Caught off Guard: The Hooligan of Hogwarts

Caught Off Guard: The Hooligan of Hogwarts

Chapter 2, Part 2

Author’s Message: For those of you more fluent in French than I, please forgive me if I have made any errors. Or, better yet, sent me your thoughts and I will ask you for your help in future passages!

          Now, where could he be?

          Having been inside the dark castle all morning, stepping out into the bright, light-filled Student Quad caused her to raise a shielding hand to her eyes. The mid-day sun had chased away all the shadows that lurked in the outdoor area students had claimed as their own.

          She knew that she wouldn’t have to search the entire Quad for her quarry. For example, she could skip the maple tree in the corner – it provided a haven for the Hogwarts Gossip Mill – a non profit organization headed up by Lavender, Parvati and her twin sister Padma (a Ravenclaw) as well as the ever present les hommes de parfum de le semaine. The male flavours of the week. The non-published and completely implied mission statement entailed keeping up with and re-weaving the threads of the hook-ups, break-ups and make-ups and shake-ups that made up the life of a Hogwarts Student.

          Scattered about in the middle of the Quad – where the light was the best and there was plenty of room to spread out books and parchments - were the various study groups reviewing the weeks’ lessons. If she focused, she could listen to Hannah Abbott lead an Arithmancy discussion. Blaise Zambini – now that boy has an accent I could listen too all day! – was expounding on some obscure theory pertaining to Ancient Runes. And, dear, sweet Neville, at the request of Professor Sprout (the Hufflepuff matriarch), had sacrificed his latest hybrid for a group of Herbology-challenged fourth and fifth year students.

          Sparing the most cursory of glances to the section of the Quad where Draco Malfoy and the rest of the “I Love/Am in Fear Of/Am Intimidated By Draco Malfoy Fan Club” (and the rest of the Slytherins) typically held court, she couldn’t help but wonder why no one had ever challenged the group of dungeon dwellers for their prime piece of Quad real estate. Not seeing His Most Blondness, she felt safe in conceding that the boy was handsome and smart. He would be quite a catch if he didn’t open bloody his mouth to say bloody awful things to people he didn’t bloody like for no bloody reason other than their bloody heritage. And, she had to admit; he was a pretty good Quidditch Seeker. Actually, he was second only to Harry.

          And speak of the devil. Thinking back on a previous musing and deciding that it would not be redundant to apply it to someone who always caught her eye - specifically regulations pertaining to a man-boy who has the ability to unconsciously smack a reasonably intelligent, confident teenaged woman up-side the head with a Stupid Stick and render said female unable to string two coherent words together as body parts flushed in an ever so embarrassing manner. Now there is a guy I can look at and listen too all day! Unfortunately, he is not the boy of the hour.

          Spying the young man in question right where she would be if she were him, she tacked her way through the crowd – dodging questions and waving off requests with a casual, “Stop by my office.” or “Make an appointment with me later.” – and announced herself with a light tap to the boy’s shoulder and a quiet, “Is there room for one more?”

          The thirteen year-old boy who had come out to the Quad with tears standing in his eyes because he missed the familiarity of his own room and family couldn’t pin point exactly when he stopped listening to the beautiful girl crouched down in front of him.

          He knew that the lilting rising and falling of her voice had, to his ears, a musical quality. And the smell of fresh cut green grass and some mysterious light floral essence would be his scent of choice if he ever bought a vial of perfume as a gift. His tongue felt like it was too big for his mouth and was wrapped in Mme. Pomfrey’s hospital gauze – he couldn’t summon one word that would sound like something she would want to hear. And, to get up and get a drink to relieve his thirst would mean having to end his conversation with the ethereal creature whose hair was haloed by the sun in such amazing shades of chestnut, honey blonde and red that breaking contact solely based on his immediate needs was not acceptable. Especially since he couldn’t even remember her name. All he knew was that she said that she was Head Girl and that he should not be angry with his friends for telling her just how they worried they were about him. And that if he ever felt sad and wanted to talk to someone, her door would always be open.

          That would be enough to go on for now. He would ‘make an appointment’ as soon as classes ended for the day. He also thought that a foray into the Herbology greenhouses for some flowers that smelled Head Girl-ish would be just the thing – after all this was his first Hogsmeade weekend and he had yet to invite anyone.

*          *          *          *          *

          A steady round of classes, lunch, more classes, studying, dinner, trips to the library and then another bout of studying before collapsing into bed exhausted - only to rise again for an early morning work-out, made Friday seem like the shiny brass ring at the end of a carousel ridden week.

          With only Divination (a.k.a nap time) and Vectors (the best class ever!) to go, and a Hogsmeade weekend in front of them, Harry, Ron and Dean were taking full advantage of the sun drenched day. All three boys had shed their robes, turned them inside out and spread them on the soft grass. Three jumpers were piled one on top of the other.

          Dean had taken off his shirt and tie and was lying on his side, like Selene’s paramour, in his sleeveless undershirt absently leafing through a Weasley Wizarding Wheezey’s catalogue. Ron had loosened his tie, rolled up his shirtsleeves, stretched out on his back with his head pillowed on interlaced fingers and had balanced himself by crossing his ankles. Harry decided that his tie had to go and unbuttoned his shirt until the plackets draped freely at his side. Not trusting himself to stay awake if he laid down, he crooked one knee and let his other leg rest slackly against his robe while he propped himself up on his forearms. Number 8 on the “List of Things That Are Grand About Being Back In School” – not feeling the need to make conversation just because you and your mates don’t really want to anything to say at the moment.

          Turning his face into to sun, Harry resisted the urge to relax as completely as Ron had. It was his turn to be ‘on duty’ anyway. His ‘charge’ – Merlin help him if she ever heard that term applied to her! - was currently halfway across the Quad and offering solace to a homesick third year. How did she do it? Head Girl duties and Prefect duties (all Prefects were given the first week of school devoid of responsibilities – of which fell to the Head Girl and Boy – so that they could acclimate to school life without added pressures) at the same time. Study for the classes she has been reticent to talk about. Well, if he had to tell the truth, he hadn’t been able to keep her still long enough to discuss her timetable. Thinking that Ron’s mother hit the nail on the head when she said, “If you’ve got something that is needing doing – give it to a busy person.”

          Just last night, Harry was hoping to re-instate their ‘Fireside Chats’ – late night rendezvous’ when he couldn’t sleep and found her in the Common Room exchanging sleep for study time. Unfortunately, Dennis Creevey (Colin’s younger brother) fell victim to Peeve the Poltergeist’s latest antic and Hermione stormed out of the Common Room bellowing for the Bloody Baron (the Slytherin House resident ghost and apparently the only being that Peeves paid any heed) to, “… collect that blasted poltergeist before I make him wish he was alive just so that he could die again than suffer at my hand!”.   

          Letting go of last night’s events in lieu of the glassy expression Harry saw wax over the younger boy’s face, he had to give the lad credit for choosing a girl that was worthy of being a first crush. Don’t get your hopes up too high, my young friend – you are latest passenger on the Lovelorn Express. Nevertheless, having a pointed conversation with the boy about Hermione was added to the “List of Things to Do This Weekend”.

*         *          *          *         *         *

          I must have gotten through to him and he is just too embarrassed to speak, Hermione thought as she left a no-longer crying, apparently cheered up boy who nodded mutely when she assured him that he could talk to her – in the privacy of her office - the anytime he felt sad.

          Wishing that she could shed a few layers of clothing herself, but knowing that she had to set an example regardless of her personal comfort, she had the feeling that she was being watched. Completely scanning the Quad this time – taking in all the males involved with the Fall Ball Committee laughing at the ‘girl-liness’ that the preparations were taking on and the way Seamus was trying to teach a group of non-Muggle-borns how to play futbol, she sought the identity of the voyeur. Only one viable option surfaced. Harry.

          Giving credit where credit was due, Hermione took in the sight of not only her best friend, but Ron and Dean lying about with an aire of confidence and sexiness that was rare to find in guys in their year. Do guys come in any better packaging than that?

          Keeping one eye on Hermione and the way the sun set her hair alight with colour and commenting to Dean who was lying kitty-corner to him, “My friend – there are precious few who look that good even when wearing a school uniform, jumper and an over-sized robe.”

          Speaking from an entirely biased point of view, Dean replied, “Ginny’s in the same league, mate. She’s a right sight, especially when the fire in the Common Room is real low and there are only a few candles lit…”

          A closed-eyed Ron didn’t bother to sit up when he interrupted with, ”That’s my sister you’re talking about, you randy bloke! Keep it, “ referring to a movie-rating scale, “PG when you talk about her – at least around me!”’

          Deciding that she earned the rest of her lunch hour to do with what she pleased, Hermione started to weave her way across the Quad towards the black-haired, green-eyed man/boy lounging on his robe.

          It’s about time, Harry thought. Pretending that he didn’t see her heading his way, he lifted himself up higher and rested his weight on his out-stretched wrists.

          Hermione was about 15 paces away when a red-haired, incoherent mess threw herself into the brunette’s arms.

          “Hermione, what am I going to do? The Ball is…. so fast and I… have…this  FABULOUS idea for Dean and …. But how am I going….”. Words were tumbling out of Ginny’s mouth faster than she could enunciate them.

          Taking Ginny by the chin, Hermione lifted the other girl’s distraught face, “Tell me what’s going on.”

          Where is she? She should have been here by now. Harry compromised his oh-so-cool façade in an effort to find his errant friend. What he saw brought a smile to his face. There are so many things people don’t know about you, Miss Granger. Watching Hermione’s eyes light up as she solved a problem in class fades in comparison to the sparkle that comes over her when she helps a friend. And witnessing a much relieved Ginny stand in the same place a completely-out-of-sorts Ginny stood only moments before, gave Harry the insight that he and Ron would not have to have a conversation with a member of the male persuasion about how a real man doesn’t mess with another man’s girlfriend.

          Finally! She blew a stray lock of hair away from her nose to vent her frustration. It’s not that she didn’t want to talk to the homesick third year or help Ginny find a way to procure her costumes for the ball – she really does have a great idea – it’s just that she hadn’t had a real conversation with Harry all week and it left her feeling… a little empty. Like she needed a dose of Harry in her life. Being Head Girl this year is NOT what it is cracked up  to be. She and Draco Malfoy had to fulfil not only their duties all week and through the weekend, but all the duties of a prefect as well. They had to patrol ALL the corridors of Hogwarts (along with Filch), solve minor disciplinary problems and canvass all the Houses to see if there was anything that they were lacking anything that was intrinsic to the lives of the students or if there was anything that the Houses wanted as a collective. Hermione had visited every House but her own and as it was, she had a shopping list only Father Christmas could appreciate.

          Knocking one of Ron’s huge feet with one of his own, Harry vied for his mate’s attention, “Do you see what I see?”

          To anyone else, the tall redhead was just trying to get the kinks out of his joints as he sat up, stretched both arms forward and pulled on his shoulder muscles, “What do you reckon that’s all about?

          Resuming her path, Hermione had taken no more than a few steps when she felt her elbow plucked from behind. Stifling the “What NOW!” she wanted to say, instead she turned and… looked up. One of the largest Slytherins she had every seen was looming near her. Silently, the Goyle-wannabee handed her a note tied with an iridescent green ribbon. Unfurling the parchment, she bit back a retort and nodded to her ‘escort’.

          “It’s your watch – how do you want to play this?” Ron made a show of reaching as far as he could behind himself - as if he had a cramp in his arms that he could quite relieve - as he addressed Harry. The game is afoot!

          Never tiring of watching people wither in the wake of  Hermione’s ‘McGonagall-esque’ glower, Harry (who did not fail to notice that the younger Slytherin errand boy had a good foot in height and about 75 pounds on his best friend) waited until he saw their retreating backs before mobilizing. “Dean.”

          Knowing the game – how could I not, seeing as how I am bunking with the ‘Boy Who Loves and Can’t Admit It’ – was ready to help. After all I wouldn’t be in N.E.W.T level Transfiguration without her. “Just name it.”

          Thinking quickly, Harry stood up and extended his hand to ‘help’ Ron clamber to his feet, “Dean – can you take our robes and books to Divination? We’ll meet you there.”

          Not blowing the element of surprise that Harry and Ron were counting on, Dean didn’t even look up from his catalogue when he promised, “Done.”

          Clapping Ron on  the back, Harry jovially announced, “So mate – fancy seeing if there is anything left on the Lunch Table?”

          Answering with an easy going smile that did not reach his eyes, Ron answered, “You know me – I’m always up for a snack.” Snake meat is my favourite – tastes like chicken!

*          *          *          *          *          *

          Funny. This a prime site for an ambush, but all I can see are the suits of armour bedecked with holly garlands and enchanted to sing Christmas carols. Hermione surprised herself with the unexpected tangent her mind took.

          Her ‘escort’ had led her to the Breezeway of Honour and abruptly loped back towards the Great Hall.

          Appreciating the craftsmanship of the halberds and swords that armed each Knight, her reverie was interrupted by a coldly aristocratic lilted, “Granger.”

          Sliding into her thrust and parry mode that was growing more typical with each interaction with Draco Malfoy, she carefully hid any emotion from her face as she turned slowly – at her leisure – and met his gaze unwaveringly. ”Malfoy.”

          Ron and Harry tip-toed into the Breezeway and each chose a Knight to conceal their positions – and drawn wands.

          Making a show of checking his hair in the reflection of one of the warrior’s breast plate, Draco smiled. Not at his perfect coiffeur. But at the way Granger had dismissed Goyle’s younger brother with out having to say a word. And the slightly bored tone she used with him just now – he had to give the girl credit. Her skills were growing by leaps and bounds. And it didn’t hurt that she was one of the most attractive witches at school and the only one to best him academically. In fact, the only thing that was holding him back from claiming her as his own was the fact that she was Muggle-born. The understanding that she didn’t like him or that Scar-Head and Weasel drew a protective circle around would have – in any other girl – only heightened the chase. Not that I would ever give her a reason to like me. That will stay under lock and key.

          Pulling at the shoulders of his linen school shirt to resettle it more evenly, Draco only met Hermione’s gaze at the last possible moment before his behaviour crossed over from assertiveness to impoliteness, “We need to talk.”

          Rolling her eyes to the ceiling before roving over the well-polished metal men, “If you needed to talk – why involve a lackey and why a deserted corridor?”

          Malfoy did not answer her. I thought actions spoke louder than words to a girl.

          Letting her ire show just enough to convey that she wasn’t amused, Hermione crossed her arms, “I’m busy. I have things to do, Malfoy, that are more important than knocking down the feeble hoops you think you erect for me to jump through.” However, she felt a slight blush start to creep around her neck as she unwittingly gave Draco Malfoy a head-to-toe-and-back-to-head once over. “Good bye.”

          Watching him stride towards her, she had to confess that the boy was well put together. Just as tall as Harry and equal in muscle mass, Draco sported perfectly groomed thick blonde hair, beautifully proportioned features and piercing grey eyes that paled to almost light blue or darkened to a steel colour only seen when weather was at it’s worst. When everything was said and done, Draco Malfoy was as drop dead gorgeous as specified by the very definition of the word.

          Drawing parallels between the two boys, Hermione could actually see herself becoming drawn the Prince of the Slytherins. Completing the briefest of comparisons, she came up with one – glaringly important – difference between the two. Harry was a good guy who had the capability of being fierce only when necessary. Malfoy, on the flip side of the same galleon, was dangerous except when called upon to ‘play nice with others’. It’s a potent mix. Brains, beauty and a chronic case of BadBoy-itis. If his reputation was even remotely based on reality, quite a few girls from EVERY House have  succumbed to his charms.

          “Do you like what you see?” Malfoy levelled a smouldering look at the honey-haired brunette standing across from him with so much attitude, “Shall I pivot?”

          Damn. Busted! But, she made more than an adequate recovery with, “Just returning the favour, Malfoy.”

          Lapsing into perfect French, Malfoy nodded in Hermione’s direction, “Touché, mon cheri.”

          Neither Harry nor Ron spoke French, but what ever the soft sounding syllables were that flowed effortlessly off her tongue squarely put Malfoy in his place.

          Switching back to English, Draco dropped his icy demeanour and politely commanded, “Take a stroll with me.”

          Ron didn’t know whether to wing Hermione a ‘brilliant’ for making Malfoy fall into step with her or shake her until her teeth rattled – how can I protect you if you don’t let me! - for changing the direction that she and the Green Goblin were heading (which would have led them straight towards he and Harry’s hiding place) at the last minute and walking towards the far end of the Breezeway. The acoustics were terrible to begin with - and now - with the two Heads being so far away, there was no way to decipher what was being discussed.

          Striding back to their starting point, Draco was – grateful. Hermione had acquiesced. Having concluded his business, he felt the compulsion to offer a formal, albeit abbreviated bow to the witch in front of him. Out of appreciation of course, nothing more.

          Doing something unexpected, he offered, “Au plaisir de vous revoir.”

          Wondering if rendering Malfoy capable of a civilized conversation outside of his own House could be considered one of the necessary miracles needed for canonization, Hermione made sure she spoke last, “Adieu Messieur Malfoy. Bon soi.” And made sure she maintained the last word by turning on her heal and leaving Malfoy’s presence.

          Pulling at his shirt one more time, Draco was faintly stunned. The Mud-blood actually sounded cultured. Swivelling on the soles of his custom made leather shoes, he let the gentle tick of his heels reverberate inside the Breezeway. Which was very similar to the way new thoughts began bouncing around in his head….

          Knowing that the Malfoy would not discover them when the sound of his precisely placed footsteps faded altogether, Ron and Harry stepped clear of the loyal dead soldier who provided such an effective screen.

          Heading back towards the Quad, both boys were caught up in their own thoughts to say much of anything for several moments.

          “Ron.” Harry didn’t know where to begin in piecing together all the threads of what just happened. Why would Hermione answer a summons from Malfoy? What did they talk about? What was that look on Malfoy’s face after she left?

          Ron was stumped. He had seen Hermione fire scathing retorts in response to Malfoy’s taunts. Bloody Hell, I remember the day she socked him across the face for being gleeful about Buckbeak the Hyppogriff being sentenced to death. And she is talking to him – without barbs and needles? Ron made a mental note to check with Firenze to see if the stars had been jolted out of alignment by some cataclysmic celestial event. “I’m right there with you mate.”

          Somewhere on the school grounds, the single chime of a clock rang.

          “Harry!” Ron clutched at his friend’s shirtsleeve in a panic.

          Stepping out into the sunny – and now VERY deserted Quad, Harry knew exactly why Ron’s eyebrows were touching his hairline.      “BOLLACKS!”

 

*          *          *          *          *          *

            The eminent verbal flaying that they were going to receive at the hands of Mme. Hooch due to their over-protective, possessive natures was enough to ruin Ron and Harry’s mood during which was quickly becoming their afternoon nap time. Also known as Divination. It had nothing to do with the teaching style of the professor. As centaurs went, Firenze was positively animated and forthcoming. Granted the words animated and forthcoming had slightly different definitions when applied to Hogwarts students.

          Because they chose to ‘look out for their best friend’, both boys failed to remember to save enough time to backtrack to Gryffindor Tower for a change of clothes. Let alone, retrieve the two brooms which were propped against the far wall of the Gryffindor Common Room. Right where Ron and Harry left them the night before after coming off the Pitch where they had been tossing around the quaffle in the fading evening light.

          Not even the prospect of a Malfoy Free Zone could not erase the trepidation from their faces as they faced their first practical flying lesson without the two things they needed most – Ron’s Cleansweep and Harry’s Firebolt.

          Dragging their feet all the way to the Quidditch Pitch, Harry and Ron were not blaming each other for not being prepared for the best class ever in the history of Hogwarts. If they were suddenly given a time-turner and given the opportunity to repeat the past few hours, there would be nothing that they would do differently. They would have still followed Hermione, they would have still only just made it to Divination and because Firenze’s classroom was so far from the Quidditch Pitch, they still would not have had time to collect their brooms and rucksack.

          It is because of times like these I wish I weren’t so tall, Ron lamented to himself. Running a shaky hand through his hair, if I were shorter, I could maybe blend in a little better. By Orion’s Eye, who am I kidding? It’s like Harry trying to hide. Neither one of us could be inconspicuous if we wanted too –  between my hair and his scar – we  would be spotted straight away!

          Harry did the only thing he could think of – he made sure that he and Ron had the last two spots in the line up.   

          Mme. Hooch was true to her word. As she rattled off all the manoeuvres she wanted demonstrated, he sent a furtive prayer to the Overseer of Good Luck that they would run out of class time before he and Ron were asked to perform the stipulated sequence of feints, banks, barrel rolls, steep climbs at ferocious angles and a very complicated tactic that was referred to as a ‘Swoop and Dash’.

          “Well, well, well – what do we have here? Two little kittens who have lost their mittens?”

          Harry felt like he had just been struck in the solar-plexus by a rogue bludger.

          Ron knew his mouth had opened so wide that the bludger would have a place to land (some where in the vicinity of his tonsils) after it ricocheted off of Harry.

          Draco Malfoy sauntered silently onto the Quidditch Pitch and was now moving into his spot in the line up. Adopting a tone very similar to a how one would speak to a baby, “Awe. Isn’t that sweet. Weasel and Potty can’t speak unless your little girlfriend is here to feed you each the King’s English." And with that, Malfoy extracted the first of the three brooms he was carrying.

          Harry was shocked – to say the least – to see Malfoy handing him his Firebolt. Ron, he knew, was struck dumb when the taller boy grasped his Cleansweep in his right hand and looked into the light grey eyes of a perceived adversary and did not immediately retaliate with a biting comment of his own.

          Thankfully, Ron was the first to recover his faculties, “What are YOU doing here?”

          “I guess you have just proved what has been drilled into my ears my whole life: ‘No good deed goes unpunished’. And here I am - thinking that we are going to be friends and go back to your Common Room so we can play with your dollies.” Draco was loving this – it wasn’t often that he had such an advantage over any one of The Trio.

          Harry’s mind snapped back into play when a familiar looking rucksack - Hermione’s? – was tossed at his feet. Again, courtesy of one Draco Malfoy, Arsehole Extraordinaire. “I’m not buying this for an instant.” Thinking about the owner of the sack, “Where did you get this? If you did ANYTHING…”

          Draco backed off – just enough to play out a little more line, “Don’t get your knickers in a twist.” Nah – can’t do it. I have to see his reaction to this, “Unless of course you are still wearing hers. Perhaps the pair with the pictures of flying ponies stamped all over the backside?”

          Ron put a steadying hand on Harry’s shoulder, “Wotcher Malfoy; you’re about to run into some… turbulence.”

          A Hufflepuff landed all sweaty and grimy. Mme. Hooch’s whistle sounded and a Ravenclaw kicked off and soared into the air. All three boys shuffled toward the head of the line, but remained in the same stance.

          “Careful, Weasel. Don’t write notes that your mouth – or family - can’t honour.” Changing his tone to something more amenable – not because he was intimidated by the other two boys but because he was growing bored with the zero effort it took to bait Potter and Weasley. And, he had promised her that he would be nice. Or as nice as Draco Malfoy could be when dealing with two individuals whom I clearly don’t like. “Listen. She is fine. We struck a deal. And part of that deal was for me to meet her in our office just before Vectors and take your, “ sneering at Ron’s perfectly serviceable however less then crowd stopping broom, “brooms and that bag,” referring to Hermione’s bag, “with me on my way to class.”

          So, that explains some the mystery of surrounding Hermione and Draco. But for some reason, why do I feel like he isn’t telling us everything? Harry’s mind started to turn at the possibilities.

          Apparently Ron had the same sense of intuition, “Spill the rest of it, Malfoy.”

         Sliding his own broom off his shoulder and leaning the handle against his chest, Malfoy shared what he had been holding back. Why I had to agree to this part, I’ll never understand. Pulling out a wax-sealed piece of folded parchment, Malfoy offered it to Harry, “I was… encouraged… to give you this.”

          Mme. Hooch blew her whistle, “Mr. Malfoy. Glad to see you are still with us.”

          Typical of her mannerism of using as few words as possible when it came to dealing with anything that had to do something beyond the world of flying, Quidditch or flying in a Quidditch match, she forced air through her whistle once more, “Get ready. You’re next.” And barked an order to the Ravenclaw in the air to execute a particular feint again, “And this time, don’t choke your broom handle like your are trying to strangle the life out of it!”

          Harry broke the seal on the note and held it up high enough so Ron could read it as well.

               Dear Harry and Ron,

          Since you take such good care of me, the least I can do is return the favour.

          Just ‘looking out for my two best friends’.

          Love,

          Hermione

          Ron took the note from Harry’s hand and placed it in the front pocket of the rucksack – which contained Ron’s favourite Chudley Cannons sweatshirt and Harry’s zip-up windbreaker with contrasting racing stripes down each arm. Along with two full water bottles and two slightly beat up hand towels. Exactly what they would have chosen if they had packed the bag themselves.

          Looking at Ron as he accepted the fact that they were busted, Harry asked, “Do you think we should put this with all the others?”

          Nodding his head in affirmation, Ron shrugged his shoulders, “Might as well. I reckon that we’ll only get more.” An after thought brought a concerned look to his face, “Do you think she messed with any of this stuff?”

          Harry looked a little dubious, “Tough call. What do you think?”

          Mme. Hooch snapping her fingers impatiently at the two best friends, “Weasley. You’re on deck.” - effectively ended the debate.

          Which was only continued two hours later when two sweaty, grimy, itchy boys appeared on Madam Pomfrey’s doorstep looking for relief that, after a half an hour of searching her cupboards, none of her potions, salves or creams could provide.

Author’s Note: Special thanks are in order to EVERYONE who has read my story and is patiently – or impatiently awaiting the nefarious pranks that the Hooligan will perform. Your wait is over. The next two chapters will be nothing but pranks. I just needed some time to set everything up – to make sure the pranks are ‘believe-able’ and ‘do-able’.

Extra Special Thank You to: Kim and to the Wizard Alorkin. And to everyone who has been following The Hooligan of Hogwarts.