Four Little Challenges

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When Harry came down to breakfast, he was greeted by Hermione telling Ron that clearly the spell he had attempted hadn't been a very good one. After all, Scabbers was still an ugly brown color instead of a bright yellow. He would have stayed that ugly brown, and Hermione would have continued her lecture, but Harry cast a silent incantation to turn Scabbers yellow as he sat down.

"Oh." Said Hermione.

The twins looked shocked. Ron did too, for a second, before grinning proudly.

"What were you saying, Hermione?" He asked. Harry innocently repeated the question. After all, he had just got there.

Hermione, naturally, denied having ever said anything to begin with. She was like that sometimes. He supposed that at this point in his life, he did the same.

"Isn't that right honeybunch?" Harry said, offering Voodoo!Voldemort some of his tea. The entire table cringed, except for Oliver Wood, who had just had a sudden realization.

"Potter!"

"Stranger!"

Oliver Wood paused. "I'm the quidditch captain. Anyhow, your dad is a legend! He was an amazing seeker and great at flying and you've got to ace flying this year and join the quidditch team next year or I'll have Percy send the twins after you, and you don't want the twins after you."

"That's great!" Harry said. "Now my darling can't complain when I say I need to go for a midnight fly. He'd never want me to get in trouble."

"Perfect."

Gryffindor and Slytherin students stood across from each other on a perfectly manicured lawn. Before each of them was a broom. At the end of the line was the teacher. She looked over them with a scrutinizing gaze. She scoffed.

"Alright. There will be no arguing, no messing around in my class. If you cause problems, you will not attend my class for the rest of the year. Now... Stand with your feet slightly spread apart, and your hand out. In a firm voice, to your broom say up."

Harry's broom came to him first try, of course.

The class played out the same as always, of course. Neville crashed, Draco was a klepto, and probably a pervert, because most pure-bloods are. Just look at Merope Gaunt.

"Draco, are you crushing on Neville?"

"What?!" Draco gasped, dropping the rememberal. He looked disgusted.

"Well, it seems to me that you're like a five year old with a crush. And, since I'm a romance expert, I think I could give you some advice." Harry said in his most helpful tone.

Harry had figured it would take a moment for the child to comprehend what he had just said, but apparently Draco had decided to skip comprehension altogether, and instead resort to challenging Harry to much the same flying competition, with much the same outcome.

Potions.

Harry couldn't explain how much he hated Snape.

When he first met Snape, he had hated him for being a git. Then he had found out the man's story, and what he had done for him, and he started feeling bad.

Then, after a few lives, he got really mad at Snape. Harry wasn't the only one he was targeting. Neville, Lavender, Hermione, practically the entire house of Gryffindor had cried because of him at one point. That isn't okay.

Harry had come to a decision on the man. Anything non-lethal that would cause trouble for the man was alright.

"Snapey-Baby!" Harry called dramatically, flinging himself at the potion master, and receiving the man toppling over so that Harry was sitting on him.

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