Nobody ever asked my birthday

Chapter 82

Harry Potter stormed out of class, wanting to do three things simultaneously. Sadly, none of them were even possible, because he had Transfiguration. McGonagall, while generally easy going in a stern fashion, was not any more lenient with her Gryffindors, and she hated people skipping class. That was probably why she had class every single day of the week - "Transfiguration is a process" and all that.

Harry wanted answers, and not the spell-casting variety. He wanted to pin that blond ferret against the wall, and wring the information out of his bloody neck if he had to.

Worse, he wanted to do the same thing to Snape - and even the thought of throwing Snape against a wall made his stomach feel like someone had removed it from his gut. He wanted to do it anyway, fear notwithstanding.

But no, he had to go to class. It wasn't even class with the Slytherins, though at this point his uncertain temper was going to get him in trouble regardless, so maybe he should be happier that he's got Transfiguration with Hufflepuffs. At this rate, even they'd piss him off enough for him to be blatantly hexing people in class.

"Harry-" Hermione said, scrambling to keep up with his longer legs.

"Mate, what's wrong?" Weasley said, " 'sNot like you to turn down hexin' Malfoy for being a royal twat."

"Seriously, Harry... what, exactly, is going on?" Hermione asked, her small form planting itself directly in front of him, in a neat move of acceleration followed by dramatic deceleration.

Harry twirled her into Ron's arms, simply to avoid crashing into her and sending them both sprawling - and then had to catch himself, as the reddening look on Ron's face was Absolutely Priceless, and he really ought not to be laughing.

"Harry!" Hermione cried, as Harry bolted into a 'not quite run', letting the distraction serve as his response to her question. "This conversation isn't-"

And the stairs moved, and Harry didn't hear the rest of what she had to say. Just as well, it was predictable.

Harry slid into class, squirming into his chair - entrely unsurprised when four minutes later Hermione and Ron took the seats beside him. They opened their mouths and Harry - instead of speaking, interrupted by squeezing their hands. Looking down at the table (to hide his conversation from McGonagall primarily), "I don't know what's going on, alright?" Harry looked at both his friends, solid determination set in his green eyes. "But I intend to find out."

Ron opened his mouth, and Harry said, "Before you ask - I can't figure out what's going on, if it's already blasted to smithereens. That's why."

In the front of the classroom, Minerva McGonagall had the strangest impression that she'd missed more than two thirds of that conversation - and that, despite missing so much, it was a harbinger of ill times indeed.

[a/n: Ever have one of those days? When everything's a cat toy dangling just out of your reach? Harry's having one of those right about now. Insatiable curiosity meets TransfigurationClass. Boom at eleven.

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