Harry Potter and the Battle of the Age

Chapter Eleven

Deaths and Aftershock

When Harry returned to Hogwarts in January, it was with more stress than he had ever known at Hogwarts. The legendary seventh-year workload was beginning to take its toll, and the Daily Prophet carried constant headlines of death and destruction, including the explosion of a Muggle business office the Muggles blamed on a bomb, a collapsed bridge that killed five wizards, a witch, and twenty-three Muggles, and a Quidditch match in Romania cancelled after a Death Eater threat. The worst news, however, did not come from the newspaper, but by owl one February morning.

"Alright, I understand the bit about the gold wars in 1512, but what did Rohngana the Rogue have to do with them?" Rachel puzzled over her History of Magic book at the breakfast table next to Hermione. While Hermione helped her look up the answer, Ron asked,

"Why are you even bothering with schoolwork and N.E.W.T.s anyway? If it was me, I'd blow it all off and go play Quidditch to help my career."

"Well, I don't know how long that'll last; you're often out of sports before you're thirty-five, aren't you? I'll have to be able to do something useful..." Rachel mused. The answer seemed to be very elusive. She sighed and looked up at the enchanted ceiling, today a cool, soft grey, as if Rohngana's role in the 1512 gold wars was written up there. She interrupted Ron's mutterings about just how useful he found History of Magic with,

"Hey... isn't that Hermes?"

Harry looked up from his eggs. Sure enough, Percy's eagle owl was swooping down on them bearing a letter. Ron hastily moved aside his porridge so Hermes would have a place to land, and took the envelope, offering the owl some pumpkin juice. He flipped the letter over.

"It's addressed to all of us," he said curiously, opening it. "You too, Ginny," he added to his sister, who was finishing her toast beside Hermione.

"Who's it from?"

"The Order..." he muttered. Harry froze.

"What does it say?"

Ron didn't answer. For several seconds, nobody moved.

"It's Moody," Ron finally whispered. "He's-- he's dead."

Hermione gasped and Rachel braced herself against the table. Ginny looked speechless. Harry quickly looked up at the staff table. All the Order members within the teaching body were absent-- Lupin, McGonagall, Snape. Right as Harry watched, Dumbledore entered slowly, with a tired expression. He looked, at that moment, very old. He slowly poured some pumpkin juice and took a long drought.

"Why wasn't it in the Prophet?" Harry asked hoarsely. "Was there some sort of battle?"

"No--it was just him. It happened around four this morning... I guess it'll run in the Evening Prophet..."

Ron had set down the letter and leaned on one elbow. Harry took it. The letter was brief and had a tone much like Dumbledore's appearance-- weak and tired. It had been on a mission. He died fighting three Death Eaters and saved the life of a young Ministry Auror. He took one of the Death Eaters with him. The letter was signed by both Mrs. Weasley and Lupin.

Harry's classes went by him that day in a fog. Sure enough, Hermione's Evening Prophet, which arrived that night at dinner, carried the headline "Auror Legend Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody Dead", along with a large photo, a brief statement by Minister Thedon commending Moody for his work and for assisting the Auror, and an admirable list of his achievements, and the statement that "a quiet memorial was being planned by some of Moody's closest so-workers", Harry assumed the Order was involved. The paper honoured Mad-Eye properly, but did mention his paranoia, calling it "paralyzing". Harry threw it down in disgust.

Neither Harry nor any of the others who knew of Moody's death had felt much like talking about it that day, except for Ginny to Neville, but as Moody had once taught a year at Hogwarts (or so it appeared), the news of his death spread like wildfire from the few students who got the evening news. At the end of the meal, the headmaster stood up, ceasing the rush of voices almost immediately. Dumbledore took his goblet in his hand.

"By now I imagine all of you have heard of the tragedy that has befallen Alastor Moody early this morning in battle."

There was silence as the students, some looking shaken, grew still. At the staff table, the teachers had folded their hands in their laps and were looking solemn. Snape, Lupin, and McGonagall had all returned earlier, by the time Harry checked over lunch. Dumbledore continued in a sombre voice.

"Although it was discovered that Moody himself never taught at Hogwarts, he assisted a number of students here while outside the school and in peril, and devoted his life to protecting innocent people, without a thought for his own safety."

Harry smiled quietly, thinking of Moody's heavily scarred face, replaced eye, and wooden leg.

"I would therefore like to propose a toast. Please stand and drink--"

He paused to allow the students and faculty to stand.

"-- to the memory of all who have given their lives in the battle against Voldemort, especially-- Alastor Moody."

His name was echoed by every person in the room, except, as Harry noticed with a hot throb of anger, most Slytherins. He clenched his jaw as the students left in silence, not hearing anything from Malfoy. Good thing, too, he thought, for Malfoy. Harry would've cursed him across the hall.

***

"Good job, Harry," Lupin said quietly, giving him a small smile. It had been just over two weeks since Moody's death, and Harry had just mastered something he had been having difficulty with for a week-- an unspoken spell. He had managed to conjure weak Shield Charms without speaking before, but today he managed his very first offensive spell, and caused a small, fluffy hamster to levitate three feet above his head.

By the next lesson, most everyone had lifted small rodents and they were ready to work on more powerful spells. They began some attack jinxes, which Lupin had them practice often.

"Just in case," he had said lightly. Harry caused a parrot to lose consciousness one lesson, and then expelled Lupin's wand as a bit of a prank when he was lighting some floating candles. He was ahead of the class, as well as Hermione, who knocked out a guinea pig, also impressive, and Neville, who was so good at unspoken Shield Charms Harry once walked into what felt like a fairly solid wall a full foot from Neville.

"I still have to touch something to knock it out," Rachel said dispiritedly "And even then I only make it look kind of woozy..." She and Harry were helping Lupin gently resuscitate numerous small, dazed-looking animals. A bitter hedgehog bit Harry on the finger.

"Want to practice on Pig?" he said, examining the wound. "Even calming him down a bit would be nice."

They took the animals back to Lupin, and he put them in roomy cages.

"Harry, you've been doing wonderfully this year, I've been meaning to say," Lupin told him. "Do you know you have a straight O average?"

"I do?" Harry said.

"Nice," Rachel smiled.

"Excellent Auror training," Lupin said with a wink. He stifled a yawn and ran his hand through his hair. Harry noticed it was now streaked with grey.

"Are you okay?" Rachel said.

"Oh, I'll be fine," Lupin replied. "Just a bit tired. The Order's working hard... but it's a full moon next week, and on a Friday even." He smiled. "I'll have a nice long weekend."

"How is the Order, by the way?" Harry said in a low voice. "In the paper, there's always so much..." Lupin cut him off.

"Oh, I know, but trust me... this is better than it was last time. Hogsmeade may be a bit empty, but the Order's got a good Minister on our side, and we've gotten much better at operating in secret and all... and we're much bigger." Harry was slightly reassured.

That evening Harry and Rachel studied late in the library, partly to get actual work done, partly to leave Ron and Hermione together so they might someday be friendly again, and partly because there were plenty of small isolated corners. Rachel sat cross-legged on the floor with her back to a bookshelf, researching for Herbology. Harry was next to her, supposed to be writing an Astronomy essay, but actually just distracting her.

"Harry, I really have to find out what Venomous Tentactuli eat..." Rachel muttered, although she was smiling.

"Second years," Harry whispered back, his voice muffled by her hair. He kissed her neck softly.

"That would make an interesting essay..."

Harry laughed.

"That tickles!"

"Sorry..."

"...it's kind of nice..."

Before Harry knew it, they were flat-out snogging in the library, like-- well, like most Hogwarts students did at least once. Harry had kissed girls before; there was Cho Chang once, and Rachel herself plenty of times... but never like this. He put his hand on her shoulder. She shivered slightly. Harry felt an almost painful rush of strange, powerful feelings, nothing like what he had expected... he wanted to hold her close and not let go, and he didn't ever want to hurt her...

Suddenly he heard a blood-curdling scream. Rachel jumped so badly Harry felt her snap against him. The moment was effectively ruined.

"What the hell..." he murmured. Rachel slammed shut a book that had fallen out of her lap. It continued to scream.

"Why do they always do that?"

Harry took out his wand.

"Silencio!" he cried. Nothing happened.

"Who is making that racket in the library?" Madame Pince, the snappish librarian who looked like an ancient vulture, was clearly coming fast. Rachel tried opening and shutting the cover a few times, then smacking the book hard. It did no good.

"Run!" Harry said in a strangled whisper, and pulled her up. Half-laughing, they ran up the aisle by the wall and ducked between more shelves, then made a break for the exit. When they got to the end of the corridor they heard the door open again as Madame Pince surely stuck her head out into the hallway. With an interesting thrill of near panic and almost hysteria, like a child playing secret agent, he pulled Rachel around the corner and they slipped up the shadowy hallway, trying hard not to laugh.

"Shhh!" Harry whispered, holding her hand tightly and catching his breath. Rachel was shaking silently, tears starting in her eyes. Harry led her down another hall, even though they were probably safe by now from the fury of the librarian. He glanced down the next stone passage and the laughing smile dropped instantly off his face. He pulled Rachel into the shadows.

"Rachel-- seriously, hush!"

"What is it?" she intoned, still grinning.

"Look..."

Down the hall, near Dumbledore's office, Harry saw something that could not have been there. Or, rather, someone. A thin man stood in front of the gargoyle leading to Dumbledore's office, examining it closely. He had dark hair that was sagging over his neck slightly, needing a wash. When Harry saw his profile, he noticed a familiar goatee and weak chin. He was a Death Eater... but he was on the run from Voldemort. Why was he here? If Dumbledore was, for some reason, sheltering him, than why was he looking furtively around every few seconds?

"Who is that?" Rachel whispered, her warm breath tickling his ear.

"He's... he's a Death Eater... at least, I think..."

"A Death Eater? Right here?" The pressure on Harry's hand increased.

"I'll find out."

"What?"

"If he's here for some good reason, he knows me and I'll talk to him," Harry muttered. "If not-- he's alone and I've got my wand out."

"Harry..." Rachel breathed. "Are you-- sure that's a good idea?"

"I'd go for a teacher, but I don't know how many of them there might be!"

Harry's mind raced. Was Voldemort actually attacking Hogwarts? But wasn't Karkaroff running from him; why would he come along? Harry's promise to Lupin suddenly blazed through his brain. He should run and get him, and he could get plenty of teachers together... but what if he led Rachel right into a horde of Death Eaters? Harry looked indecisively around the corner again. Well, he finally thought, standing here could be more of a risk then running through well-lit corridors. He thought of the expression Moody might have worn if he knew Harry was thinking about walking up to a dangerous former member of Voldemort's inner circle. With a final glance and an inward moan that he might lose track of him, Harry turned. He ran in the direction he had come, keeping his and Rachel's bags held near to avoid making a sound, and said in a low, urgent tone that they were getting Lupin.

Harry was immensely relieved when he turned into a hall where the torches were lit. He raced to Lupin's office and banged on the door. Lupin opened it immediately.

"Harry-- what is it?"

"Professor, we just saw... I mean, it couldn't have been..."

"What?" Lupin said, opening the door completely and looking alert.

"I just... I just saw Igor Karkaroff hanging around Dumbledore's study."

Harry took a breath after this unlikely statement and waited. From the look on Lupin's face, Harry became sure Karkaroff wasn't supposed to be there at all.

"Karkaroff? Are--are you sure?" he frowned.

"Yes..."

Lupin looked away, puzzled. Then he motioned Harry in.

"Here, come in... did you see anyone else along the way?"

Harry understood him to mean Death Eaters, and told him no. Lupin strode to his fireplace and took a pinch of Floo Powder. Then he said,

"Headmaster-- Harry Potter's just seen-- someone may be in the castle."

With a rush of flames, Dumbledore was standing in front of Lupin's fireplace, looking attentive.

"Remus, Harry, Rachel," he said, nodding to them all in turns. "Someone is in the castle?"

Harry quickly explained what had happened. Dumbledore frowned.

"Just in the corridor? Hmm...we have added security measures, but... it may be possible for one person to slip in by Hogsmeade..." He stroked his beard thoughtfully. "But why on earth would he send someone in against such odds, at this time...?"

Dumbledore looked at Lupin's clock and snapped from thought to action.

"Eleven. There are still sixth and seventh year students in the halls. Lupin--"

Lupin looked up.

"Get Rubeus, Severus, and Minervera. Tell them there is apparently one or more Death Eaters in the school. Tell any student you see to get in his or her dormitory. Use Secrecy Detecting Spells and the like on your way. Tell Severus to bring Veritaserum in case we catch someone, and be ready to call Somerset for backup."

A name flashed into Harry's head--Matthias Somerset, mentioned in the Prophet as Head of Defence. He was chief of the Ministry's Aurors. Lupin nodded to Dumbledore.

"Professor!" Harry said. "My map--do you want the Marauder's Map to find them?"

Dumbledore gave a small smile as Lupin hurried to get the other teachers.

"Precisely, Harry--I will escort you to your dormitory for safety. Please do not alarm the other students."

As they left, Dumbledore said to Rachel,

"Forgive me for not explaining; I believe you do not know Karkaroff? I will fill you in, or Harry will, as soon as this is all over..."

Rachel nodded dumbly. The three of them were nearly at the staircase to Gryffindor Tower when they saw another figure in the entryway. It was Snape. He muttered something and flicked his wand, sending a silent pale light from the tip--not like the light of a Lumos spell, but a pale bluish haze Harry could see through the glow of the torches. He swept his wand around like a flashlight, and Harry felt an odd tingling as it passed over him. Just as Harry wondered what he was doing, he heard Rachel give a small cry of surprise and, out of nowhere, a man ran past Harry; he had been standing just behind Rachel. Dumbledore lifted his wand, but Snape didn't bother. As Karkaroff fled toward him, trapped, he ignored the wand pointing at him and simply lunged for Karkaroff's throat.

"You!" he cried furiously, pinning Karkaroff against the stone wall. The Death Eater choked, his hands weakly scratching at Snape's. "You filthy coward... how dare you show your face here?"

Only feet from Harry, Karkaroff was turning a violent shade of red under Snape's white-knuckled hold and sputtering. Why was Snape so angry?

"Severus," Dumbledore said with a warning in his voice.

"You'll kill him!" Rachel cried, startled. Snape looked at her, and she drew back slightly.

"Do you know who this is?" he hissed, his voice tight with rage.

"Let him go," Dumbledore said, calmly but commandingly. Snape looked at Dumbledore for a moment, then, with a final shove into Karkaroff's throat with the heel of his hand, he let the former headmaster of Durmstrang Institution drop, taking his wand from him. Karkaroff gasped and coughed, holding one hand to his throat as the red colour of his face slowly drained. Snape flicked his wand again and his hands were tied behind his back. Rachel looked at the crumpled figure, wondering why Snape seemed to think she should hate him as well.

"Harry--the map, please," Dumbledore said calmly.

"Oh, yeah--Accio Marauder's Map!"

The Fat Lady at the top of the staircase swung aside with a startled little shriek as the map flew out toward her from behind and into Harry's hands.

"Who else is here?" Snape shot at Karkaroff.

"No one else..." he rasped.

"If you're lying--" Snape pointed his wand directly at his face and Karkaroff cowered.

"No, I swear it--I was being tested; I alone..."

Harry scanned the map as quickly as he could.

"I don't see anyone, sir," he said after he had breathlessly wandered each hallway with his eyes. He kept looking, though.

"Very well, I did not think many would be able to get in anyway..."

Dumbledore sent a two Patronuses swooping off in different directions. The he turned back to Karkaroff.

"Igor," he said, a cool note in his steady voice. "What are you doing here?"

His eyes darted to Snape, standing furiously above him, to Dumbledore, whom he most certainly did not want to make angry, and over Harry and Rachel.

"I--ah..."

"Shall I loosen his tongue, Headmaster?" Snape growled.

"Thank you, Severus, but the Veritaserum shall suffice," Dumbledore said evenly, glancing at Snape almost as if giving him another warning.

"Wait--I'd like to... to be able to keep my mind clear when I'm dealing with--this man..." Karkaroff attempted bravery. Snape's lip curled maliciously.

"Yes, you do," he whispered.

"I assure you, you will be quite safe in my office," Dumbledore said firmly. "At least, until the Azkaban escorts arrive."

Dumbledore beckoned them on. Snape pulled Karkaroff roughly to his feet. Lupin and McGonagall had arrived at the other end of the hall.

"He's the only one, Albus?" McGonagall said crisply as she approached.

"It appears that way," Dumbledore said. "Hagrid is keeping watch in case more are approaching, but I believe Mr. Karkaroff here will be unaccompanied tonight."

Snape pushed him on and the group began heading for Dumbledore's office. Harry put a foot forward.

"Professor--can we..."

Dumbledore's light blue eyes swept over Harry and Rachel.

"I suppose there is no reason you shouldn't," he said. Harry's heart leapt. "And Rachel, you may want to confront him; it... would be your right."

"Why?" Rachel pressed. Suddenly Harry's stomach clenched with sudden suspicion. Surely not...

Dumbledore glanced at Snape.

"In my office," he nodded. "As soon as we finish questioning him," he promised to Rachel.

When they were all in Dumbledore's round study, he conjured a wooden chair for Karkaroff, which Snape gladly bound his arms to. The potion Karkaroff ended up with was not Veritaserum, since it was so difficult to obtain, and reason said he was probably not lying. He took instead a powerful Truth Tonic. The effects were not as dramatic as Veritaserum--his eyes did not glaze over, nor did his voice become toneless and automatic, and once or twice he was able to hesitate. In the end, though, he answered all of Dumbledore's questions with forced obedience. Karkaroff had been given orders to test his loyalty; he was to attempt to attack the headmaster at Hogwarts. He was not given any help. Harry thought the mission sounded like an easy way to get Karkaroff out of Voldemort's hair--but why hadn't he just killed him? When Dumbledore seemed satisfied, Rachel looked up with a mixture of curiosity and dread. Dumbledore caught her eye.

"Yes," he sighed. "I thought you would have a right to know this."

"Know what?" Rachel insisted, looking nervous. Before Dumbledore could reply, Snape spat at Karkaroff,

"Tell her."

Karkaroff's eyes flicked to Rachel, then to Dumbledore's carpet. He muttered something.

"Admit it, you worthless coward!"

Karkaroff winced. The vein in Snape's temple throbbed like mad. McGonagall glanced at Dumbledore, and Rachel was pale.

"I gave Abbot and Diane Connor's names to Voldemort," the bound man said in a low voice, eyes still averted.

His voice seemed to reverberate through the still room like shock waves. Rachel blinked. She stared at Karkaroff for several seconds, then Harry saw her shoulder twitch as a shiver ran down her spine. She turned her head and looked out Dumbledore's window. She seemed to be having trouble drawing breath. When she finally spoke, it was in a voice much harder and steadier than Harry expected.

"Why?"

The way she spoke this one word was more heart-wrenching than if Rachel had started weeping and screaming. A simple question--why did you do this?--to sum up a torrent of pain, anger, guilt and confusion over more than a year.

"Your--your father," Karkaroff whispered, licking his lips nervously. "I heard Airelle Rosier when I was visiting her brother--she was speaking to him. Something about protecting the baby, and the Order. When I heard she died... both of them, her and the baby... it just s-seemed odd. I tracked down an assistant to her midwife--a Memory Charm had been applied hurriedly, and I broke it. She had heard the name Connor mentioned. By the time I tracked them down, from the, uh... the tabs we tried to keep on all Order members... the Dark Lord had already fallen. I knew Snape was a traitor... and how to get to him.... A-after Voldemort returned--I had to do something, or I would be killed! I gave them this, and... when they checked my lead, and it was true... they kept me alive as long as I fed them information," his confession degenerated into a mumble, then he was silent.

Harry's skin went cold. Karkaroff's admission sunk into him slowly. He sold off a sixteen-year-old to be tortured to death, and the rest of her family if they got in the way, to save his own skin? The concept was simple enough; trading one thing for another, but Harry couldn't understand it. Anger sparked inside him. What right did he have to do that to the Connor family? He would give up their lives to get Rachel, so she could be killed as well--feeling like she had been the cause of her parents' murders? So their family could be ripped apart forever one average summer night? All this suffering was justified, because Karkaroff would continue to live? Beside him, Rachel began to look sick. Then her fists clenched, and began to shake. A tear dropped onto Dumbledore's carpet.

"I have summoned Aurors from the Ministry of Magic," Dumbledore said coldly, giving off the feel of tangible power he always did when truly angry. "They will be here shortly to arrest you." He looked at Rachel, and said quietly, "He will spend the rest of his life in Azkaban, unless it is opened again. In that case he will be executed by Voldemort."

Karkaroff twitched. Rachel's brows were knitted and her lips pressed together until white. She seemed to be trying very hard not to burst. She managed to nod once.

"You don't have to stay here if you wish to go," Dumbledore murmured. "And I imagine Professor Lupin will lend you use of his office, if you don't wish to go to be crowded in your dormitory?"

"Of course," Lupin said. Dumbledore glanced at Harry and motioned to Rachel with his eyes. He went over to her and put a hand on her back, then over her shoulder. She allowed him to lead her away, still trembling. When they passed Karkaroff's chair, she looked in the opposite direction. Without warning, Karkaroff burst into speech.

"Look, I--I panicked; I never intended anything to happen to you or your family--then they were coming down on me, and I--I just--"

"LIAR!" Rachel screamed, whipping around and hitting him in the face. Karkaroff looked stunned. "You never cared how many people died as long as you were safe running away from Voldemort; you couldn't care less what happened to me or my parents or Snape--" she broke off, unable to control herself or her voice. Lupin looked away from Karkaroff in disgust and McGonagall drew a sharp breath, almost reaching out to hold Rachel back, but seeming to think better of it. Snape looked like he would crack and assault Karkaroff any second. Even the portraits on the wall stopped bothering to feign sleep, looking at the informant with revulsion.

"Come on, Rachel, you don't have to look at this scum..." Harry said, moving between her and Karkaroff. He led her out through the large oak doors and down the twisting staircase; the only thing he could think to do was get her her as far as he could from the filth that had done this to her. Rachel had a vein pulsing in her temple exactly like Snape, and she was shuddering harder than ever. They went all the way to Lupin's office and she didn't cry. Harry shut the door and paused for a fraction of a second, wondering what he should do for her--then he saw her shoulders begin to drop, and took her immediately in his arms. She collapsed into him and sobbed helplessly. All Harry could do was stroke her hair and try to tell her it was alright, when nothing had ever seemed less right in his life.

"How--?" Rachel choked. "How could he just--?"

She laid her head on his shoulder and stopped trying. Harry's teeth clenched. Again, it all came down to Voldemort. If it wasn't for him, cowards like Karkaroff wouldn't have the chance to bargain with other people's lives and other people's families... this had to stop.

Harry sat in front of the embers of the fire and held Rachel together, letting her cry.

Chapter Twelve

Rachel Shoves Back

"What do you mean, he might not get a trial?"

Harry sighed and put aside the Evening Prophet.

"They're so choked up with all these Death Eater attacks, and trying to figure out who was acting under their own steam and who was under the Imperious Curse... they're overflowed."

Hermione looked incredulous.

"So Thedon is just going to let the British Ministry of Magic become a police state and throw anyone they find in Azkaban?"

Rachel glanced up at her.

"No, no...it's just that Karkaroff has a record as a Death Eater, and all, so he's going to have to wait in Azkaban until he can get a trail. What the paper is saying is that it might take years to get to it."

"Look--I'm not saying Karkaroff doesn't deserve to sit in Azkaban," Hermione said hurriedly, blanching under Rachel's look. "But what about the ones who actually are innocent?"

Harry sighed again.

"Almost gives you sympathy for Fudge," Ron mused, looking at the picture of the young, harried-looking current minister, trying to reassure a ruthless reporter while clearly wanting to get back to the draft of some law or proposal he held in his hand. "Almost."

"Thedon won't become like him," Harry said, although he had no reason at all for his confidence.

"Come on, Harry--let's work on Cup tactics while we have a minute," Rachel changed the topic.

It was near the end of Easter Break, and Harry had just finished his homework the previous evening, leaving one whole day for vacation. The N.E.W.T.s were rapidly approaching, as was the final Quidditch Cup of his Hogwarts career. The first weekend after school resumed they would face Ravenclaw. Harry rubbed his eyes tiredly--as much as he loved Quidditch, he was surprised to find that he wanted the Cup to be over, so he could get to studying. Perhaps he was ill.

"Like we need to worry!" Ginny Weasley said happily, clambering over a cushion to sit with Rachel, Harry and Ron. "With a pro-Quidditch player on our team... even Luna's saying Captain Douglass is terrified! Of course, she also said a stoat single-handedly defeated a dementor last weekend in Salisbury..."

"Remember Malfoy last week when Ravenclaw beat out Slytherin?" Ron's eyes glazed over as he reminisced for the thousandth time that week. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Yes, yes, the way his eyes bugged, the colour of his face, it really was exactly like one of Hagrid's Seedless Humming Tomatoes... can we figure out how to undermine that twisted passing thing they kept doing?" Rachel said impatiently. "It looks complicated..."

Harry sat with his best Chasers for an hour figuring the play, until he sent them off to rest.

***

The next day began a review of the year in most of Harry's classes. He found himself plunged unceremoniously into a thorough re-examination of what he believed to be everything he had learned since his first year at Hogwarts. In his earliest class, Herbology, he was assigned to write a complete, cross-indexed mini-encyclopaedia of thirty plants of his choosing, including relevant information on healing, potion-making, and other uses of his plants not listed in the textbook, due in five days. Professor Flitwick wanted a number of essays on different theories, spell-families, wand techniques and the like, due in the middle of next week. McGonagall gave frightening papers on complicated Transfiguration procedures, and what's more, they were going to be tested Wednesday after next on human Transfiguration by actually turning one another into a specified kind of large mammal, not yet disclosed. By lunchtime, Hermione was eating so rapidly she was near choking so as to cram extra studying into her schedule, and Ron seemed rather stunned, a blank expression on his grey face. Rachel, Harry discovered, became tense and snappish when under stress.

"How are you holding up?" he asked her after the Transfiguration nightmare, placing a hand sympathetically between her shoulder blades and leaning against her tiredly. Normally gentle Rachel threw his hand off and grabbed her Transfiguration book.

"Nervous?" he said, glancing at the page she was reading, entitled 'Human Transfiguration: Accomplishing the Ultimate Transformation While Avoiding Complications Such as Total and Partial Unreformability, Permanent Physical Alteration, and Death.'

"No, no, I'm fine with leaving one of you as a sheep for the rest of your lives, I'm just wondering how to do it," she snapped. "That stupid desk I worked on the week before break is still bleating, and furniture is fifth and sixth year stuff..."

Harry decided to leave her alone. When Ron spilled mashed turnips over the book she was still angrily flipping around, he got up quickly for napkins from the other end of the table and stayed there for a few minutes.

The only class Harry had that afternoon was Defence Against the Dark Arts, leaving him with plenty of time to study. Nevertheless, he was up until midnight just getting a decent handle on most of his assignments, and it was not until he stepped out of the shower and was about to roll into bed that he realized the Quidditch Cup match was one day closer. How was he going to fit in practice along with all this? He could only put it out of his mind and collapse into bed, knowing he would have to wait and work it out the next evening.

***

That week was one of the most stressful in Harry's memory. He barely found time to eat in between his schoolwork, Quidditch Cup preparations, and the suddenly overwhelming allure of his warm, comfortable bed. He was sleepwalking for most of Thursday. Rachel and Ron, two of the people he spent the most time with who were also on the team, dealt with the stress differently. Ron became more and more quiet, and, combined with the constant whey colour of his face, this gave him the effect of an immobile and highly uneasy rock. Rachel, on the other hand, became startlingly fierce, reacting like lightening to any added annoyance--sharp, violent, and without warning. Harry knew it was just the pressure, and tried not to stay angry with her, which actually proved rather easy by the end of every day because she channelled the energy exceptionally well into Quidditch. She scored much more often and, by the end of every practice, was calmer and usually ready to apologize for any nasty remark or injury given to various Gryffindors during the day. It almost made Harry want to see what Snape was like on a broomstick.

But Friday morning, the last day before the match scheduled for early Saturday, dawned on an even more nervous and stressed team.

"Only one week to prepare for the Cup... and not even the chance for a full-day training Saturday!" Ron moaned to his toast. "It's mad..."

"Yeah, it's almost like Hogwarts is an academic school or something," Rachel snapped, then took a breath. "Sorry..."

Of course, Hogwarts was indeed an academic school, and almost as if to punish Rachel for the slight, each and every seventh year professor gave at least one more assignment that day.

"We'll have to cancel the first practice we scheduled," Harry admitted at lunch between reviving draughts of pumpkin juice. "The one supposed to be right after classes until dinner. There's just no way." His stomach clenched at the amount of homework he had that weekend, along with the actual Cup. He closed his eyes for a moment, then raised his glasses to press the heels of his hands into them. He was had so much work he actually felt a little bit frightened.

"Oh, Harry... what about the scrimmage we were going to do? We haven't been able to do a single one yet this week!" Rachel protested.

"I know!" Harry shot at her frustratedly. "Maybe we'll stay out late and do it then; I dunno..."

"Hey, as of last match, Ravenclaw is still horrible at spreading out their Chasers," Ron pointed out, swallowing a huge bite of ham. "You and Ginny and Alex are really good at that one play now, the one that blew up in your faces when you tried to use it the first match."

"Thanks, Ron."

Harry gulped down his lunch, hardly noticing what he was eating, he was concentrating so hard on figuring out what his latest Transfiguration essay was supposed to be about.

To cap it off, Harry's last class of the day was Potions. Rachel moaned softly as she lowered herself into a seat beside Harry's.

"I don't think I can take much more today... if he gives us another of those bloody essays..." Clearly desperate for this last class to be over, she sat with her eyes closed one hand at her cheek.

Unfortunately, Snape seemed to be in just as foul a mood as most of the students that day. He slammed the door behind him just as Rachel finished talking.

"Silence!" he called. "You ought to know by now to have your cauldrons ready at the beginning of class! Am I teaching a bunch of first years?"

His custom was then to order Rachel to another seat, but this time he didn't bother. As he reached her at the end of the aisle, without missing a beat, he jerked her out of the chair by the back of her collar, dragged her the two steps to an adjacent desk, and shoved her roughly down into it, continuing to his own desk without even a change of expression.. She glared at him fiercely as she yanked her bag over the aisle.

"If any of you wish for the merest chance of passing your Potions N.E.W.T., now is the time to get yourselves up to scratch and begin studying properly. I am constantly being disappointed by the grades in this class. This potion we'll make today will target most of your weakest areas--it requires precise measuring, an accurate number of stirs, and a careful observation of colour. You have been giving me lazy, sloppy work; if you do not pay careful attention to this potion you will fail. I warn you now, the N.E.W.T. testers will not accept some thrown-together cauldron of sludge. Begin."

Harry groaned under his breath. This was Snape's favourite type of potion; it required a number of fussy, perfectly done steps or the entire thing would be rubbish. He got to step four (of nineteen) and was just trying to get the temperature of his mixture exactly right when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He looked up and found Rachel leaning into him.

"Don't add the serpyllum leaves," she intoned, looking over her shoulder to make sure Snape was still berating Malfoy for his potion. She pretended to use Harry's scales.

"What?" he whispered.

"The sixth step, after the wolf hairs--put in these instead."

She handed him a different type of leaf from a packet in her hand.

"Why?"

"Just trust me!" she insisted, and skirted around to Hermione's desk. Harry picked up the packet of serpyllum leaves. He recognized them; Aunt Petunia had used them as cooking herbs. The other kind was completely different, purple-veined and larger. Harry looked back at Rachel, who seemed to be on the eighth step now. Her potion had turned a deep green colour, like the instructions said it should. Harry shrugged and put her plant into his own potion.

About twenty minutes later, when most of the class was finishing, Harry's potion was perhaps a bit cloudier than called for, but was giving off at least a fair amount of the wavering haze and pungent, sweet aroma it should have been. His, Hermione's, and Rachel's seemed to be the only ones. Snape frowned into a Hufflepuff's cauldron in the first row.

"What did you put in this?" he demanded, looking at the brownish, thick liquid in the ladle. He sniffed it cautiously.

"I don't know, sir," the Hufflepuff said nervously. Snape saw his deskmate's potion, which was exactly the same. Perplexed, he swept up the main aisle, glancing into everyone's identically ruined potions--until he reached Rachel. She looked up serenely. Snape's sharp eyes flashed over Harry's and Hermione's, and something seemed to click in his mind.

"What did you do to this potion?" he snapped at Rachel.

"Nothing, sir."

"Don't lie to me!"

Rachel looked up calmly.

"Well," she said slowly, as if something was just occurring to her. "I did put in sulpherium leaves instead of serpyllum... I mean, since this potion was supposed to cure vertigo, not induce bravery..."

Snape's eyes narrowed. He glanced at the blackboard at the front of the room, then back to Rachel. Finally, he said, in a calm, cold voice,

"No student is to look through my own potion book. Ten points from Gryffindor for cheating, and ten from each Potter and Granger for accepting the help."

"I didn't cheat!" The words were out of Rachel's shocked and angry mouth before she seemed to realize it. Snape slowly turned back to her.

"Do not lie to me, or it will be detention. There is no way you could have known off the top of your head--"

"That you made a mistake?" Rachel finished clearly. The class seemed to brace itself. Snape raised his eyebrows and the vein in his temple began pulsing. Before he could reply, she continued hotly,

"I used to make that same potion for my older brother. I learned it in fifth year because he kept needing it."

She and Snape locked eyes, each refusing to back down.

"I told you not to lie," Snape said again. "You cheated, you told your friends so they would look good, and you lied to me--"

"That isn't true!"

"--and then lied again to cover yourself. Fine example for a seventh-year Gryffindor--"

"Prove it, Severus!" Rachel stood up, her chair scraping along the dingy stone of the dungeon classroom. Every eye in the class widened, and Harry winced. Snape stiffened. The ringing silence in the classroom stretched out tensely until he finally spoke.

"Firstly, you will address me as 'sir' or 'Professor' at all times," he hissed slowly, the poison in his voice matched only by the look on his face. "Secondly, if you ever try to give me an order again, I will have you following Mr. Filch around the Forbidden Forest until midnight every evening for the rest of the year. Do I make myself clear?"

Rachel glared at him.

"Answer me," Snape growled dangerously.

"Yes."

"When you are in this classroom, Connor, or anywhere in this castle, my word is final. You will not argue with me, because you'll find that you are often wrong."

Harry noticed Rachel's hands were shaking and pink was seeping into her cheeks. She was looking determinedly somewhere over the professor's shoulder. Snape seemed highly satisfied, crossing his arms on his chest and leaning back on his heels. For her sake, Harry hoped Rachel would control herself. Don't rise, Raich, it's just what he's looking for...

"I would think I know better than a seventeen year old."

"What, like you knew better over Christmas Break?" Rachel snapped, looking back at his face. Harry put a hand to his forehead.

"Be quiet!" Snape barked, tensing again.

"If I remember correctly, I think a seventeen year old ended up saving your--"

The last of Rachel's sentence was drowned out by Snape's angry cry. His hand was raised over his shoulder before Harry could blink. Rachel reflexively leaned back a fraction of an inch. Hermione gasped, but Snape slowly lowered his arm, breathing heavily.

"Detention," he said in his softest voice. The tight, parted scowl on his face was slowly replaced by another grimly contented expression. "All day tomorrow."

It took a second for this to sink in. Harry's head snapped up.

"Tomorrow--Professor, that's the Cup!"

"Would you like to join her, Mr. Potter?" Snape shot at him.

"Harry!" Rachel said tersely. "Don't..."

Harry tensed. Who was she to tell him to control himself, after the scene she just caused?

Snape looked back at the two of them, waiting for another chance to pounce. He looked exactly like a cat crouched outside a mousehole. Fortunately, the bell rang before Harry could say anything.

"Class dismissed. Your homework will be to prepare another sample of this potion on your own time; and thank your lucky stars I'm not grading these messes. Connor, we'll meet later to arrange your detention."

By the time Harry managed to get his things shoved back into his bag, Rachel had already stalked out the door and halfway down the corridor. He ran after her.

"Rachel--Rachel!" Harry grabbed her shoulder. "What just--why--what where you thinking?"

Rachel muttered something.

"What are we going to do?"

"I don't know!" she snapped. Harry was rapidly discovering that he was very aggravated.

"What did you think you were doing, back there? Have you lost your mind?" Rachel started to say something but Harry overrode her.

"What did you expect to happen? I can't believe you just went and... that was so--"

"Well, you weren't exactly distraught until he barred me from the game!"

Harry's jaw dropped.

"You know that isn't true!" he choked angrily, fighting to keep his voice down. Rachel looked up at him. Her eyes seemed to be burning beneath their lashes. Suddenly she looked down.

"Sorry," she said reluctantly.

Harry sighed with exasperation and looked up to the ceiling. He was about to speak again when Rachel burst out,

"I am, it's just... all year, he's been so--finding any little thing he could use to throw one of us in detention; seeing how much he could push before someone finally hauls out and shoves back... he just can't stand it, can he? Anybody getting the better of him, whether he's imagining it or not--he just--I can't--"

"I thought you got the measure of him last year," Harry said, softening, but not much. Rachel looked away.

"I was just like him, wasn't I?" Her voice, so sharp and tight seconds ago, was now flat, quiet, and dejected. "I thought of anything I could use to throw at him; any little thing that would tick him off..."

"Rachel--" Harry shook himself mentally. This was not the time to be her Quidditch captain.

"You're not like him," he said, forcing his own voice to be steady and certain.

"But all this year, I've been getting more--"

"No, you haven't." His reassurances were spoken in a sharp tone, like he was defending a different person whom Harry liked and Rachel was insulting. "You get angry, then you get over it. You apologize. You're--" Harry let out his breath and cooled his head. "You're kind. And--and sweet. If there's any part of you like Snape, you've... you've got it under control, Raich."

Rachel didn't laugh and shrug it all off, but she didn't continue to beat up on herself, either.

"A bit rash, maybe..." Harry added. "A bit of sharp tongue, sometimes..." A twinge of annoyance gave way to a severe alarm about the plight of his team. Rachel cringed, the weight of the their situation seeming to press upon her.

"Oh, my god, I'm so sorry..."

Harry ran his hands through his hair and went to lean against the wall next to her.

"This same thing happened last year, I lost a player the day before the Cup..." Harry Captaincy seemed to be plagued with last minute crisises. "And we still won... he was a Beater, though, they don't need to know many formations and all... oh no, you have to lead Ginny and Alex in that confusion thing; without that..." Harry trailed off, not wishing to call even further attention to the fact that they were doomed.

"Damn it, what about the scoring? Ginny's really good at just putting the Quaffle in over and over, and Alex is generally okay, but neither of them can feint at all... Douglass can get like a brick wall on his good days..."

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, trying to control the anxiety that was rising in his throat like bile.

"Alright, we'll get someone who tried out at the beginning of the year, someone who was pretty good... and if we train with them all night, maybe they'll be able to... become almost as good as someone who's just been drafted for the major leagues..."

"What if I went to McGonagall and... and begged for help?"

"I don't know, Rachel, McGonagall isn't really--"

"I know, but maybe... she really wants to keep the Cup, and she knows how Snape is... she helped you out your first year, remember, when you flew without permission to help Neville. I mean, it's a long shot, but... it might be worth a try..."

She shrugged desperately. Harry wondered. McGonagall certainly did not favour her House, like some professors he could think of, but then... if Rachel told her about how Snape had been acting at the time, and offered to make the detention up later.... He ran this by Rachel.

"I just don't know," he added. "Maybe..."

"Look--I'll try talking to Professor McGonagall; it can't hurt... and you try to find a decent Chaser. I'll come and get you with her answer, or... help you train somebody up..." Rachel tried not to think about the possibility that she might not play.

Harry nodded and they both hurried in opposite directions, each fervently hoping Professor McGonagall was in a very good mood.