Harry thought that he would never hate a boy as much as he hated Dudley Dursley. However, with just a few words, Ronald Weasley had come very close.
The redhead hated Slytherins with a passion, but Harry seemed to be his least favorite. As far as he could tell, it was because Ronald had wanted to be his friend, but Harry had quietly rejected his friendship. Harry didn't want a friend who hated people just because they were Slytherins.
Luckily, they didn't have that many classes with Gryffindor, so Harry didn't have to suffer Ronald's sneers of "Slimy traitor" "Your parents would be disappointed in you" and "Death Eater wannabe."
Harry had been hoping that he wouldn't have to deal with Ronald longer than he already did. His hopes were dashed when he saw a notice on the board that stated that their flying lessons would be starting on Thursday -- and they were sharing classes with Gryffindor.
"Harry, if Weasel is really that much of a problem, talk to Professor McGonagall," Draco suggested when he saw Harry's pained expression at the notice.
"Why Professor McGonagall?" Harry frowned. "Professor Snape..." he hesitated.
He hadn't told anyone about Snape's offer to adopt him, or the Dursleys'. He knew that if any of his friends found out, they would know he was a freak and stop being friends with him.
"While Professor Snape would love an opportunity to take more points away from Gryffindor," Tracey said wisely, ignoring the snickers from Draco, Pansy, and Blaise, "Professor McGonagall holds more respect for him and would listen more to her."
"You should tell Professor Snape, too, though," Blaise added once he'd stopped sniggering. "Not because of the points, but because of how you feel about Weasel's insults." He gave Harry a knowing look.
Harry flinched and looked down. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Ah, piccolo." He felt Blaise's arms wrap gently around him. "You don't need to tell me anything. I know."
Swallowing, Harry hid his face in Blaise's chest. He ignored the coos from the girls.
"Let's go down to breakfast," Draco said after having given them a moment. "You need to eat, Harry. You're still far too skinny," the boy fussed.
Harry mock glared at the blond over Blaise's shoulder. "Yes, Mum."
Tracey, Daphne, and Pansy laughed, and Draco sputtered indignantly. Harry knew the Malfoy heir was kidding, and that he wasn't actually upset at the name; Draco's eyes glittered with humor and affection.
The Great Hall was just as noisy as usual, especially the Gryffindor table. Neville appeared to have gotten a package from his gran.
"Ah, Longbottom's got a Remembrall," Draco hummed. "Poor boy needs it."
"What's a Remembrall?" Harry asked curiously.
"Why don't we go see?" Tracey suggested. "Oh... no, he's sitting too close to Weasel. Let's wait for the flying lessons."
They ate breakfast quickly, then went down to the Quidditch Pitch. Madam Hooch was setting out several old, rickety broomsticks.
"Early as usual," Hooch said wryly, her yellow eyes sharp. "The Slytherins are always punctual. The Gryffindors will be late, as usual."
"Can -- May I help you set up, Professor Hooch?" Harry asked excitedly.
His friends -- and Snape -- had told him that his father had been a Seeker on the Gryffindor team, and that he was the best one Gryffindor had ever had. He was wondering if he would be as good at Quidditch as him.
