More mentions of blood near end of chapter

Posted for Draco's birthday!

Happy birthday Draco!

As november came to the castle, its inhabitants were gearing up for the first Quidditch game of the season. Despite the cold winds, and slick frost already beginning to cover the grounds, the four house Quidditch teams were relentlessly practicing, Gryffindor especially.

While Harry was excited to see a game of Quidditch for the first time, it was tempered slightly by the knowledge that Professor Snape wanted to talk to him.

He hadn't spoken to him, or told him to remain behind after class, but Harry just knew. The way Snape's gaze would find him during class, even from across the room. At mealtimes, when Harry could feel him staring.

Harry could only guess at what Snape wanted to say, but he had no doubt that it had to do with his scars.

Harry knew it was inevitable from the moment he woke up the morning after Halloween. It was almost impossible that Madam Pomfrey wouldn't have noticed.

The other outcome from that mishap was less stressing. Hermione had found him as soon as he was released from the hospital wing, as she had been cleared to leave before he woke up, and thanked him for saving her. In the week that had followed she hung out with him more. Sitting beside him in class, taking walks with him and Theo when they took a brake from studying. Right now, in fact, the three of them were taking a turn around the lake, walking close together so as to share the heat from the little blue flame Hermione had conjured, and was now holding in a jar.

Hermione was discussing dueling with Theo. Specifically competitive dueling, of which there were rumors that Professor Flitwick was a reigning champion.

"With competitive dueling it's the technique, more then anything." Theo explained. He hadn't been sure about Hermione at first, but they had quickly befriended each other.

"Speed is important as well, but they focus more on the how. Real duels aren't done as often as they used to. It used to be duels were a way to defend your honor, and defend yourself. Dueling is more how you use spells, then anything else. Like if we started throwing household charms at each other, it would be considered dueling. The stakes wouldn't be life or death, or anything like that, but it would still be dueling."

Hermione nodded slowly. Harry could practically hear the gears turning in her head. He still wasn't entirely sure how the conversation got to dueling, since he was pretty sure they had been talking about Quirrell's essay on vampires when they first left the castle.

"And what type of spells do they use for competitive dueling?"

Theo shrugged, rubbing his hands together. Their breath was curling in the air in front of them, little wisps of frost that seemed more magical then any of the spells they learned in class.

"It depends on the competition. It also depends on the country. In America they had to ban several spells to make sure no one was permanently crippled, or killed. But in Australia as long as they're still alive, they don't have any real rules against injury."

"What about international dueling? Is that a thing?"

"Not really. There are some duelers that travel the world and enter different competitions, but there isn't one competition that moves around."

They walked a ways in contemplative silence, the boys huddled on either side of Hermione, trying to be as close to the little blue flame as possible while still being able to walk together. Harry's thoughts wondered as they walked.

Looking across the frost covered lake, he spotted a group of students together, two of them arguing over something. One of them looked like they were holding a scarf. Watching them throwing their arms in the air as they argued, made him think about what Rakip had said a little over two months ago.

"Theo,"

The brunette hummed and turned to look at Harry, showing that he was listening.

"What did Rakip mean when he called my mother a mudblood?"

Theo winced at the word, glancing at Hermione, who looked just as curious as Harry.

Taking a deep breath, Theo looked down at his hands, as he twisted the end of his silver and green scarf in them.

"It isn't nice. It means 'dirty blood'. Purebloods are wizards from all magic families, their parents and grandparents on both sides were magic. Muggleborns are wizards from non magic families, like Hermione's."

He nodded to her, but didn't look up.

"And halfbloods are when a wizard has one parent that isn't magic, or is first generation magic, while the other is usually from a long line of wizards."

He mouthed the word, 'mudblood', before continuing,

"It's a insult. For muggleborns. Some wizards think they stole the magic, which is ridiculous. You can't steal magic. Most just think that muggleborns are weaker. Inferior. Unworthy of the magic they possess. It's a stupid notion. You either have magic, or you don't. But a lot of purebloods still believe in 'blood superiority' as It's called."

Harry felt his stomach turn over. He had been called many horrid names over the years, the Dursleys almost never called him by his name, calling him 'freak' or 'boy' instead. But they had known him his whole life, had raised him(in a very loose sense of the word), Harry couldn't imagine insulting someone just because of who their family was.

"That's really horrible." Hermione said, her voice quiet.

Theo nodded, still twisting his scarf around in his hands.

They were quiet as they all finished their walk, and headed up to the Library to finish their essays.

The whole way, Harry thought about what Rakip had said.

'Why don't you stop fouling our common room, and...'

Muggles called him a freak, and pushed him away, and wizards didn't seem very keen on his company.

'...Go join your Mudblood mother!'

He'd tried that before.

'...join your Mudblood mother!'

He hasn't cut that deep since.

'Who would want you around?'

'Go join your Mudblood mother!'

Was it worth it anymore?

'Go join your mother!'

Was anything?

... was he?

}-{|>

Severus couldn't concentrate.

He was trying to grade his fourth year's homework, but the thought of the talk he was going to have to have with Potter kept distracting him. He was not a person who enjoyed talking about his emotions, especially to students. But sometimes the only way to help his snakes was to show them he wasn't heartless. As much as he occasionally wished he was.

And tomorrow was the first Quidditch match. Slytherin versus Gryffindor.

Severus didn't see the point to the sport, but his students enjoyed it, so he suffered through.
Honestly, some days the other houses' suspicions that he let Slytherins get away with everything felt real. He certainly coddled the little beasts, with how much he put aside his own preferences to make sure they were safe. One would think they would at least try to keep out of trouble, the foolish brats.

He was just contemplating dinner in his office over going to the great hall, when there was a frantic knocking on his door.

What stupidity were his students up to now?

}-{|>

Argus Filch was almost done with his rounds for the day. He only had a few corridors left on the second floor. He had just stepped off of one of the hidden stairs to the second floor, when he heard his beloved cat coming towards him.

"Mreow." Mrs. Norris called, hurrying around the corner ahead of Filch.

"What's the matter, my sweet?" Argus asked, shuffling over to his cat as fast as his stiff leg allowed.

"Mmrrrreoow!"

He'd rarely seen her so worked up. Whenever the Weasley twins tried to do something to her, she would be bristling with anger, but this was different. She was more frantic then he's ever seen.

Mrs. Norris wound around his ankles, before running back the way she'd come.
"Show me where they are, girl."

Filch hobbled after Mrs. Norris, as she lead him to an unused classroom on the second floor. He passed several students heading down to dinner, and gave them a suspicious glare as he passed, still following his cat.

Mrs. Norris pawed at the closed door, meowing loudly, urging him to hurry.

Filch was huffing and puffing, as he pushed the classroom door open. At first he thought the room was empty, then he noticed a small shape out of place in one of the back corners.

Grumbling under his breath, Argus shuffled towards it, believing some student left it. Once he got closer, he realized it was a student. Then he saw the puddle.

None of the lamps in the classroom were lit, but what light that shone through the doorway made the dark liquid glisten eerily.

Argus stood over the boy, and he couldn't help but notice how pale the boy looked. Curled in the corner, a bloody knife held loosely in his hand, in a growing pool of the same blood, was Potter.

Mrs. Norris yowled, breaking Argus from his thoughts. Filch would never miss the brat, but even Dumbledore would be angry if he simply walked away now that he was here. He'd have to take the boy to Pomfrey.

So much for finishing his rounds at a reasonable time today. Blasted students.

This is by no means Filch redemption. He's still a sorry git, I just thought it might be interesting to see his side of this encounter. I might bring him up again later.

Hope this one didn't go too badly.

Let me know whatcha think

Bakeku67