Midday, in the Great Hall.
"Whoa, you should've seen it—Malfoy just hanging there in mid-air, and Harry dives in like a shot, knocking him right out of the sky!"
Ron was waving a massive chicken leg around like a conductor's baton, spinning the tale of Harry's "heroic" feat with all the flair of a storyteller adding extra spice.
A crowd of students had gathered around the long table, mostly Gryffindors.
Couldn't blame 'em—who didn't love hearing about a Slytherin getting their comeuppance?
As Ron went on, the Lions erupted in laughter one minute and cheers the next.
But the star of the story, Harry, was sitting there with a face like a storm cloud.
He'd known the second Malfoy hit the ground injured that he'd stirred up trouble—teachers were bound to chew him out.
Classes had gone on all morning, though, and no one had dragged him off yet.
That waiting game before the hammer dropped? Pure torture.
Harry glanced up guiltily toward Lucien across the table, caught him looking right back, and quickly dropped his eyes again.
Lucien had listened to Ron's over-the-top bragging and pieced together what happened.
Pretty much straight out of the books—no big deviations. Just a scrap over the Remembrall, leading to a broomstick showdown.
But how'd Malfoy take the fall?
Did Harry really blast him off?
Ron was going on about Malfoy breaking both legs, both arms—heck, every bone in his body.
Lucien didn't buy the exaggeration, but the injuries had to be no joke, falling from that height.
Good thing Professor McGonagall had shown up quick, stabilizing him before rushing him to the hospital wing.
And what was with Harry's shifty look? What else had the kid gotten into?
"Harry, come with me. The Headmaster wants to see you."
A stern voice cut through the chatter, silencing the young witches and wizards on the spot.
Professor McGonagall appeared by the table, her square spectacles glinting as she called Harry away.
Lucien figured this was serious—big enough to warrant a chat with Dumbledore.
...
Harry trailed after Professor McGonagall, nerves jangling, into the Headmaster's office.
He wasn't in the mood to take in the room's decor, but one thing caught his eye: a glass case smack in the center.
Hard to miss—it was huge and gleaming.
Inside sat just one item: a shabby, grayish-white hat covered in patches.
"Hey, you—the kid named Harry Potter. How do I look now?"
Harry blinked. The hat was... talking?
"Oi, cat got your tongue? We just met at the Sorting Ceremony—don't tell me you've forgotten already?"
Harry's eyes went wide. "You're the Sorting Hat? But you were brownish-gray back then!"
"Yeah, that's my natural color. Just hadn't been dusted off in ages."
Suddenly, a cool voice interrupted Harry and the Hat's chat.
"Potter, come over here. Let's discuss how you managed to injure Draco Malfoy."
Harry turned toward the voice and froze, a shiver running down his spine.
Snape and Headmaster Dumbledore sat at the desk, the former fixing him with an icy stare.
"Heh, no need to be scared. Take a seat and just tell us what happened."
Dumbledore chuckled warmly, shooting Snape a look to ease up on the intimidation.
Harry swallowed hard and sat down.
Clink—
Professor McGonagall set a small tin canister on the table with a sharp ring.
Harry's pupils shrank at the sight.
That was the tin for the Sleeping Scent—he'd gone back to the pitch afterward and couldn't find it.
"Harry, is this potion yours?"
McGonagall's face was dead serious as she eyed him.
She'd picked it up near Malfoy. As Gryffindor Head, she wouldn't cover for her own house's students.
Especially not if one had misused a potion and hurt another—fairness was non-negotiable.
Harry went pale and nodded numbly.
"Severus, if you would—identify this potion."
Snape picked up the tin slowly.
He'd caught a faint orchid whiff from it right away—familiar, but off.
Examining the residue closely, his face darkened.
Sleeping Scent. An improved version!
The recipe Lucien had traded him.
As far as he knew, only Lucien and he could brew it at Hogwarts.
How was this tied to Lucien?
"Sleeping Scent. Induces drowsiness. Effective on wizards... and magical creatures, too."
Snape gave a brief rundown but skipped the "improved" part.
"Potter, what was this potion for?"
Harry didn't answer right away.
His hands shook on his lap as his mind raced.
I brewed the Sleeping Scent myself. I lit it and tossed it. I made Malfoy fall and get hurt...
I can't mention Lucien. This can't drag him in. It has nothing to do with him...
Harry thought back to Lucien's words, his lessons, his respect, his trust...
Then, chin jutting out stubbornly, he blurted:
"I brewed this potion myself! And I used it on Malfoy myself!"
Dumbledore and the other two jumped a bit at Harry's sudden shout.
They caught a glimpse of those green eyes behind his glasses—blurry but defiant as ever.
And that mulish, infuriating face.
Snape's forehead throbbed with a vein.
"I asked what you used the potion for—not whether you brewed it yourself!"
Snape meant for Harry to admit it was meant for magical creatures, not pranking or harming classmates on purpose.
Harry cooled down a tad.
"I... after coming to Hogwarts, I've had trouble sleeping. It's for helping me rest."
Lame excuse, sure, but better than admitting it was for messing with a housemate.
Besides, Harry hadn't meant to hurt Malfoy—he'd just acted on what seemed like the quickest fix, faster than he could think, without clocking the fallout.
Classic Gryffindor: reckless, but it made sense.
Snape shook his head.
"Harry Potter has abused a potion, causing accidental injury to a classmate. Punishment: copy the school rules ten times, plus one hour of volunteer work in the hospital wing daily—for one week. Gryffindor minus fifty points."
"Headmaster Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall—does this sound fair?"
The ruling surprised Dumbledore and McGonagall a little.
It wasn't light, but Snape had framed it as an "accident," which kinda shielded Harry.
McGonagall couldn't figure why Snape was letting him off so easy.
Lucius Malfoy, as a school governor, would sure as heck come demanding answers from the Slytherin Head over his son.
Dumbledore knew some backstory but still thought Snape had gone soft this time.
Dumbledore said gravely:
"I see no issue, but one addition, Harry: you must apologize to the injured student. A sincere one."
"I know how the rivalry started, but you made a mistake. So did young Mr. Malfoy—he's paid for it too."
"You're classmates, not enemies. No room for hatred."
Harry nodded firmly.
"I know I was wrong. I'll take the punishment."
They talked a bit more, then Harry left the office.
The moment the door shut behind him, he puffed out his chest.
Harry Potter wouldn't betray a friend. Harry Potter hadn't betrayed a friend.