The day before the match, Harry was flying around the Quidditch Pitch idly when he saw Cedric Diggory on the ground, holding a broom and watching him.
"Spying on me?" Harry asked as he landed.
Cedric shook his head. "Hardly. And I've already seen you play, remember?"
"You go to matches you're not playing?" Harry asked, surprised.
Cedric stared at hm. "Of course, it's helpful to see how the other team flies. Are you saying you don't?"
Harry shook his head ruefully. "Well, I would, but I always get so frustrated whenever I spot the Snitch and the Seekers are oblivious. It's really not good for my blood pressure."
"You could always watch the other players," Cedric suggested.
"I could, but unless one team has scored fifteen more goals than the other, the other players don't matter all that much in the outcome of the match, so I never really see the point," Harry confided.
"Seeker bias," Cedric laughed. "I completely understand."
"Good," Harry said, relieved. "Everyone else thinks I'm crazy."
"From what I've heard, you are. We haven't been properly introduced, have we? I'm Cedric Diggory," he said, sticking his hand out.
"Harry Potter," Harry replied, shaking his hand. "First Tonks, now you...Does everyone here think I'm crazy?"
"Pretty much," Cedric said cheerfully. "That's not necessarily a bad thing, though. Hogwarts and the Wizarding World in general have been stuck to the status quo for far too long and it's about time someone came and shook things up, even if I'm sure your motives are far less noble."
"So why are you out here then?" Harry asked. "Trying to get one more practice in before the match tomorrow?"
"Sort of. This is my first year on the team and you're HARRY POTTER and insanely good at flying and don't mind jumping off your broom to catch the Snitch and I'm just not sure that my sanity's damaged enough to let me pull the kind of stunts that you probably will to win. Nymphadora eventually got so tired of watching me pace that she kicked me out of the Common Room."
"Wow," Harry said, his eyes wide as saucers.
"What?" Cedric asked.
"How did you get her to let you call him Nymphadora? I've been trying for weeks and I haven't had any luck." More like years, but no need to tell him that.
Cedric laughed. "She lost a bet last year. And before you get any ideas, she's vowed to never again let the use of her first name be a part of a bet."
"Because she lost once?" Harry complained. "That's not fair."
"Twice, actually. Charlie Weasley apparently won a bet with her four years ago and wanted the same thing."
"Damn. There goes that plan..."
----
The next day, Ron, Hermione, and Neville wished him luck outside of the locker rooms, clearly wondering whether he'd survive the match.
"Oh, relax guys. Not only is Snape not out to kill me and on hand to make sure nothing goes wrong, but given what happened last time, Professor Dumbledore will probably be here as well. I'll be fine," he assured them.
"You thought last time went fine, too, and you ended up jumping off of your broom," Neville pointed out.
"So? We won," Ron and Harry said at the same time.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Just...try and be careful, okay?"
"I'm always careful," Harry assured her as he headed into the locker room.
"I was afraid he was going to say that..." Hermione said, gazing worriedly after him.
----
Unfortunately for Harry, he didn't find the Snitch as easily as he had the last time he played this match. He supposed that made sense; finding the Snitch in five minutes had been a rarity once, doing it again in the same match twelve years later (well, for him, anyway) was downright impossible.
He looked over at the stands and saw Ron and Neville taking on Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle and briefly wondered what that was about. Oliver had only let three goals in while they had scored eight. At around forty minutes into the game, he noticed the Snitch hovering around his ear. Feeling slightly anticlimactic, he reached up and plucked it from the air. Game over.
----
In the weeks that followed, Hermione had begun to obsess about the exams, which were still two and a half months away. She had tried to get Ron, Neville, and Harry to follow the schedules she had drawn up for them, but even though Neville found her methods quite helpful, Harry had refused outright. Quite apart from his twelve-year advantage placing him at the top of the class, no one ever actually failed first year, and given some of the older students at Hogwarts, that was really saying something. In fact, Harry didn't quite think that it was possible to fail until fifth year (and he had, in fact, not even taken the exams fourth year, so they couldn't be that important). Needless to say, Hermione was not pleased to hear this, but there was really nothing she could do to make Harry study, so she harped on Ron twice as hard.
Still, his friends were constantly doing homework and everyone in the castle it seems was studying for exams, and so he spent far more time than he'd like to in the library. On one such afternoon, he was flipping idly through the pages of Quidditch Through the Ages when he heard Ron call out, "Hagrid! What are you doing in the library?"
"Looking for a book to read?" Harry suggested. "I mean, what else would he possibly be doing in here, hitting on Madame Pince?"
"Jus' looking," Hagrid confirmed.
"Unless I missed my guess, you just came from the dragon section," Harry said casually. "And don't even give me that look, guys! I'm spending more time in here than I am sleeping; I need something to occupy my time!"
"You could try studying," Hermione suggested, but Harry ignored her.
"You wouldn't happen to be looking into raising a dragon, would you?" Harry asked innocently.
"Wait, you don't actually have a dragon, do you?" Neville asked quietly. "I mean, that would explain why you're keeping all the windows shut and a fire going despite the fact that it's spring."
"How would you know that? We haven't been down to see him in a couple of weeks," Ron pointed out.
"Oh, well I'm helping Professor Sprout out with the Greenhouses and I always say hi to Hagrid while I'm down there. The past four days, though..." Neville trailed off. "So are you?"
"Maybe..." Hagrid admitted.
"Hasn't that been illegal for, what, two hundred years?" Harry asked.
"Technically..."
"That settles it," Hermione said, putting her books in her bag. "We're going to go down and see this."
Even though Ron didn't particularly want to go and stare at an egg in a virtual inferno, he was pretty excited to be doing something other than studying and he quickly gathered up everyone's things.
----
"I can't believe it...I just can't believe it..." Hermione was muttering as they followed Harry back up to the castle. "How could he be so irresponsible? He lives in a small, wooden house and has no means for providing a safe an adequate environment for a baby dragon, not to MENTION they're illegal-"
"Where are we going?" Ron interrupted her.
"I don't know about you, but I'm going to go see Professor Dumbledore," Harry said.
"You're going to tell him about Hagrid?" Neville asked. At Harry's nod, he continued, "But won't he get in trouble?"
"He might," Harry admitted. "But Dumbledore's always been good at covering up things that go on at the school and I'm sure he can come up with a perfectly reasonable explanation as to why we have a baby dragon on our hands."
"But Hagrid's counting on us!" Ron protested.
"True enough," Harry nodded. "On the other hand, Hagrid, as much as I love him, seems to be almost completely lacking common sense and I think we can all agree that the dragon has got to go. We're four eleven-year-olds; this really can't be our responsibility. The best thing to do in this situation is to turn it over to the responsible adults who should be taking care of this and that means going to Professor Dumbledore. Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. Wow, first try," he remarked as the Gargoyle's guarding the Headmaster's office sprung aside.
"Harry?" Professor Dumbledore looked up, surprised, as his office was invaded by four first year students. "Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Longbottom? What are you doing here?"
Harry noticed that despite the fact that they'd never actually spoken in this timeline (mostly because first years didn't really have much cause for interacting with the infinitely important Albus Dumbledore but partly because he wasn't quite sure what to say to the man, even now, seven years after his death. Or five years before, however you looked at it), Dumbledore used his first name. Interesting.
"Um, well, Professor Dumbledore, sir, Harry here wanted to see if you could, well, help with a problem we have, or discovered, really-" Hermione was clearly flustered to be speaking to the Headmaster of Hogwarts and Head of the Wizengamot for the first time.
Harry decided to put her out of her misery. "Hagrid found a dragon egg and he doesn't seem to understand that it's not legal or safe for him to raise it, especially at a school. We were hoping that, seeing as how we're eleven and you're a responsible adult, you'd take care of it."
Dumbledore peered at him over the top of his half-moon spectacles. "You're certain of this?"
Harry bit back a smart remark. He really would prefer to not have to deal with this personally, so he'd have to make a real effort to be respectful. "Yes sir."
"I see. Well, I must commend you for bringing this straight to me. Most students, I've found, tend to take care of these sorts of things alone, which can end badly. Five points to Gryffindor for each of you for your wisdom in getting a teacher involved."
As soon as they were back in the hallway, Harry groaned. "Oh great, at this rate we'll never lose the House Cup."
"Most people wouldn't see this as a problem, Harry," Hermione told him, confused.
"But I do because it's the Suck-Up Cup, remember?" When Hermione shook her head, Harry continued, "Oh, right, you weren't there. Either way, I believe that the House Cup is a school-wide conspiracy to try and spawn as many teacher's pets as they can and encourage teacher's pet-like behavior in everyone. Snape and I are doing all we can, but we can't lose Gryffindor the House Cup alone!"
Hermione just stared at him. "You have problems."
----
The exams were, of course, ridiculously easy. Flitwick wanted them to make a pineapple tap-dance across a desk and he made it tap not only across the desk but on the floor, up the wall, and on the ceiling, too. McGonagall wanted them to turn a mouse into a snuffbox and (after complaining, as he always did, how inhumane it was to turn living creatures into inanimate objects) his was jewel-encrusted. Snape wanted them to brew a Forgetfulness Potion with no directions and Harry did it with his eyes literally closed. Not to mention how he did on the written tests. Honestly, first year end of the year exams just weren't written for twenty-three year olds, no matter how little they actually paid attention in class.
The night the exams finished, the Trio plus Neville (Harry had never really liked the term quartet, it always reminded him of an orchestra for some reason) were sitting in the Common Room, enjoying the fact that exams were over.
Still, events being as they were, Harry would have to destroy the peace. "So," Harry said casually. "My scar told me that Professor Dumbledore's in London right now and Quirrell is taking advantage of his absence to go after the Philosopher's Stone."
"What?" Ron, who had been drifting off, sat up, suddenly wide awake.
"Philosopher's Stone? There's a Philosopher's Stone at Hogwarts?" Hermione asked, her voice higher than usual.
"Well, yeah. I mean, what else do you think is in that one third floor corridor we're forbidden to go to under pain of death?" Harry asked rhetorically.
"Why would anyone hide something like THAT in a school full of children?" Neville asked sensibly.
Harry laughed. "That is a damn good question. The fact remains that he did, though, and I get that I should have probably mentioned this before now, but I'm going after Quirrell and nothing you can do will stop me, so I was wondering whether you'd like to come with me or stay here and hope I don't get killed."
Twenty minutes later, after Hermione tried everything she could think of to convince him to stay or at least give a better reason for why he was going, the four of them were heading out the portrait hole.
"Where are you going?" Percy demanded. "Don't you know it's past curfew."
Harry smiled pleasantly. "Oh, I know. I just don't care."
"We are so going to get expelled for this," Hermione grumbled as they made their way towards the third floor corridor.
"Oh we will not," Harry disagreed. "We're only breaking one little rule. I mean, we may die, but they can't possibly expel us because they're stupid enough to think putting Dark Wizard bait in a school full of children is a good idea. Honestly."
----
"Who's there?" Peeves said, coming from around the corner. "Know you're there, even if I can't see you. Are you a ghoulie or ghostie or wee student beastie? Should call Filch, I should, if soemthing's a-creeping around unseen."
"Hiya Peeves," Harry said brightly, pulling the Invisibility Cloak off of him but leaving it to cover the others.
"Potty?" Peeves asked. "What are you doing?"
"Causing mayhem," Harry said. "I'm endangering myself and three other students by sneaking off to the third corridor. Is that irresponsible enough for you to let us go on our way?"
Peeves considered. "This would be the corridor that Dumblydore said if you go near, you'll die?"
"Yep," Harry confirmed.
"Well, alright," Peeves agreed. "GOT YOUR CONK!" he shouted before zooming off.
"Ow..." Harry said, rubbing his nose. "Don't even laugh guys."
When they did reach the door to the third corridor, it was already open. Harry was surprised, they'd left an hour or so earlier than last time, how early did Quirrell leave? Oh well.
"Now guys, don't panic or anything, but there's a giant three-headed dog in there," Harry said cheerfully.
"A...a what?" Ron asked, clearly panicking.
"Oh, don't worry," Harry said. "It also instantly falls asleep whenever it hears music and I brought the flute Hagrid got me."
Harry entered the room, his friends reluctantly trailing behind. He played the flute and watched as first Neville, then Ron, finally Hermione jumped through the trapdoor. He then, still playing, jumped through himself, wondering idly how in the world they were going to get back up. Oh well, that wasn't his problem, that was Ron and Hermione's.
By the time he landed, he discovered that Neville had already gotten rid of the Devil's Snare. Harry supposed it paid to have a genuine Herbology prodigy with them this time. After all, having a plant try to kill you was highly embarrassing.
They moved on to the next room where they found hundreds of flying keys and a few old broomsticks. "Yeah, I'll deal with this," Harry said, taking his Nimbus 2000 out of his pocket and unshrinking it.
"Do you take that with you everywhere?" Hermione asked him incredulously.
"Yep," Harry nodded.
"Boys..." she muttered, giving him a disgusted look.
Harry took off and, two minutes later, had grabbed the key and landed. He jammed it in the lock and completely ignored the awed silence behind him. So he was, quite possibly, the best flier in Britain. He'd had years of practice, it wasn't all natural talent (not that THEY knew that).
Then they reached the chessboard. Harry groaned. He hated chess. He was also incredibly bad at it, probably worse than an eleven-year-old Ron, so there was really nothing to do but sit back and wait for the game to be over. When it was and Ron lay crumpled on the floor again (seriously, it's like Ron was masochistic or something), Hermione, Neville, and Harry hurried on to the next room, trying not to think too much about the blood pouring out of Ron's head.
He was fine before, he'll be fine now, Harry tried to reassure himself. It wasn't very comforting.
They walked through the room with the unconscious troll and continued to Snape's potion's puzzle. The three of them read Snape's riddle (although, really, wouldn't it just make sense for Snape to simply TELL Professor Dumbledore which bottle was which and then not let anyone else have any idea?) and Hermione began walking up and down the aisle, tapping bottles and muttering to herself. Harry was pleased to note that he figured out which bottle was which a good three minutes before Hermione did. It really did pay to have dozen-year head start sometimes when dealing with someone as brilliant as Hermione.
"So, um...right. There might be enough for two of us to get through to face Quirrell, but definitely not for three of us. I'm going in, of course, and I'm guessing you won't let me go in alone, so I suggest rock, paper, scissors."
After trying to explain to Neville how to play, Hermione chose scissors and Neville (not really grasping the concept) picked rock. Hermione, over-thinking this as usual, decided that Neville wouldn't pick rock twice in a row and so picked scissors again. Unfortunately, Neville did indeed elect to go with rock and she was sent back to go deal with Ron and Dumbledore.
"Even though I won, Hermione gets the better deal," Neville grumbled.
"Oh cheer up, it'll be fun," Harry told Neville, pouring half of the bottle into his hands.
"Fun? Fun? Facing down an evil teacher is your idea of fun?"
"Yep," Harry nodded.
"Hermione's right, you do have problems."
Harry beamed before downing the rest of the bottle.