Subplot

19 - Harry

"Essence of Billywig stings is not in itself a potion, but an ingredient. In its undiluted form, its effects are rather nasty, as was confirmed by other mindless youths who could not keep their curious little fingers off the phial, so to say, which makes me hope beyond hope that you will prove to be smarter than them."

Snape was obviously in the mood for lecturing, and recently he had developed a habit which Harry found nothing short of uncanny: He liked to lecture the class from behind. Standing near the door of the dungeon classroom - blocking the emergency escape, Ron had called it - Snape liked to relate to them the more unpleasant details of the potions they were making. While he was back there, none of the students could be sure whether or not he or she was presently under closest surveillance - Snape liked to interrupt his little sermons to point out the silly blunders students might have made while listening to him. Indeed, Harry had the impression that Snape might be right behind him, breathing down his neck, but turning around to check would only get him a sharp rebuff like: 'Why aren't you keeping your eyes on your potion, Potter? It's not really like you could afford to be inattentive. Even more inattentive than the state of mind dictated by your nature, I should say.'

"As I am sure you will all remember, the effect of Billywig stings is ..." Snape strode to the front of the class, looking for a potential victim. Not surprisingly, Harry did remember, so his hand rose in the air along with Ron's, not to mention Hermione's. For a Gryffindor, it was the best way to make sure you were ignored in Snape's class, Harry thought when he saw Snape approach Lavender. Obviously, the girl was one of the few who was not interested in one of the main ingredients of Fizzing Whizzbees. She looked up at the teacher towering over her rather anxiously, then slowly and mournfully shook her head.

"I don't know, Professor," she almost whispered.

"The effect is not to increase intelligence, regrettable as it is," Snape sneered down on her. "Five points from Gryffindor for a fifth year student who does not even posses the meagrest amount of common sense." He turned to Millicent Bulstrode, who smugly replied:

"The effect of Billywig stings is to make people float."

Snape nodded encouragingly, as if the Slytherin girl had said something particularly smart. Harry angrily mortared his Billywig stings while the teacher continued his lecture:

"For the next three lessons, we will prepare the ingredients for a Hawk Potion. The most important of them, Essence of Billywig stings, should be finished by next lesson if you do not mess up your preparations today. On Monday, you will learn how to properly shred Jobberknoll feathers and Fairy cocoons, and on Wednesday, you will try to produce Salamander blood concoction which gives Hawk Potion its strength and its ink black colour. Mind you, I do not say that you will succeed. In my opinion, Hawk Potion is a far too complicated potion to be brewed by fifth year students. However, it has been on the curriculum for fifth years for generations, so we will have to cover it, I'm afraid. Of course, former generations such as mine had little trouble with such tasks, but, alas, it seems impossible to uphold such standards with today's adolescents."

"Today's adolescents!" Ron repeated indignantly but softly. "I'm sure he's never been a day younger than fifty!"

"Mr. Weasley!" Snape strode towards Ron's and Harry's table. Obviously, he found nothing wrong with the Billywig stings in their mortars, probably much to his disappointment, but of course Snape had other things in store to get back at Ron. Snape pointed a bony finger at the red-headed boy.

"What is Hawk Potion used for? Don't tell me you didn't do your reading assignment!"

Harry saw Ron swallow, then do some very quick thinking. Yesterday's Quidditch practice had left neither of them time to do their homework properly.

"Hawk Potion?" Ron repeated to gain time. "Er ... for flying. For flying and for ... er ... seeing well. And for a quick reaction time."

"Mr. Weasley, if your education at this school had prompted you to develop more skills to the extent that you have developed your guessing routine, we might make something out of you yet." Snape gave Ron a look that suggested the teacher was suffering from a gastric ulcer. He turned to the rest of the class, ignoring Hermione's raised hand. "As Mr. Weasley has guessed correctly, Hawk Potion is a useful potion if it comes to, say, doing battle on broomsticks because it improves flying performance as well as reaction time. If used too frequently, it causes certain harmful side effects, such as nervous overexcitement. These side effects were the reason for the potion's ban from the Quidditch pitch in 1957. Of course," Snape turned his malicious black eyes on Harry for a second before letting them rest on Ron, "some of the less talented Quidditch players still like to resort to Hawk Potion, valuing fleeting stardom above their health, and, of course, above the law." Snape cast a reprimanding look at Ron and Harry, as if accusing them of owing their skills on the pitch to the abuse of forbidden substances, such skills as there were.

Ron shrank into his seat. Harry was once more amazed at Snape's uncanny knowledge of how to hurt people, or maybe even of when to hurt people. Tomorrow morning they would be playing Ravenclaw. Watching Ron suffer from nerves was almost worse than suffering from them himself, Harry thought. He knew that Ron could by no means live up to the Keeper standards Oliver Wood had set, that Angelina had to use every bit of cunning and tact to improve Ron's skills without hurting his feelings too much - and he knew that Ron knew all this, too. Playing Slytherin and Hufflepuff had been a piece of cake this year, but Ravenclaw was another matter.

For himself, he did not have much to fear. He had never felt so confident about his flying skills, and he knew that as long as he kept his mind on the Snitch tomorrow instead of on his opponent Seeker, only bad luck would keep victory from him. If he caught the Snitch quickly enough, Ron could not screw up too badly, he thought, but knew how humiliating it would be for Ron if everybody said that Gryffindor had won the match in spite of their Keeper.

When Harry, Hermione and Ron walked down to take supper, spirits were down to an all-week low. To cheer Ron up by inviting him to lament a bit, Harry said: "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I've got the feeling Snape is worse than ever."

"Maybe he's found out that he's suffering from a terminal disease," Ron said hopefully.

"That's tactless," Hermione chided out of principle rather than with conviction. "Honestly, haven't you noticed?"

"Noticed what?" Harry asked.

"What is wrong with Snape," Hermione answered impatiently. "More wrong than usual, I mean." Both Ron and Harry shook their heads.

"Boys," Hermione sighed as they took their seats in the half-empty great hall. "All eyes for broomsticks, no eyes for people." She raised both eyebrows and then said softly but with pathos: "Your dearest teacher is suffering from a broken heart."

"Come on, Hermione, he doesn't have a heart," Ron retorted and pulled up a platter of sandwiches.

"Don't you see," Hermione whispered in the tone of voice that Ron called her 'Witches' Weekly voice' behind her back. "He tried to chat up Professor Varlerta. A couple of months ago, they were all friendly with each other, sat together at meals and everything. Now look," Hermione inconspicuously pointed her goblet at the half-occupied High Table, "he's changed seats with Professor Sinistra, even though he always used to sit next to Dumbledore, because the two aren't talking anymore, haven't been for weeks, I think. My guess is that he made a pass at her and she refused him, and now his pride is hurt." Her eyes glowed with excitement.

"Goodness, Hermione, you noticed all these things?" Ron looked abashed. Harry was amazed, too; he had never really taken an interest in any teacher's private life with the exception of Hagrid's, because Hagrid was his friend.

"Boys," Hermione sighed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After a game of Exploding Snap in which Ron had displayed a clumsiness that was quite out of character, Harry decided he needed to be alone for a while, so he sneaked out of Gryffindor Tower when no one was watching. Witnessing Ron suffering from nerves so badly was unbearable, maybe not in spite of, but because of the nerves Harry had experienced in earlier years: The Triwizard Tournament, not to mention the ordeal that had followed, had put Quidditch into perspective. Harry couldn't help himself; he found Ron's nervousness a bit childish, but he did not want his friend to know he felt that way. He knew that he had had three years as the Gryffindor Seeker and one year as school champion to get used to nervousness, while Ron hadn't. Reproaching Ron for his feelings would have been absolutely unfair, but there was only so much he could take, Harry thought as he walked along the dark corridors, pretending he didn't know where he was going. But of course, as if by accident, he ended up near the hallway that led to Professor Flitwick's classroom, where, in a window niche, Cho Chang had her secret hiding place.

He went there every couple of nights. Some nights she was there, and some nights she wasn't. Sometimes she was crying, and sometimes she just sat there, staring out into the darkness. She always made room for him when he came, but they never talked. At first, Harry had been harrowing himself every time, trying to say something fitting, smart or comforting, but after he had given up, he felt more at ease sitting next to Cho on her window sill. Words were not needed here; it was all right just to sit in silence. If she did not want him to come, Harry reasoned, she could have found herself another niche. Neither had he ever asked her to make room for him, so he believed she did not mind him coming to see her.

Would she mind tonight, the night before they would meet as opponents on the Quidditch pitch? Harry wondered as he turned into the dark hallway. Of course, she might not even be there; maybe she was sitting in Ravenclaw Hall, getting ready for the game, surrounded by her many friends. Suddenly Harry realised that there was someone talking down the hallway. He stopped dead to listen.

"C'mon, Cho, you've got to pull yourself together! This is our one chance to win the Cup! If we beat Gryffindor, that is." Harry identified the eager and impatient voice as that of Roger Davies, the Ravenclaw Quidditch captain. It seemed he had found Cho in her secret (or maybe not so secret) hiding place - Harry knew her voice at once when she replied wearily:

"I know, Roger, I know. I promise I will do my best tomorrow."

"Yes, but what is your best, I wonder? The best we got from you two years before, which was pretty good, or the best we got this year, which certainly wouldn't suffice against Gryffindor - which one will it be?"

"Roger, I told you I'll give you my best. You know that I'm not the person I was two years ago, so it's no good promising to you I will be someone I'm not. You know I work hard, not only on the pitch, but also ... " her voice trailed off.

"You've been telling us the same crap for months now, and I'm not buying it anymore, Cho. Okay, your Pretty Boy is dead, and you're off to cry your eyes out once more. You've got my sympathy, all of our sympathy. You got tons of sympathy from the whole school, actually. I respect your loss. But if you are not able to perform your duties as Seeker of a winning team, you should step down. Should have stepped down months ago so we could have trained someone else for tomorrow, for the match that really matters." Davies sounded bitter.

"Are you kicking me out then?" Cho asked. Harry had expected that she would start crying, but if he heard right, she did not. She just sounded flat and hopeless. Suddenly Harry realised that he hated Roger Davies with wild ferocity; his fists clenched. For a moment, he wondered if he should walk up to them and challenge Davies to a wizards' duel, but of course that would have been silly, if not to say not good sports.

"As I said, kicking you out tonight would do me a hell of a lot of good, Cho," Davies said sarcastically. "I'm blaming myself for believing you when you assured me you'd pull yourself together in no time at all. You didn't, not one bit. Today's practice was crap, Cho, it was really crap. You were crap. I can't believe you will permit yourself to be beaten by that stupid midget Potter again."

Harry held his breath. Would Cho accept Davies' view of him?

"Envious of his talent, Davies?" Cho said dryly.

Davies snorted. "Of that little prat?"

Cho sighed, then replied soberly: "Ok, Roger, you are the captain of my team. Within reasonable limit, I do what you tell me. When you criticise me, even unfairly, I accept it and try to improve myself according to your suggestions. But that doesn't mean I have to agree with everything you say."

"As the captain of your team, I'm telling you, go to bed now and stop snivelling about what can't be changed anymore. I'm also telling you that you better catch the Snitch tomorrow, or I won't be captain of your team any longer. I hope I've made myself clear." Davies' voice sounded hard and angry.

"I know you won't be captain of my team next year, Davies, because you're taking your NEWTs this year," Cho replied, but she sounded so hurt that Harry thought he felt the pain in his own heart.

"That's not what I mean, babe," Davies said sarcastically. "I've talked to the others, and they agree with me. Either you catch the Snitch, or it will be the reserve bench for you next year, if anything at all. You don't need me to be there in person to kick you out - the next captain can do that just as well, and trust me, the next captain won't be you. I'm only telling you this for your own good so you don't get the wrong impression. And now hurry up to bed, child, so you'll be your usual cheerful self tomorrow." The last words did not sound any kinder than the ones that had preceded them. Harry heard a thump which probably meant that Cho had glided off the high window sill. Then he heard steps of two people walking off into the other direction. If Roger Davies ordered Cho to come, she came, it seemed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning dawned friendly and brightly. Finally, late March had brought a few definite proofs that the winter had passed, proofs such as tender green leaves or, as today, blue, sunlit skies. Harry greeted the special day by ceremonially shaving off the few stubbles that had started to show on his cheeks and chin. Angelina practically danced down to breakfast, infecting everyone with her good spirits. Unlike Oliver Wood, she must know a secret way to ban all thoughts of nervousness right before the game and to spread an optimistic mood, a quality that Harry appreciated very much in his team captain. Even Ron seemed to have slept soundly; considering the situation, he seemed to be coping well. Fred and George had decided more than two weeks ago that any bickering would not help their little brother to become a better keeper, and were actually rather supportive that morning, telling him he would uphold the family honour on the pitch. At breakfast, everyone was eating, another good sign. Harry was starting to look forward to the game.

Before he knew it, he was slipping his scarlet Quidditch robe over his head, gripping his Firebolt, and was ready for the game. Fred, George and Ron, their flaming red hair clashing a bit with their Gryffindor scarlet robes, each clutched a Comet 97, 'sponsored by Drifter', as Ginny had said. The three Chasers knocked on the boys' changing room door to meet for a pep talk.

"Alright, we worked hard, and we're going to make it work for us now," Angelina told them.

"All I ever hear in this school is work, work, work," George commented, but nobody paid particular attention to him.

"We're going to win this match, because we are the best team of the school," Angelina said, beaming. Harry believed her on the spot. Of course they would win - who else could? For the fraction of a second, Cho's face floated before his inner eye, but disappeared from his sight when Angelina clasped Ron around the shoulders.

"You are going to do just fine," she told him.

Ron turned beet red and did not reply. Harry guessed that he hated to be singled out at this particular moment. Fred did not seem to like it either, because he gave Ron a bit of a frown when Angelina hugged his little brother.

They walked out onto the pitch, welcomed by loud cheering. From the other side approached the Ravenclaw team, dressed in blue Quidditch robes. Harry could recognise Cho from afar. She was the only girl on the team and by far the smallest of them. While she walked towards the middle of the field with her team, her straight, black hair fell into her face. As she approached, Harry thought she looked ill. Suddenly he did not feel so well himself, especially when he saw Davies, tall, good-looking and arrogant, say something to her. Cho nodded, looking quite unhappy. Just before the Ravenclaw team came so close that their conversation could have been overheard, they stopped. Davies turned his head to look Harry directly in the eyes. He sneered.

"Davies, Johnson, shake hands!" Madam Hooch was in her best mood; her grey hair glistened in the sunshine. Angelina gave Davies one of her most confident 'I'm a good sport and an excellent player'-smiles and shook his hand with such vigour that Davies tried to withdraw it prematurely. On the blow of Madam Hooch's whistle, the teams shot in the air like two flocks of colourful birds. As always, the responsibility to comment the match lay with Lee Jordan.

"And it's Lovegood in possession, passing the Quaffle in a neat long throw to - oops, that was a Bludger. So sorry, Lovegood, now it's Bell in possession. Neat backwards pass to Rhonda Celps, who has obviously caught up quickly with the highly successful Gryffindor team. And Celps approaches the scoring area, passes the Quaffle to Johnson, nice backwards swirl to avoid a Stooging foul. Johnson comes from below, thr- no, that was a fake - oops, here comes the Quaffle, past Ravenclaw Keeper Hengert, through the right loop - yes, she scores, Gryffindor scores!! Well done, girls, these practice moves seem to pay off.

"And it's - now what? Oh, Davies is calling for time out because Lovegood claims he's been injured by that Bludger. Well, TOUGH LUCK, Lovegood - er, sorry, Professor McGonagall. Lovegood gets a potion from Madam Pomfrey, and - off we go again. And it's Peasegood in possession, passing to Staggon. All three Chasers are approaching the Gryffindor goal post now, oh, watch it Ron, whooaa! Yes, we get to see some Weasley action here. Each of the twins got a Bludger in front of their bats, beats me where they got them from that quickly, but that's the Weasley twins for you. And blam, blam, Staggon and Peasegood are thrown off course, well, too bad, boys. Lovegood aims the Quaffle at the middle hoop, but thank goodness we've got another Weasley, and yes, he saved it, he saved it!!"

Harry watched the game from high above, keeping his eyes out for the Snitch. He was pleased to see Ron ward off the first attempt on the Gryffindor goal and grinned when he saw Professor McGonagall place a calming hand on the overenthusiastic Lee's shoulder. The Gryffindor Chasers were better than ever, he realised: They moved in a red swarm or forked out but were always aware of the location and intention of the others. Whenever there was a Quaffle to pass, there was someone waiting in the exact right spot to catch the pass. Somehow, Angelina's training methods had succeeded. Fred and George never seemed to need any training; they had probably worked as a team from the day they were born, and of course, Beater was the perfect position for each of them. If only Ron kept his nerve, everything would be fine!

Cho circled over the pitch with what looked like laziness, but Harry, who had watched her flying style closely during her last two matches, knew that hers was the method of a bird of prey. Suddenly he wondered if maybe she could see better than him, if she would discover the Snitch before him. If only he wasn't near-sighted, he thought; glasses could only take you so far in correcting your eyesight. For a second, he longingly thought of Hawk Potion or of something else that would magically correct his eyesight.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a slight twitch in Cho's flowing movement and knew instantly that she was going to dive. He turned the tip of his Firebolt towards the green lawn far below and dived alongside, even though he was sure she was faking. Well, if this was her version of a Wronskei Feint, she certainly wouldn't trick him into hitting the floor, that much was certain, he thought as he sped towards the ground, turning very slightly so that he would be blocking her when they approached whatever her aim was.

As if from a great distance, Harry could hear the screams of the audience as they watched them dive. He had easily caught up with Cho; they were flying shoulder to shoulder. One look at her face told him that she looked very decided, and also, that she was not looking at him. By now, he was sure she was faking; the Snitch was nowhere in sight.

When the ground came dangerously close she suddenly whirled around him, and off she went. Harry, who had turned too quickly, could only pull off just before he slammed into the lawn below. The crowd was on their feet, screaming with excitement, before they realised that all they had seen was a half-successful feint. At least we are providing some entertainment today, Harry thought grimly as he tore after Cho.

"And it's thirty-forty for Gryffindor, Celps in possession. And here comes Davies - uh oh - looks like he's going to Blatch her. Ouch, looks like that hurt. Looked like a foul to me, but who am I to argue? So, of course, it's Staggon in possession now. There come the Weasley twins, Terry Boot approaching from the other side. What are you doing there, boys, having a bit of a private Beater brawl? These bats are for hitting Bludgers, not Beaters, boys - uh oh - anyway, in the meantime Staggon is approaching the Gryffindor goal and - Yes, that was another rather neat save from Ronald Weasley, the youngest player of a family that has no peer in the history of the last few decades of Gryffindor Quidditch teams!"

Just when Harry cast a look over the pitch down at youngest player of a family that had no peer et cetera, he saw the Snitch hover over Ron's head. He nudged the Firebolt into the fastest speed it could manage. Lee Jordan's excited comments about "the fastest acceleration this pitch has seen this year" whirled by his ears as he gave all he could: From the other side of the pitch, Cho Chang came flying, and if he did not manage to outfly her, she would block him. Harry flattened himself towards the handle of his broomstick. The Snitch was in the mood for a race as well, it seemed; just as Harry came close enough to see its fluttering wings, it zoomed away in a sharp curve. Harry followed, the curve bringing him in line with the twig ends of Cho's broom. Catching up might be difficult - Harry knew Cho flew well, and she did not seem willing to give up now. Although her Comet 90 might not be the world's fastest broomstick, she certainly used it as if it was a part of her body, not just a tool.

Again, the snitch changed direction. Cho turned her broom abruptly to adjust, causing Harry to slam into her. As both were well used to such incidents, neither needed much time for recovery. Harry realised he now had a tiny advantage over Cho, and he was going to use it. The clash must have affected her more than him; he was gaining on her inch by inch - he was level with her - the tip of his broomstick was ahead of hers - he was on his way to the Snitch.

The small golden ball was not willing to let anyone catch it - it changed height and direction again and again, but Harry knew he as good as had it. His fingertips touching the metal of the ball, the fluttering wings beating against his palm were familiar sensations. Just as he was closing his fist around the Snitch, he saw Cho catch up with him, her eyes burning. Then something strange happened to his hand. It was as if a tiny beak like that of the little bird the Snitch was modelled after picked at his hand. Just between his forefinger and his middle finger, something sharp tried to force its way through. Before he could properly close his fist the Snitch fluttered, flustered and then slipped out of his half-closed hand and flew right into Cho's outstretched palm.

The next few moments blurred in his mind. He couldn't believe what had just happened - he had caught the Snitch, had held it in his hand and then released it like a stupid beginner! Cho held up the Snitch in a gesture of triumph, but her face was pale and expressionless. She seemed to look right through him. And while her team mates came flying towards her to embrace and celebrate her, while Lee Jordan was swearing so badly that Professor McGonagall had to wrench the magic megaphone from him, while the Gryffindor Quidditch team came over to stare at Harry incomprehensibly, Harry just shook his head in disbelief. It had to be a dream, he had to wake up any minute now. But it wasn't a dream, it was just that something happened which Harry had never expected: He had made an immensely stupid blunder in an important Quidditch match, a blunder which had cost his house the Quidditch Cup.

The teams descended to the ground. Over the crowd, Harry could see a number of blue Quidditch scarves hover, magically suspended by their overjoyed owners. "Ravenclaw, Ravenclaw!" people shouted. The Ravenclaw team flew a round of honour around the stadium while Professor Dumbledore walked onto the pitch, holding the shiny Quidditch cup.

Harry looked away from the celebrating Ravenclaws. When his feet touched the ground, he could see his team mates land around him. They did not look like they found any of it funny. If he only could have Disapparated on the spot! Nobody said a word. Eyes downcast, the Gryffindor team walked back to the changing rooms. On their way, they passed Hagrid, Hermione and Ginny, who waved kindly but, of course, not overly enthusiastically. At Hermione's feet, Harry could see a huge, black dog. He quickly looked away, feeling as if someone had poured lead into his intestines. If anything had been missing to make him feel like dying of shame, it had to be Sirius' watching his defeat. Somehow, this was worse than anything else, worse even than the discussion that would follow in the changing rooms.

"Harry, are you out of your mind?" George yelled as soon as the door of the changing rooms had closed behind them.

"What in Merlin's name happened?" Katie Bell shrieked. "You had that Snitch, and then you lost it, right? How can you release a Snitch that you are holding in your hand?"

"Damn it, Harry, you lost us that stupid Cup," Fred said and placed his broad-shouldered frame right in front of him. He looked very angry. Ron stood right behind him, apparently lost for words.

"Hey, leave it for now, people!" That was Angelina's voice, and it was louder than everybody else's. She put a hand on Fred's shoulders and turned him around, then placed herself in the middle of the small group, hands on her hips. "Alright, we are all very upset and disappointed right now. So am I, and so is Harry, I believe. But let's pull ourselves together, let's change, take a shower and talk things over like civilised people up in the Common Room later. Yelling at people doesn't change a thing, and besides, upset or not, we are supposed to be a team, so let's behave like one."

For a moment, nobody said a word. Angelina glowered at Fred, who looked down at the floor. Abruptly, Katie Bell and Rhonda Celps turned on their heels and headed off to the girls' changing room. Angelina gave each of the boys another hard, 'I am the boss'-look, then strode out after them.

Harry and the three Weasleys showered and changed in an odd, menacing silence. They will all hate me now, a voice in Harry's head said. Miserable as he was, Harry was unwilling to believe that voice. Ron would not hate him, right? But then he looked over to Ron who was just tying his shoelaces, Ron looked away.

Harry dawdled with his clothes and with his shoes until the three Weasleys had left the changing room. When he was alone, he sat down on the wooden bench that ran along the walls, leant back and closed his eyes for a minute. Still he wished to Disapparate, to disappear from the face of the earth, but he knew there was no chance for that. Slowly he packed his things, lingering even now to make sure he could walk up to the castle alone.

She was waiting for him outside, and to his shock Harry saw that she looked angry - angrier even than his team mates. Her eyes glowered at him.

"What the heck do you think you were doing out there?" she hissed at him. "Do you think you were helping me with your generous gesture? Worthless old Cho, can't even catch the Snitch for herself, that's what they'll say, that's what you must think, too. Thank you very much indeed!"

He was confused, and once more, words were hard to find. "It was a mistake," he finally said. "I wasn't helping you, I just didn't get a proper grip on the Snitch."

"Yeah, right. The famous Harry Potter can't hold on to a Snitch, that's the first I've heard of that!" She still looked angry, but Harry saw there were tears in her eyes.

"I can't help being famous, or stupid, for that matter," he replied stubbornly. "Go and celebrate, and leave me alone."

She had turned away, and he realised she was crying. Before that day, he had never touched her or talked to her when she cried, but now he went to her, put his arms around her and pulled her close. She put her head on his shoulder and sobbed quietly. "I'm sorry, Harry," she whispered through her tears. Then she dug into her pocket for a clean handkerchief and wiped her face. Harry did not take his arms away. When she looked at him, her face faintly flushed from crying, he closed his eyes and kissed her. Her lips were soft and warm, and she did not protest. Harry could smell shampoo and herb-scented broom polish oil on her hair and skin; her breath tingled on his face. His heart seemed to throb in his ears and in the tip of his nose which once or twice touched hers. Heat flooded his body. Finally, he felt her draw away, so he opened his eyes again.

"I'm sorry, Harry. I'm not sure if I'm ready for this..." She looked down his robe, and he could see her eyes brim with tears again. "I'm confused, and I don't know what I want, or who I am, and when I wake up in the morning, it feels like the world isn't even real and I don't exist at all."

Taken aback by this disquieting revelation, Harry slowly released her from his embrace. "It's okay, Cho," he said awkwardly. "I understand." The moment he said it, he knew that both of his statements were untrue.

Cho wiped her eyes ferociously, looking rather small and lost. "I suppose we better get to the castle," she said in a slightly choked voice. Harry nodded. Both took up their bags and walked up the path in silence. They crossed the Entrance Hall and went up a flight of steps until Harry had to go one way and Cho another.

"I'm sorry about your blunder, you know," Cho said softly. "I think bad luck is all it was. You were there first, and you should have won. I shouldn't have caught the Snitch in the first place, but I reacted without thinking."

Harry did not know what to answer - yes, he had been there first, but had the Snitch taken another course during its flight, he knew, she might just as well have gotten to it first. So he only shook his head mutely.

"Goodnight then, Harry," Cho said and turned to leave.

"Goodnight, Cho," Harry replied, but just before she disappeared into the hallway, he called her back.

"Cho?"

"Yes?" She turned.

"If you think...er...if you ever think you are ready, could you maybe - well, let me know?"

She smiled, and it was as if a cloud had blown away from his heart. "Yes, I will," she replied before she headed off to the Cup Celebrations which were likely to be held for her right now in Ravenclaw Hall.

The closer Harry got to Gryffindor Tower, the less he wanted to enter it. He was sure he had never felt as confused before. In his head there seemed to be a number of Harrys, and they all shouted something different. One of them was overjoyed, singing: 'I kissed her, I kissed her!' Another one wanted to crawl into his four-poster, if not into a tightly sealed box, and, well, cry, because obviously Cho did not want his love. Harry number three wished to mount his broom and fly away, never to return to the Gryffindor Common room where he would now be held in contempt. A fourth Harry felt like running up a few flights of steps, like hitting a few things with a Beater's bat and like screaming at the top of his voice, preferably at the complete idiot who had let go of a Snitch that was already in his hand. Finally, when his heavy feet had drawn him up to the Fat Lady, he managed to come up with a fifth Harry, a stubborn one. Okay, he had made a very foolish mistake. It could not be changed anymore, but running away would not help either; it would only look cowardly. He straightened his posture and braced himself for the ordeal to come. "Diricawl," he said to the Fat Lady.

"Good luck, my boy," she replied in a rather unconvincing tone when she opened up for him. Harry felt his heart sink. Even the Portrait knew what had happened.

When he entered the Common Room, all conversation stopped abruptly. Every Gryffindor in the room turned to look at him. Quills were dropped, pages were bookmarked, and Exploding Snap cards were put aside. In a dark corner, his team was sprawled on six squashy armchairs, the girl front along one wall, the Weasley front along the other. Ginny, Hermione and Neville sat on padded stools by the fireplace, each with a pile of books on their lap. Seamus, Dean, Parvati and Lavender leant against the wall and did not even try to stare anything but openly.

Harry looked at his Quidditch team in apprehension. He knew he should walk over to them and apologize for his blunder. He should give them the chance to let their anger fly at him. But when he looked at George's and Fred's unforgiving stares, when he saw Angelina, Katie and Rhonda whisper among themselves, when Ron beckoned to him as if he had the right to order him around, Harry felt stubbornness take hold of him. Ignoring them he made for the door of the boys' dormitories. He wanted to be alone, and even though he was guilty of making a stupid mistake on the Quidditch pitch, he felt he still had a right to be alone when he felt like it.

"Hey, Harry!" The voice that called him back from the dormitories' door was Hermione's. He turned around and saw that she had pulled up a stool for him next to hers. "You are not going back to sleep, are you?"

Everyone in the Common Room laughed at him. He wanted to shout an angry reply back at Hermione, but then he saw that she was blushing. 'I didn't mean it that way,' she mouthed at him apologetically. Again, Harry felt that all eyes were on him. He walked back to the fireplace and sat down on the stool that was waiting for him there.

As if by pre-arrangement, Ginny and Neville turned their attention back to their schoolbooks. Hermione smiled and waited until a general murmur had filled the Common Room. The Gryffindor students were talking among themselves again, probably talking about Harry, but at least they were not staring at him any longer. "You're not getting all worked up over a game, are you?" Hermione asked him softly.

"If I wasn't, I'd be the only one in this room," Harry said darkly.

"Oh, never mind them!" Hermione turned her eyes heavenwards, then waved her hand as if she could wipe away the whole Common Room full of Quidditch-crazy Gryffindors. "They are silly and childish. Sports are not about winning, they are about Sports, about fitness, fairness and fun, as the Muggles say. In my opinion, getting angry if someone of your team makes a little mistake is about neither of the three, but plain out stupid."

Harry shook his head at her strange point of view. "My little mistake cost us the Cup. This must be the worst blunder of my life." He hugged his legs and buried his nose between his knees when he felt the shame well up in him again.

Hermione made a face at him and impatiently tapped her quill on her books. "Worst blunder of your life, indeed! If so, you should think yourself very lucky."

"I hate mistakes. I really do." Harry sighed. "So does my team, I suppose. They will never forgive me. I should go over to them right now and resign my post as Seeker." He put his feet back on the ground and tried to rise from his stool, but Hermione pulled him back down.

"Think before you act, silly," she said in a very patronising voice. "Is Ron going to hate you? Fred and George? What about Angelina?"

Harry carefully turned his head just far enough so he could see his team from the corner of his eyes. They did not look very forgiving; in fact, he had the impression they looked sulky. When Ron's gaze caught his, Harry hurried to turn his head back to Hermione.

"Come on, let's go and see Snuffles," Hermione suggested quietly to make sure that nobody except Harry and perhaps the order members Ginny and Neville would hear her.

Harry shook his head vigorously and almost shouted: "No way, I'm not going there!" He wondered what Sirius was thinking about him now. Since Sirius had told him that he flew as good as his father, Harry had tried to live up to that expectation. Today he had proven right before his godfather's eyes that he was rubbish at Quidditch, that he couldn't be entrusted with the responsibilities of a Seeker. "I don't think I could face him now," he explained a lot more softly.

"Oh, Harry! Do you really think people only like you if you don't make any mistakes?" Hermione seemed positively upset. Harry shrugged.

"He might be quite offended if you didn't go to see him, if not to say hurt. Do you think he will say: 'Harry, you're not my godson anymore because you are not the world's best flyer, because you're not perfect?' I mean, think about Sirius for a moment." Hermione lowered her voice until it was barely audible, and she kept her eyes on the floor. "Sirius once made a mistake, too, a mistake that was much worse than anything anybody could ever do on a Quidditch pitch. Where would he be if people hadn't forgiven him for that - Dumbledore, Lupin, and you most of all?"

For a moment, the world seemed to swim before Harry's eyes. Then he smiled at her, very grateful for her words. Trust Hermione to put everything into perspective! It wasn't really that he really had to be reminded that there were things in life much more important than Quidditch - it was just that between team spirit, Cho Chang's black eyes and the treacherously slippery Snitch, he had forgotten for a while. And even though, paradoxically, Hermione had reminded him that the world could be a terrible and dangerous place, Harry felt as if she had lifted the weight from his mind rather than adding to it: The evilness of the world was something he thought he could handle much better than disappointing people he cared about. For a fleeting second, he thought of Cedric, but banned him from his thoughts, because there was only so much he could take in a single day.

Hermione must have realised that she had made him feel better. She smiled back at him in a self-assured way and shifted in her seat, dislocating her rather high pile of books so that half of it toppled over. Suddenly Harry saw what Hermione was keeping hidden under her books.

"Hey, that's my parents' old log! What are you doing with it?"

Hermione blushed. She pulled the Spellsearchers' log out from beneath her Arithmancy book and leafed through the pages for a moment. Then she handed it back to Harry.

"I asked Ron to get it out of the boys' dormitory for me," she explained. "Please forgive me for not asking you instead if I could have it. See ... there was something I wanted to check, but I did not want to attract too much attention, because I wasn't quite sure. Now I am. I'm sorry for taking it without your permission."

Harry tried to make sense of her words. "What are you sure about?" he asked.

"Well..." Hermione avoided his eyes. "See, Harry, I suppose I have to tell you something about your mother - something you won't like to hear."

His mother? Harry's stomach had just approached the point of settling back to the place it belonged. Now it took another sudden plunge downwards. "Tell me about my mother, then," he said, feeling apprehensive.

"Well, er, to tell you the truth...."

"Hermione, will you please speak up?" He was getting quite impatient.

"Okay, Harry. Your mother was...not quite as brilliant in Arithmancy as everybody believed. The Spellsearchers' log is full of her mistakes."

Harry wasn't quite sure where this was going. He had expected to hear something more dramatic. "So?" he asked.

"So, the counter curses your parents and Sirius tried just couldn't work," Hermione explained. "From an Arithmantic point of view, their curses and counter curses were completely mismatched in power and direction. The mistakes your mother made in the very beginning of their research phase were never checked by anybody, so they permeated every basic assumption of the project. I'm really sorry about it, Harry."

Harry shook his head in disbelief. "That's nothing to be sorry about," he said. "As a matter of fact, it sounds great! If you found these mistakes, it means we can fix them - at least, you may be able to. This may be the crucial breakthrough that Sirius and Lupin are looking for! Why should I mind that?"

"You just said you hated mistakes," Hermione said slowly. "I didn't want to tell you something about your mother that would make you think worse of her."

"But everybody makes mistakes! I'm sure she did her best, and meant well and...." The words died on his lips. He had meant well, too, and done his best - and had made a mistake.

"Are you still sure you don't want to go and see Sirius?" Hermione asked him with a faint smile on her lips. "We could give him this, you know." She pointed at the Spellsearchers' log. "And I really think he will be offended if you don't go and see him."

Harry shrugged. "I suppose you're right. Let's go." Without heeding the angry looks from their fellow Gryffindors any longer, Harry and Hermione got up and left the Common Room. Just as they wanted to close the Portrait behind them, another arm and leg followed them out of the Portrait Hole. It was Ron. He gave Harry a wide, cheeky grin.

"So are you going to exclude me from your friendship from now on because I am a lousy Keeper, or rather because you are a lousy Seeker?"

Harry laughed. Up to now he hadn't seen things this way. "I thought you did rather well today," he said truthfully. "I'm really sorry I ruined that for you."

Ron replied with a shrug the kind of grunt that could be interpreted either as a yes or a no. "Gee, thanks. You know, actually you made me feel a lot better about myself with your little stunt."

Hermione giggled. "You two must be the craziest Quidditch players of the whole school," she said. Then Harry, Ron and Hermione made their way down to the Spellsearchers' Lab.