Vice versa (Harry Potter)

"I'm going to lose it here alone," Terry said, swinging his leg.

They were sitting on the tree again – one with a bag of apples, the other with pockets full of oranges.

"I'll be writing."

"That's not it..."

"I've got it!" Harry almost fell off the branch. "I heard there's something called two-way mirrors! You can talk face to face! I don't know how to make them, but I'll get one from someone, maybe even the twins... well, if the goblin thing works out, otherwise I have no money. I'll send one to you!"

"Now that's a different story!" Terry smiled. "Did you get all the textbooks? Did Mr. Jones give you the assignment? Can you handle it?"

"Of course! What else is there to do over the weekend?"

Silence fell again.

"Did you remember the code? I don't want to write openly, what if that old man really can read minds?"

"I remembered," Terry replied gloomily. "Listen… can I walk you there?"

"I don't know," Harry said honestly. "But I'll ask Uncle, you wait here for a bit..."

He jumped down to the ground and raced off, leaving only snow flying behind his feet.

"What a maniac," Terry muttered, adjusting his hat and going back to nibbling on the apple.

A worthy heir to his family, he was pondering how to invest Harry Potter's substantial fortune, and where exactly, to make sure no one would be offended. Except wizards, of course—he and Harry had already discussed that.

"Uncle Vernon!" came a shout. "Unc-cles Vernon!"

There was an indistinct "boo-boo-boo" in response.

"Can Terry come with us? Please, Uncle Vernon!"

And again, "boo-boo-boo," this time more annoyed.

"Unc-cles Vernon, please!" When Harry wanted to, he could speak in the most unbearable tone and the most obnoxious voice, much worse than Dudley! Combined with his new image (which Aunt Petunia couldn't recover from, left speechless), it was absolutely lethal. "There's plenty of room in the car! Please!"

The response was something like "go to hell!", meaning Vernon Dursley had given in. Terry threw the apple core away and smirked.

"Let's go," Harry said, panting as he stopped under the tree. "Just ask your parents first!"

"I already did," Terry replied calmly. "I knew your uncle wouldn't resist!"

"You're a jerk," Harry said.

"Yeah," Terry agreed. "But it's better to have a jerk as a friend than an idiot."

"Well said!.. By the way, do you remember I told you about Halloween?"

"The troll? Oh yeah! Crazy, trolls walking around the school… What's that got to do with anything?"

"It's about friends! I warned Fatty not to go anywhere with the Ginger. But no, he went… They somehow took down the troll, but why risk it?!"

"They were saving Hermione!" Terry said with dramatic flair.

"Oh God, any troll would run from her, or his brain would explode…" Harry snorted. "Anyway, what I'm saying is… the Ginger's an idiot. Instead of running away on his own, he should've called a stronger professor!"

"That's for the idiot..." Terry stopped. "Uh, well, if even an idiot doesn't get it, then medicine is powerless."

"Exactly! Let's go, your uncle is already honking!"

"Got it!"

"By the way," Harry huffed while running. "How about we stick with just one nickname? I'm tired of looking for parasites!"

"I call dibs on being the apple moth!" Terry said quickly.

"Then I'm just the lemon eater!" Harry replied. "Because I don't want to be a shield bug, and the others are even worse..."

"Deal!"

"So, where is Potter?" – Professor Snape asked in an unpleasant voice, surveying the classroom.

"I'm here, sir!" – the student jumped up. Professor Snape managed not to choke only with considerable willpower. Recognizing… um… the work of James and Lily in this monstrosity was difficult.

"What is this?" – he asked.

"Where, sir?" Professor Snape stayed silent with great effort.

"Sit down, Potter," – he ordered. – "So, has everyone handed in their assignments? Excellent. Now let's get to the topic of today's lesson..." …

"Potter, where is your essay?" – the professor asked quietly, sorting through the scrolls on the desk. The detestable student was deliberately taking his time. Or maybe it was on purpose.

"Sorry, sir! Just a moment!" – he dug through his bag, pulled out a stack of books, and slammed them onto the desk. – "Here you go, sir!"

"You call this an 'essay', Potter?" – Snape said, barely containing his anger. – "Or have you become a writer? A renowned scholar? Published a monograph? I'm waiting for an answer!"

"Sir, sorry, I may not understand, but what's the point of copying the same thing from textbooks?" – the student asked. His new glasses were so foggy that his eyes were barely visible, and it made the conversation with him much easier. – "You asked to write about plant poisons, so I searched through all the used books until I found this and this… And what, should I rewrite everything? And this here is about mushrooms. Maybe you'd be interested? My friend and I read it to pieces!"

"How many people have you poisoned?" – the professor asked tersely.

"None yet," – Harry answered optimistically.

"Your 'yet' is reassuring, Potter."

"Well, we just don't have those kinds of mushrooms here," – the student dismissed the professor's hopes. – "And we couldn't find a substitute. Maybe you can suggest something?"

"Have you lost your mind, Potter?!"

"No, sir," – the student reported. – "I'm in sound mind and clear memory. I can bring a certificate from a psychiatrist. And… Sorry, sir, is there a chance I could join your extra lessons?"

"Do something right in the regular lessons first," – Snape retorted.

"I did!" – Harry declared. – "But it's boring. Everything's from the textbook – mix this in, mix that in, throw in dried beetles… And where's the meaning?"

"What meaning?" – Professor Snape was taken aback.

"The kind, sir! What interacts with what? Why exactly this way? And, well..." – Harry started examining the parquet floor.

"Do you understand that brewing simple potions helps develop the automatism of preparation?" – Snape asked, now calmer. Harry was revealing an unexpected side of himself. – "It trains your movements?"

"Of course," – Harry answered without false modesty. – "It's like making soup. First, you chop it badly, everything boils off, burns, and then you don't even have to watch what's going on on the stove, you can just stare at the TV. Stirred, salted – and went back to watching… And I get straight A's in soups, don't worry, Aunt Tuney did a great job. But it's boring!"

"But I can't allow you to move on to anything complex," – Snape backpedaled.

"Can I at least read something?" – Harry gave him that puppy-dog look, which worked wonders even on Uncle Vernon.

"Oh Merlin…" – Professor Snape put his head in his hands. – "Get out, Potter! Immediately!" Harry grabbed his things and trudged to the door, only to hear a terse:

"And don't forget to mess up a potion in the next lesson, Potter. Make-up lessons on Wednesdays and Fridays, exactly at eight."

"Thank you, sir!" – Harry cheerfully called out and skipped up the stairs. The first stage of Terry's plan had worked perfectly. It was time to move on to the next one.

"Potter!" – Professor Snape's furious shout made the test tubes rattle. – "What have you done?!"

"Sorry, sir, I don't even understand how it happened," – Harry replied apologetically, cleaning his glasses, which were splattered with goo. Sitting next to him, Hannah Abbott was almost crying – she had been drenched head to toe with some incomprehensible black goo that resembled tar in consistency. The rest – those who hadn't managed to take cover under the tables – also got hit, and the classroom… well, it looked like a disaster.

"Oh, you don't understand…" – Snape said in that special tone that made even upperclassmen usually shudder in terror. – "Don't worry, you'll understand… You've just earned yourself a month of detention, Potter! And minus thirty points for Hufflepuff!" Someone moaned in despair. The others preferred to blend in with the surroundings.

"Now clean up this mess!" – Professor Snape ordered. – "And consider yourself lucky that no one was seriously hurt!" Harry sighed sadly but smirked to himself: at least he still had his head on his shoulders, and he wasn't planning on poisoning his classmates with anything dangerous. The composition of the black goo had been carefully thought out, with consultations from the Weasley twins, masters of mischief who had taken pity on the first-year student and shared their wisdom. Harry was confident the plan would work. Though, it seemed the twins couldn't resist tweaking the recipe, because according to the original plan, it shouldn't have been so sticky.

"Sorry, Hannah," – Harry said apologetically. – "It wasn't on purpose. I'll buy you a new robe?"

"Actually, Harry," – she replied venomously, – "there's such a thing as cleaning spells! Or have you become so close to Filch that you've completely forgotten about them? Should I work with a mop instead?"

"Enough chitchat, get out of here!" – Snape barked. – "Potter, eight o'clock in my office!"

"Yes, sir," – Harry sighed and dragged himself to the door. "And I'll get back to Filch, too," – Harry thought maliciously, watching Hannah leave. – "Just nonsense, picking on the old man just because he can't do magic!"

"Potter!" – someone called him in the hallway.

"What is it, Malfoy?" – Harry responded.

"I heard the fame of Longbottom's success is keeping you up at night?" – Malfoy asked with a smirk. His usual companions, Crabbe and Goyle, snickered. Their laughter was monstrous.

"Yep," – Harry cheerfully answered. – "I dream of blowing this school to the ground! See, it didn't work out today… But I'm working on it!"

"Is that a joke?" – Malfoy frowned.

"No," – Harry replied honestly. – "I'm absolutely, brutally serious!"

"You're a strange one," – Malfoy shook his head.

"No, I'm perfectly normal!" – Harry grinned. – "But most of the people here… not so much..."

"Can't argue with that," – Malfoy sneered. – "Especially the Gryffindors."

"I can't argue with that either," – Harry nodded. – "Alright, it was nice chatting, but I'm late for Transfiguration! See you!"

"Yeah… nice…" – the Slytherin muttered, watching Potter hurry down the corridor. – "Psycho. Let's go, guys…"