Harry Potter: Raised by Wolves.

After that argument, Ron avoided Harry just as much as he was already avoiding Hermione.

"I'm sure he doesn't mean it," Neville said one day, after Ron had grabbed him to partner up in Potions to avoid having to work with either Harry or Hermione. The result was a melted cauldron, and a scorch mark on the dungeon ceiling. Snape had not been impressed. "He's just got a quick temper."

"Yeah, well maybe I'm sick of it," Harry replied. "I keep feeling awful about having all these secrets, but how am I supposed to trust him when the wrong word sets him off? And the way he talks about the Slytherins, like they're not even people…" "They have been pretty awful to you in the past, Harry," Neville pointed out cautiously. "Malfoy especially. Most of them are alright, yeah, but there are some."

"Oh, there are definitely some Slytherins that would happily see me dead," Harry agreed. "But I don't think Malfoy's one of them. Not anymore. Things have been different, this year." Neville knew that Malfoy knew about Harry being the Potter heir. He didn't know that Malfoy had started being actually civil to him, if not outright friendly, when it was just the two of them around. It wasn't often they crossed paths in the middle of the night, but it was frequent enough to possibly be considered a habit. One that Harry wasn't entirely sure he wanted to break. Harry told him. Neville's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "Malfoy? Really?"

"He's actually alright, when he doesn't have Crabbe and Goyle breathing down his neck," Harry confided. The other Gryffindor boy frowned.

"But he's still being a prat in classes. And the whole Buckbeak thing." Everyone in the school knew that Lucius Malfoy was trying to get Buckbeak killed.

"That's more his dad than him. I think he actually sort-of feels bad about it. And yeah, he's a prat, but he's not as bad as he was before. People would start asking questions if he was suddenly nice to me." Snape might have a heart attack. Ron, too, for that matter. And Merlin only knew what would happen if word got back to Lucius Malfoy that his son was being friendly to the Boy-Who-Lived.

"I s'pose," Neville said with a shrug.

Harry gave the password to the Fat Lady, and the two of them stepped into the common room. Harry came up short when he saw Hermione and McGonagall there, the older woman holding— "My Firebolt!" He looked up hopefully. "Does this mean I can have it back?"

"You've got a very good friend, somewhere," McGonagall declared. "We've done everything we can think of, and there doesn't seem to be anything wrong with it." She held it out, and Harry took it with reverent hands. "I daresay you'll need to get the feel of it before Saturday's match. Just don't go out flying after dark without a professor. And, Potter—" She smirked, meeting his eyes. "Make sure you win, won't you? It's been far too long since I've had the Quidditch Cup sitting in my office."

Harry beamed at her. "I'll try my best. Thanks, Professor." He turned to the dark-skinned girl at the woman's side. "Thanks for looking out for me, Hermione," he added. His friend had been beating herself up over the broom since Ron had exploded on her about it, but Harry didn't blame her one bit.

"It's what I'm here for." She grinned back at him. "I'm glad it turned out alright." As soon as McGonagall left, a crowd started gathering around Harry, his housemates clamouring to get a closer look at the international-standard broom. Harry let them, keeping a careful eye out to make sure no one damaged it. It would be just his luck to get it back only for some careless Gryffindor to break it.

"You got it back!" Ron shoved his way through the crowd, squeezing in at Harry's side like he'd forgotten he was mad at the bespectacled boy. "See, told you there was nothing wrong with it!" This was said smugly to Hermione, who huffed.

"There could've been. Aren't you glad that we know now?" Ron rolled his eyes. "Can I ride it, Harry? Just for a bit? I'll be really careful."

"Maybe tomorrow. It's too dark now. I should go put it away." Ron's hands clamped around the broom.

"I'll take it. I've got to give Scabbers his rat tonic, anyway. I'll be right back." Before Harry could argue, he was off up the stairs, broom in hand.

"Well," Hermione muttered, glancing first at Harry, then Neville. "Now you've got your expensive broomstick back, we're his best friends again, I suppose." There was a bitterness to her voice that made Harry wince. "Hopefully we can put all this behind us, now. Honestly, he's giving me whiplash this year; I can never keep track of whether he likes me or not."

Neville snorted. He opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by a strangled yell from up in the boys' dormitory tower. The whole common room went silent. Harry flicked his wand free of its holster, tensing.

There were hurried footsteps, then Ron burst into view, dragging a bedsheet in his wake. "LOOK!" he roared, stalking straight for Hermione, pointing at her with the fist that held the bedsheet. "LOOK!"

"Ron, what—?"

"SCABBERS!" Ron yelled, shaking the sheet in her face. "THERE'S BLOOD ON THE SHEETS, AND HE'S GONE!" Harry looked closer, his heart sinking at the small, rust-red stain on the fabric. "YOU KNOW WHAT ELSE WAS THERE? THIS!" Ron thrust out his other hand, opening it to show a handful of long, ginger cat hairs. "YOUR BLOODY CAT KILLED HIM!"

"Ron, I'm sure he's just missing, he's probably hiding under one of the beds," Hermione started. Ron took an angry step forward.

"Yeah, bleeding to death!" he spat. The rest of the Gryffindors, realising that it wasn't another Sirius Black attack but actually just Ron being dramatic, promptly went back to their previous business. Harry shared an uneasy look with Neville. "I'm sorry, Ron!" Hermione actually had tears in her eyes, but Ron was red-faced with fury and didn't seem to care. "Cats chase rats, I can't keep him locked in my room all the time! You don't even know he was in there, those hairs could've been there from Christmas!"

"You never should've bought that bloody menace in the first place! Tell her, Harry!"

"I'm staying out of this," Harry insisted, shaking his head. "I've got homework to do." He turned away, beckoning Neville to follow with a jerk of his head, ignoring Ron yelling after him. He wasn't going to start taking sides, even if Scabbers was really dead. He was an old rat, it would've happened eventually. "So much for all being friends again," he muttered with a glance to Neville, who grimaced apologetically.

At least he had a broom now. That was one problem sorted.

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