The Last Days at Hogwarts

The Lent term did not get off to a good start. For a start, the grounds were frozen solid, with periodic snowfalls causing drifts several feet deep in many parts of the grounds. Hagrid had to spend half his day digging out passages through the snow, so that people could get to and from the greenhouses. Herbology suddenly became very popular, as the greenhouses were always well heated. The weather ruled out any hopes of Quidditch practice: getting frostbite by flying around on a broom in this weather did not appeal. Even the lake seemed to freeze solid, causing Hermione to fret as to whether the giant squid would be all right under the ice.

"Don't worry, Hermione," said Ron cheerfully, "they must have had weather as bad as this before, and it's still here to tell the tale."

Hermione wasn't entirely re-assured by this.

They were being set homework after homework, all of which seemed interminably long - Goblin essays for Wynne, camouflage charms from Flitwick, antidote potions for Snape.

"There's only one good thing about this," snarled Ron, looking at his two foot parchment for Snape, "and that's the thought he's got to read it all through."

"Correcting it might take some time," said Hermione sweetly.

Ron glared at her.

The thaw, when it came, came with a roar of wind and rain from the Atlantic. At first the rain froze to the ground, but then the warmer winds began melting the snow and ice in flowing torrents. Slowly the ice cleared even from the lake.

This meant they could get out and practice on the Quidditch pitch, although Harry wasn't always sure whether he preferred the snow or the rain. Gryffindor were not in the next match, which was between Hufflepuff and Slytherin, whose team was much depleted now. Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle had been allowed back to school, but under very rigorous conditions: they emerged from their dungeons only for lessons. They even had their meals down there, although they were allowed out for an hour each day for exercise.

"Can't say I really miss them," said Ron. "After all, something good had to come out of that business."

He was still smarting slightly from the way Theo Nott had fooled him, and all the rest of them, when he'd joined the Defence Group last term.

And something else was looming now: the competition for the Cedric Diggory cup. Harry had presented this anonymously - only Hermione had found out so far - for the First Year Quidditch championships. Ron was in his element here.

His latest ploy was to get the senior and junior teams out together, and match each player against the other - junior Chaser with senior Chaser, and so on - whilst they practiced their routines. As Harry and Ron had found with the Defence Group, if you're having to teach something, you have to understand it yourself first. Explaining their moves to the juniors made the seniors think about what they were trying to achieve.

Ron spent hours training his teams, and Harry could see Hermione looking at him rather anxiously at times, obviously wondering whether he was getting any work done. But Harry knew that Ron handed in all his essays on time, and had made time to work on the practical lessons too.

The Hufflepuff versus Slytherin game had been a long, drawn out event. Neither side pulled ahead on goals, and the Snitch proved very elusive - or the Seekers too inexperienced to find it. The sun was on the horizon by the time the Hufflepuff Seeker made his dive, and by that time they were playing to a very chilled audience.

The first Gryffindor game of the term was against Ravenclaw. Harry knew the opposition were good, and it proved to be a hard, fast game. Catching the Snitch turned out to be more of an accident than anything else: Harry was using the superior acceleration of his Firebolt to pull away from the Ravenclaw Seeker when the Snitch appeared under his nose.

"I reckon they were our strongest opposition," said Ron, as they walked back to the changing rooms. "If we've beaten them, then we're in with a chance for the cup."

Harry agreed - but he knew the game could be unpredictable. "We'll wait and see," he said, as he began changing out of his Quidditch robes.

"Think positive," said Ron.

"At the moment, I'm too tired to think of anything very much."

Ron hung up his robes. "No partying tonight. I've Snape's essay to finish."

"Me too."

"Come on then. You know, I've two ambitions this term."

"What are those then?"

"To win the Cup, and beat Hermione in Potions."

"Yeah, right. Dream on."

* * *

'Proven Success! How to Ward Your House Against Dark Wizards! A Guide by Maps Macs! Only 9 Galleons!'

Harry was so bored at breakfast that morning he was reduced to reading the small ads in the Prophet. He had skimmed the main articles - 'New Look for St Mungo's!' 'Tips for the House Proud Witch!' - and was leafing through the rest of the paper whilst finishing his toast.

"Mr. Potter!"

A voice came from behind his shoulder. He looked round to see Professor McGonagall bearing down on him. He stood up hastily.

"Professor?"

She looked past him towards Dean, a serious expression on her face.

"The Minister has requested a meeting with the two of you at ten o'clock this morning. He apologises for the short notice."

This morning? "Um - we should be having Potions then."

Professor McGonagall sighed. "I know. But you know Ministers - any request from them cannot be ignored for Potions classes. I will tell Professor Snape the reason for your absence."

Ah, well, a silver lining ... Harry didn't think he'd miss Snape - nor the reverse.

"Can you tell us what it's about, Professor?" asked Dean.

"I'm afraid I cannot. I can make some guesses, but it is probably wiser to wait and see. In the meantime, if you would like to put on some other robes and come to my study at nine?"

"Yes, Professor."

Hermione looked at Professor McGonagall as she walked away. "Must be about Nott," she said.

Harry shrugged. "Probably."

Theo Nott was in the Ministry gaols for his part in the kidnapping of Dean's parents and girlfriend.

"Missing Snape," said Dean, and smiled. "A real hardship, that."

Hermione frowned. "If you're going to be away all morning, you'll miss more than Potions."

"Ah. Better and better," said Dean brightly.

Harry could see the expression on Hermione's face. "Don't wind her up any more," he said wearily.

"Well, you know that ..."

"... NEWTS are in four months time," chorused Harry, Ron and Dean in unison.

"Boys!" she hissed, turning back to her copy of the Prophet.

Ron winked at Harry, who grinned back.

"Well," said Dean practically, "school robes?" Harry knew that as a Muggle born, Dean was unlikely to have any others. He raised an eyebrow at him. "I've got my Apprentice robes now," said Dean, taking his meaning.

"You just want a chance to wear them again," grinned Harry.

"Yeah," admitted Dean, "there is that."

"Fair enough. Okay then - let's go and change."

Dean turned to Ron. "Enjoy Potions."

"As if."

Hermione gave Dean a death stare as they walked away.

A little later, they emerged from one of the fireplaces in the Ministry atrium. Harry had managed to come through relatively unscathed; Dean looked as tidy as ever.

"Better check in our wands first," Harry said.

They walked over to one of the security desks, and announced themselves. Harry could see the expression on the man's face: these two youngsters - an appointment with the Minister? Then the penny dropped: he realised who they were.

"Ah, right," he said. "I was here the night when you two - well, dropped in." This was after their escape from Voldemort. "Your parents really are Muggles?" he asked Dean.

"Yeah," he replied, handing over his wand.

"Caused a right commotion, I can tell you."

"That so?"

Harry sensed Dean was being deliberately taciturn, and the man handed them back their wands and a visitor's pass without further comment.

"Do you know the way?" Dean whispered to Harry.

"No problem."

He knew his way around most of the corridors - but not all of them yet. However, the route to the Minister's office was a well trodden path. They were both fairly anonymous in their robes, but having had your face plastered all over the Prophet time and again didn't really help. Harry was conscious of the double takes as he passed people going the other way down the corridors, but was slowly learning the skill of keeping his eyes straight ahead. Not making eye contact meant that it was that much more difficult for people to try and stop him. He would have let Dean lead the way if it hadn't meant getting lost.

They stopped at the impressive doors to the Minister's suite of offices. Harry knocked, then opened the door. The receptionist looked up, looked at them quizzically, then realised who they were.

"Harry Potter and Dean Thomas?" They nodded. "Do you mind taking a seat for the moment? I'd send you through to Mr Weasley's office, but he's with the Minister at the moment."

"Oh. Right, fine."

Harry smiled at her, then turned and saw Dean looking at some of the portraits. One of them leaned forward in his frame. He could see others peering over his shoulder.

"How are your parents, lad?"

"Um - fine," replied Dean, startled.

"Quite a surprise, seeing them in here."

"Don't worry - they were a bit surprised too."

Whatever response the portrait was expecting, it wasn't that. But before they could say more, the door to the Minister's office opened, and Mr Weasley came out.

"Ah - Harry, Dean. Good to see you again. Would you like to come through?"

He held the door open for them, and Harry and Dean went into the Minister's office.

Arbuthnot, the Minister, was sitting behind his desk. To one side was Kingsley Shacklebolt and someone Harry didn't recognise. Mr Weasley drew up two more chairs, then sat down himself.

"Harry, Dean: thank you for coming here today," Arbuthnot began. "You know Kingsley, and this is Josiah Arkwright from the legal department." Arkwright, a dusty looking man, nodded to them. "As you might have guessed, this concerns the case of Theo Nott.

"Now, Nott has admitted to abducting Mr and Mrs Thomas, and Olive Jackson, but refuses to say more. He insists that he was working alone. Frankly, we don't believe that.

"There is one way of getting the truth from him, which I am sure you are aware of - Veritaserum. Contrary to popular opinion, however, the use of Veritaserum is very tightly controlled. Prying into someone's mind is not something to be done lightly. Mr Arkwright?"

The lawyer nodded, drew breath, and started talking in a voice uncannily like that of Professor Binns.

"Veritaserum can only be used for the most serious of crimes - usually murder. Abduction would not normally fall in that category, but in this case the involvement of He Who Must Not Be Named allows us to, as you might say, upgrade the crime.

"The use of Veritaserum would normally be authorised by the Wizengamot, although that is not something we wish to do in this case. The statutes do allow for an alternative, however, which needs the consent of the Minister and of the victims of the crime.

"But it seems that the particular victims in this case are Muggles, who are not competent to give consent to the administration of the potion."

Harry felt Dean stiffen at that, and Arbuthnot, with his politician's sensitivity, intervened. "No offence to your parents, Dean, but people who are not part of the wizarding world would not have a proper understanding of what might be involved. Conversely, of course, there are many wizards who do not have a full understanding of the Muggle world."

His eyes flickered sideways for a moment to an oblivious Mr Weasley, and Harry and Dean caught his meaning. The three of them had to suppress slight smiles.

"Sorry, Mr Arkwright," the Minister went on. "Would you be so kind as to continue?"

"Thank you, Minister." The lawyer's voice was so uncannily like that of Binns that Harry had the distinct impression that Dean was giggling quietly to himself.

"On the other hand," the lawyer went on, "the two of you were involved to a considerable degree, and by the nature of the peril in which you were placed, could also count, legally, as victims."

"What Mr Arkwright is saying," Arbuthnot interrupted, "is that you two and myself could sign the form."

"Exactly," said the lawyer.

Harry couldn't help but admire the way Arbuthnot had things set up. After all this, it would be very difficult to refuse to sign. He glanced at Dean, who gave him a slight nod. Harry looked at the Minister and nodded as well.

"Good," said Arbuthnot briskly. "In which case, if I could ask you to sign here ..."

Harry stood up and read through the parchment.

'This document authorises the administration of the Veritaserum by the Magical Law Enforcement Agency to Theodore Nott ...'

There was a space by his name: he picked up the quill and signed. Dean took the quill from him and put his name to the paper. Finally Arbuthnot signed.

"Is everything now in order legally?" he asked Arkwright. The lawyer nodded. "In which case ..." Arbuthnot held the parchment out to Kingsley. The Auror took the paper and stood up.

"I'll go and start the ball rolling."

Arbuthnot nodded. "Fine. Let me know of any problems." He turned to Arkwright. "Thank you for your help and advice."

The lawyer gathered up his papers and parchments, nodded to the Minister, then to Harry and Dean, and followed Kingsley form the room.

Harry wasn't sure whether they were supposed to go, but Arbuthnot hadn't said anything yet. But Dean came in with a question:

"What happens if he refuses to take the potion?"

Arbuthnot sighed. "Well, we're not going to compel him. On the other hand - he doesn't get anything else to drink until he's finished the glass of water with the potion in."

Harry thought about this. A choice between dying of thirst - or taking Veritaserum. Not a great choice, really.

Mr Weasley came in quietly: "Whatever you may think about the method, it's the truth we're after in the end."

"Suppose so," muttered Dean, still not looking terribly convinced.

"And if it ends up with some more potential Death Eaters behind bars ..."

"You think it will?"

Mr Weasley nodded. "If we didn't, we wouldn't have gone to all these lengths."

"The chances are," said Arbuthnot rather delicately, "that it will incriminate some students at Hogwarts. Will that create any problems?"

Harry gave a slight smile. "I don't think I'm a fan of Malfoy's - and apart from a few Slytherins, I don't think anyone else is."

"Fair enough. The last thing we need is for resentments to be created that could result in more trouble for us."

"There aren't many who'd stick up for Malfoy and his cronies - and probably not that many in Slytherin, if the truth were told."

"Well, let's hope not. Anyway, thank you both for coming along today - we'll let you know as soon as we get any results."

"Thanks."

Harry stood up, followed by Dean. Mr Weasley escorted them to the door.

"Give my regards to Ron and to Ginny - keep well yourselves."

"Thanks."

Harry and Dean set off back to the atrium. Harry could tell Dean was worried about something.

"What is it?" he asked quietly.

"Oh, I don't know. All sorts of little things really. I mean, I know why they can't involve Muggles in these things, and that seems fair enough - until it's your own Mum and Dad."

"Would they understand the background behind Veritaserum?"

"Well, I could explain it - but that's not the same, I know. It's difficult - being half in one world and half in the other."

"It gives you an understanding of both."

"I suppose. Otherwise I'd be like Mr Weasley, wouldn't I - being fascinated by 'elecktricity' or whatever."

"Yeah. He's not the best advert for understanding your local Muggle."

Dean sighed. "Well, I hope we don't have to wait too long to find out the results."

They returned their visitors' badges and headed off to the fireplaces. Professor McGonagall's study was empty when they returned: they headed off to Gryffindor tower to change back into school robes. There was only an hour to go before lunch, however, and although they could have caught their last lesson of the morning, decided by tacit consent to cut it. Instead, they used the time practicing their wand work: Dean was going to be doing some demonstrations at the Defence Group that evening.

They related their morning's experience to the others at lunchtime.

"Well, if it finally proves that Malfoy and his gang were involved, I wouldn't worry," Ron said. "I've heard Bill and Dad discussing the new arrangements at Azkaban: the goblins are building some really deep dungeons that should be almost impossible to get out of. After all, Slytherins should be used to dungeons."

"Yes, but imagine spending the rest of your life in a stone cell. At their age too," said Hermione.

"They made their choice - they live with it," Ron replied.

Harry was reminded of something Dumbledore had once said: 'it's our choices that determine who we are ...'

"I know what you're saying," Dean said to Hermione, "but Voldemort had no problem in throwing a Cruciatus curse at me and Olive. And I don't really think he was going to send my parents back unharmed, was he?"

"Oh, I know that. Even so ..." she shuddered. "It's still not a nice thought."

"The other thing is - what's Voldemort going to do now?" asked Dean.

"Make one desperate bid?" said Ron. "Launch an attack on the castle?"

"You really think so?" asked Hermione. "It's well defended against the likes of him."

"What other choice does he have? Slink away? It's not as if he's getting much support from people. I mean, who wants to take the chance of being locked away for the rest of your life?"

Harry thought about this. "I dunno," he said, sighing. "I just want it over."

* * *

They found out the results of the interrogation at supper that evening. There was an air of suppressed tension at the Slytherin table, and it wasn't hard to guess why. A small group of seventh years surrounded a red eyed Pansy Parkinson, but it was difficult to see how the rest were taking it.

"Malfoy wasn't in our Arithmancy class," Hermione told them.

"My guess," said Dean, "is that quite a few of the younger ones would be quite glad to see them gone. I can imagine that Malfoy and his gang would be good at throwing their weight around."

And in the Defence Group meeting that night, not all the Slytherins were there - but most were. Nothing was said by anyone - no one wanted to re open old wounds.

The absence of Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle had an unexpected bonus for Gryffindor: the Quidditch team that Slytherin fielded the next weekend was weak and very inexperienced. It didn't matter that it took Harry four hours to find the Snitch: by that time, Gryffindor were so far ahead that it wouldn't have mattered who caught it. But the points score would help them towards winning the cup.

As they came off the field, Harry joked to Ron: "Maybe that Mirror wasn't wrong after all."

"Mirror?"

"You remember? In our first year?"

"Oh, yeah. Maybe it might have been right about me, but," Ron went on awkwardly, "it wasn't right about you."

Harry walked along in silence for a minute or so.

"Yeah. Maybe you're right." He shrugged. "Still, that was a good win."

"Feeble opposition," said Ron dismissively.

"Maybe. But a win is a win."

"True enough."

And later in the term was another event close to Harry's heart. The Junior Quidditch competition for the Cedric Diggory cup. Harry had presented the cup to the school, but only Hermione, Professor McGonagall and one or two of the other professors knew this.

The competition was to be held between the First Years of each House. Most, of course, had never ridden a broom before coming to Hogwarts, so no one was expecting a particularly high standard. It also meant a lot of coaching from the senior members of the house. Harry and Ron didn't mind this: they had learned during their work for the Defence Group that one of the best ways of mastering a skill was in trying to teach it to others, since, as Ron said: "If you can't do it yourself, how can you teach others to do it?"

The event was to take place over three weekends near the end of term. For the first match, Ravenclaw was drawn against Slytherin.

From the outset, it was clear that quite a few of the players had what might be politely described as rather rudimentary flying skills, and several of the teachers were dispatched to the perimeter of the field ready to arrest the fall of anyone who fell off their broom. Fortunately, they were never called on, but the Bludgers did wreak havoc from time to time, scattering players left and right as they dived across the pitch. The Snitch must have taken pity on the players, since it appeared relatively early on, and allowed itself to be caught by the Slytherin keeper.

The next match was Gryffindor against Hufflepuff, and the winner of that match would play Slytherin in the final. From the outset, it was clear that although Hufflepuff might have been very shaky flyers, they were very determined ones, and they must have put in at least as much practice as Gryffindor. Gryffindor's main asset was a very confident, if minute, Chaser, who could weave past the Bludgers and opposition with enough skill to make the opposite goal, and, sadly, the Hufflepuff Keeper was not as competent as she was enthusiastic. The result was that although the Hufflepuff Seeker snatched the Snitch after three hours of play, Gryffindor's lead meant that they won, albeit by a very small margin.

Benjy Briggs, the diminutive Chaser, solemnly shook hands with the Hufflepuff captain and Madam Hooch, then joined his team, who were enveloped by a crowd of cheering seniors. The team looked completely exhausted: three hours of Quidditch for eleven year olds was hard going. Each member of the team was carried ceremoniously back to the tower on the shoulders of one of the seventh years.

"Fantastic," said Ron, as he dropped Benjy down into an armchair in the common room.

Seamus had organised the party - although the people who probably enjoyed it the least were the team themselves, who fell asleep one by one as the others partied on, and had to be carried up to their dormitories. This didn't stop everyone else having a good time, though.

Gryffindor versus Slytherin: this was going to be an interesting final. Each evening saw the two teams out on their brooms, learning the basic techniques of flying as much as the finer points of Quidditch.

Harry persuaded Ron to give them the Friday night off, and it was a distinctly nervous group of first years sitting at lunch the next day, surrounded as they were by the members of the senior team. They resolutely ignored the Slytherin table, who were looking just as anxious as the Gryffindors.

Ron stood up to escort the team out of the Hall, but Harry tugged his sleeve.

"Remember Oliver Wood?"

"Yeah?"

"Give them space to breath."

Ron looked at the youngsters walking out of the Hall, and then back at Harry. "Suppose so," he said with a rueful grin.

"Come on," said Hermione, taking Ron's arm. "We're going to leave them to it, and find a place in the stands."

"I'm outnumbered, aren't I?"

"You are," said Harry, taking his other arm.

It was already a warm afternoon, with the sun shining down from a steely blue sky. The stands were crowded with spectators, and Harry noticed that most, though not all, of the other houses were supporting Gryffindor.

As soon as the Quaffle was released both teams zoomed in. It was soon clear that one of the main objectives of the Slytherin team was to prevent Benjy getting possession of the Quaffle. It certainly looked like being a hard fought game, although Harry did notice that it was also a clean game: both sides were fighting hard, but there was little fouling, other than that due to inexperienced flying.

After an hour of play, there wasn't much in it, and both sides were beginning to flag somewhat. Ron was obviously becoming hoarse with yelling advice, although Harry reckoned the players were far too wrapped up in the game to take any notice.

And then ... and then ... a golden glimmer. The Gryffindor Seeker had no chance - she was at the wrong end of the pitch. The Slytherin Seeker dived, and came up holding the fluttering Snitch. The groans of Gryffindor were drowned in the excited yellings from the Slytherins.

The two teams spiralled down, dejection written on the faces of the Gryffindors. Madam Hooch took them up to the stand where Professor Dumbledore stood with the Cup. Dumbledore raised his arms, and slowly the whole stadium fell quiet.

Then Dumbledore called: "Would Harry Potter please come up to the stand?"

A buzz ran round the stadium. Harry Potter? When Slytherin had just won? For a moment it looked as though Slytherin were going to start booing, but Snape fixed them with a gimlet eye. Embarrassed, his face glowing red, Harry pushed his way forward and up into the box.

Dumbledore surveyed the stadium.

"You all know that this cup was named after Cedric Diggory, a fine young man, and a fine young Quidditch player. What you do not know was that this cup was presented anonymously by Harry Potter for this competition.

"Harry may have wished to remain anonymous, but I cannot allow a gesture like this to pass unnoticed and unrewarded. I therefore call on him to present the cup to the winners of the competition, the Junior Slytherin team."

Harry gulped and looked hard at Professor Dumbledore, who gazed guilelessly back. Beyond Dumbledore he saw the black eyes of Professor Snape, inscrutable in their gaze. He turned back to the stadium.

"I gave this cup, as Professor Dumbledore has said, in memory of Cedric Diggory. None of the players today will have known Cedric, but he was a worthy opponent and a credit to Hufflepuff House and to Hogwarts.

"May I congratulate the Slytherin team on their victory, won fair and square, and I would like to present the cup to the Slytherin captain, Adam Alavi."

He held the cup out to Alavi, shook hands, then stepped back as Alavi turned and held the cup up to the crowd.

"Nicely done, Harry," murmured Dumbledore, clapping with the rest.

Harry looked at him, not sure whether to be annoyed or amused.

"Thank you, Professor. But warn me next time, okay?"

"Surprise is often useful," Dumbledore replied, before sweeping off with the other teachers.

* * *

Harry let the crowds disperse a little before making his way back to the tower. Inside the common room the team was gathered round Ron. Benjy looked almost in tears, and Harry could swear that Sophie, the Seeker, was about to go the same way. Heads swung round as Harry came in, and he looked at them.

"Well done, all of you," he said quietly. "Okay, you didn't win, but you played a good game of Quidditch. You couldn't have done better. And the Snitch - well," he shrugged, "sorry, Sophie, but you had no chance there. That's the way it goes sometimes. But well done."

"Did you really give that cup?" asked Benjy.

Harry nodded. "Yeah. I didn't really want anyone to know, but Dumbledore - well, you saw what he did."

"Who was Cedric Diggory?" asked Sophie curiously.

Harry remembered she was Muggle born: she wouldn't have read the Prophet with all its lurid articles.

"Cedric was killed three years ago," he said quietly. "Not by Voldemort - but on Voldemort's instructions."

'Kill the spare.'

Now he had their attention. Sophie was obviously itching to ask how, but didn't quite have the nerve.

"What was so stupid," Harry went on, "was that he didn't even need to have been there. He and I both took hold of the TriWizard Cup, at the end of the tournament - but it was a Portkey." He shrugged. "It was me Voldemort wanted, not Cedric. Cedric was just in the way. So he was killed."

There was a horrified silence, and Harry realised what he'd done.

"Look," he said, "let's have that party. Let's have it in honour of a good game, and in Cedric's memory. He'd have wanted that. Okay?"

They nodded as they looked at him. It wasn't the most exuberant of parties, but it helped. A little.

* * *

The party was brought to end by the arrival of suppertime. No one felt like eating much, but it was a good excuse to abandon what was perilously close to becoming a wake. They trooped down the Hall and began tackling their food with varying degrees of enthusiasm, when Harry's attention was drawn to what looked like an argument on the Slytherin table between Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode on the one hand and Blaise Zabini on the other. Zabini was now Head Prefect of Slytherin: he wasn't someone who Harry knew well.

But Zabini reached down under the table, picked something up, and was joined by Adam Alavi - the captain of the Junior Slytherin Quidditch team. As they marched towards the Gryffindor table Harry saw what they were carrying: the Cedric Diggory Cup. Oh no, he groaned to himself. The Gryffindor table fell silent.

Zabini stopped by Harry, with a clearly nervous Alavi. He cleared his throat.

"Um, Potter?"

Harry tried to keep his voice as neutral as possible. "Yes?"

Zabini lifted the cup slightly. "You presented this? To the school?" Harry nodded. Zabini glanced towards Alavi. The smaller boy stepped forward a pace and said in a slightly shaky voice: "We'd like to thank you for that. And for a good game this afternoon." He held out a hand.

Harry took it automatically, and they shook.

"I've heard something about Diggory - my parents know his ... well, a bit anyway."

"You were going to keep quiet about the cup?" Zabini asked curiously.

"Yeah."

"Thought so by the way you looked when Dumbledore called you up." Zabini shrugged. "Anyway, it was a good idea, having a cup for the competition. And you gave us a good game today."

Harry heard a voice from behind him. "Slytherin played well. A clean game."

Harry blinked. It was Ron.

Zabini looked past him. "Thanks." Then he looked back to Harry. "And thanks for the cup."

He turned and went back to the Slytherin table followed by Alavi. The Hall was suddenly filled with the buzz of voices. Harry looked up to the top table: Snape had been watching all this, his face unreadable as ever.

Hermione was looking at Ron as though he'd grown two heads.

"Well," Ron said, "what is it?"

"I didn't believe my ears," said Hermione in a hushed voice.

Ron looked down at his plate, his freckles almost camouflaged by the redness of his face.

"Well, it was true, wasn't it? It was a good game. And they played a clean one, too."

"If this sort of thing goes on," said Dean, "you'll be asking Millicent Bulstrode out next."

Ron placed his knife and fork together with dignity, and stood up.

"There are limits to everything, you know," he said gravely, and he gave a quick smile, turned, and walked out.

* * *

The Junior Championship was a fitting end to the term. With only the final of the Senior competition left to be played next term, they could concentrate on their revision for the end of term tests - effectively a practice run for their NEWTS. Hermione, of course, produced the top score of the year, but Ron and Harry weren't far behind. Their work on the Defence Group meant that their Defence Against the Dark Arts marks were nothing short of astronomical, and even the setting of a fiendishly difficult potion making exam by Snape didn't hold them back that far. They left for the station with their trunks laden down with books for their final Easter revision.

* * *