it back, it's yours." Mischief sparkled in Draco's gray-blue eyes. Before Harry could react, he nimbly swung onto his broom and kicked off into the sky.

"Malfoy!" Harry's cheeks burned with anger, and her red hair seemed ready to stand on end.

Without another word, she jumped onto her broom and gave chase. Wind whistled past her ears as she skillfully lowered her body, her broom shooting after Draco like an arrow loosed from a bow.

On the ground, Hermione wrung her hands nervously. "Madam Hooch! They're-"

"I see them." Madam Hooch narrowed her eyes but, unexpectedly, did not stop them. "Let them compete."

Draco looked back and saw Harry hot on his heels. Surprise flashed in his eyes, then turned to excitement. He deliberately slowed down, then made a sharp turn as soon as Harry drew close.

"Is that all you've got, Potter?" he shouted into the wind.

Harry didn't answer. She simply watched Draco's flight path more intently. The experience of countless Quidditch practices in her last life helped her quickly figure out his flying habits.

When Draco prepared to change direction again, Harry anticipated his move and dived to cut him off.

"Give it back!" She reached for the Remembrall.

But Draco suddenly threw the ball high into the air. "Catch it and it's yours!"

Both of them shot upward. Harry's red hair and Draco's blond hair almost intertwined in the sunlight. Just as Harry was about to touch the Remembrall, Draco's broom suddenly jolted and accidentally struck her shoulder.

"Watch out!" Draco's face changed drastically. Forgetting the Remembrall, he reached for Harry as she lost her balance.

They fell together onto the soft grass, the Remembrall landing beside them with a smack. Draco's arm cushioned the back of Harry's head, and they were close enough to count each other's eyelashes.

"You..." Harry was about to get angry, but then she saw the genuine panic all over Draco's pale face. His gray-blue eyes were wide, and his chest heaved.

Was this the same Malfoy who had nearly caused him serious injury while fighting him for a ball?

"I'm fine." Harry pushed him away, sat up, and picked up the Remembrall. "Don't play that kind of joke again."

Draco opened his mouth, seemingly wanting to say something, but in the end he only turned his face away. "...I just wanted to compete with you." His voice was barely audible.

By the time Madam Hooch came over, they had both stood up. She gave them a stern look. "Five points from each of you for your reckless behavior." But the corners of her mouth turned up slightly. "Good flying, though."

"I hope the next time I see you flying like that, it'll be in a Quidditch match."