Snakes and Lions

Games and Strategies

Harry woke early on Saturday morning. After the second time Neville started snoring, Harry gave up on getting back to sleep. He dressed and went down to common room, then realized he couldn't leave on his own. When he thought it was late enough, he knocked on Hermione's door.

"Hermione?"

To his surprise, the door opened.

"You're up?"

"Yes, I was just studying. What do you want?"

Harry ducked his head. "Um... breakfast?"

They walked down to breakfast together, and sat at a nearly empty table. Jason Wilkens, one of the Gryffindor Chasers, was there, as was Zoe Grey, another Chaser. Harry recognized three members of the Ravenclaw team at the Ravenclaw table. Cho, the Ravenclaw Seeker and captain, who had been Harry's girlfriend briefly, the previous spring, was not with them. Harry and Hermione sat by themselves, near the end of the table. Hermione took toast and spread a bit of jam on it. She watched Harry load up his plate with food, then stare at it.

"You need food to fly well," she said.

"Everyone always says that, but I can never eat, and I still win most of our games."

"If you ate, you might win all of them."

Harry let out a strangled burst of laughter. He took a bite of sausage and regretted it almost immediately. After what seemed like an eternity of chewing, he managed to swallow it.

"I still don't understand...." Hermione began, then trailed off.

"What?" Harry demanded.

"Why you apologized to Malfoy." At Harry's sigh, Hermione pushed. "He's a smug, malicious bigot."

"I had no right to treat him like a murderer just because his father is one."

"It's just a matter of time, you know."

"So he keeps telling me," Harry murmured. "He never sounds happy about it, though. Flippant, sometimes, but not happy."

"He was happy enough when Voldemort returned."

"Oh, I expect it seemed like a victory. But then his father wasn't running his schemes, anymore -- he was a servant. A servant of someone who actually has quite different priorities. He's had almost two years, now, to understand...."

Harry stopped there. Draco Malfoy had just entered the room. Rather than sitting down immediately, he crossed to the Gryffindor table.

"Good morning, Harry," he said politely.

"Good morning, Draco," Harry answered in kind.

Draco looked amused. "I came to wish you good luck," he said.

"Really?"

"Really. You, personally. I hope you catch the Snitch -- preferably right away, so you win with a low score."

Harry grinned. "That I'll believe."

"See you later, then."

Draco went back to the Slytherin table. Harry looked up and saw Zoe was glaring at him. He looked back at his plate. Nothing on it seemed remotely appetizing.

"I shouldn't have brought you down here," he said to Hermione.

"Well, I'm here now, and you are staying until I have eaten my breakfast. Try to eat something yourself, please, Harry?"

Hermione, Harry realized, was not glaring. Slightly encouraged, he attempted a piece of toast, and actually managed two of them.

"And they're up! Jason Wilkens and Randall Jones, racing for the Quaffle -- Ravenclaw in posession!"

After Lee Jordan had graduated, the previous year, Ernie Macmillan had succeeded to the postion of match announcer. He was noticeably calmer and less biased than Jordan had been, though, Harry thought, as he scanned the pitch for a flash of gold, that wasn't saying much. He smiled slightly at the memory of Jordan screaming at the Slytherin team for cheating.

"Ravenclaw scores! Ten to nought, Ravenclaw. Gryffindor in possession -- look at Wilkens go! OUCH! That must have hurt, but he's still flying! Ravenclaw in possession -- Gryffindor beaters seem a bit preoccupied, this match..."

Preoccupied, Harry thought, was not the word. Damian was almost as high above the pitch as Harry, but seemed to be ignoring the game entirely, while Ryan moved ineffectively among the remaining players. Harry watched a Ravenclaw Chaser speed for the Gryffindor goals, while the Ravenclaw beaters hit a Bludger back and forth, down the field. They were going to send the Bludger at the Gryffindor Keeper at the same time as the Quaffle, Harry was certain.

"Damian!" Harry yelled, pointing. "Guard Cornelia!"

Damian ignored him, spiralling idly beneath Harry. Just as Harry accelerated down the pitch, the other Bludger came at him from the side. Damian continued his spiral. Harry went sharply up and down, effectively hopping the murderous ball. An appreciative gasp came from the stands.

"Did you see that?! Just when you think Potter can't get any better -- Ravenclaw scores! Ravenclaw in possession." Ernie went back to the subject of Harry's dodge. "Of course, rumor has it that the Gryffindor Seeker was caught out one night chasing bats with the Slytherin Seeker, which may explain those incredible turns. The Slytherin/Gryffindor game should be even madder than usual, this -- Sorry professor. Er... Gryffindor in p-, no, Ravenclaw...."

The third Gryffindor chaser, Lindsey, was tailing the Ravenclaw Chaser in possession closely, hoping for a chance at the Quaffle. She dodged the Bludger sent her way by a Ravenclaw Beater. A scarlet shape flashed to a halt beside Harry.

"Is that true?" Ryan demanded.

Harry spluttered and pointed to the cloud of players below. "Get down there!" he bellowed, pointing. "Lindsey!"

Ryan shot down, but too late -- Ravenclaw had scored a third time. They scored another four times before Harry spotted and caught the Golden Snitch. The cheers he got for his impressive dive were not sufficient to improve his mood.

The Gryffindor team, excepting Harry, landed in a happy cluster in the middle of the field. They looked excited enough to default to the traditional victory hugs and shouts, but Harry was in no mood to receive them. He remained on his broom, swooping around the cluster like an irritated sheepdog, until they fell still. In front of the quiet group, he landed, fixing each in turn with a baleful glare.

"That," he snarled, "was pathetic."

His teammates looked nervously among themselves.

"It's true that the game is often won on the Snitch, but we are supposed to be a team! At this rate, I could win us every game, and we could still lose the cup for lack of points! Zoe, why weren't you watching Jason? Ryan, why were you questioning me on commentator's gossip during a game? Wouldn't later make more sense? Damian, if you have a problem with me, take it up with me -- don't jeopardize the standing of your House to display it in front of the school! ARE YOU ALL CLEAR ON THAT?" by now, Harry was yelling loudly enough that some people in the stands could probably hear him, and Zoe and Ryan were cringing. Damian looked angry. Harry took a deep breath. "Jason, you did great. Lindsey, that was well played -- we'd have a closer score if you'd had any backup from our Beaters. Cornelia, good blocking."

Harry looked at them all and shook his head. "Don't party too hard," he said curtly. "We have practice time tomorrow, and we will use it." And I'll have Damian and Ryan alternate sending Bludgers at me. They need this out of their systems. They were all still staring at him, looking rather stunned. Harry inclined his head. "Go!" he said impatiently.

His teammates left. Harry loitered on the field a minute longer, to give them a head start, then went to the changing rooms to exchange his brilliant Quidditch robes for his usual ones of anonymous black.

When Harry told Hermione that he wasn't interested in the victory celebration, she willingly took him to the library, instead. Ginny and Ron, who had stayed to congratulate Harry, agreed that Ron would get Harry's school bag from his dormitory, and Ginny would run it to Harry in the library. Ron offered to, but Harry could tell he was anxious to be back in the common room.

"Go have fun, Ron. You could certainly use it."

"So could you, mate."

"Yeah, but it's not going to happen. Not there, at any rate."

"I understand." Ron nodded grimly. "You know how I feel about Malfoy -- but I'm likely to take a swing at Damian, myself, if he keeps this up."

Harry pulled at his hair. He could feel sparks of hatred coursing through him, focused one moment on the Death Eaters, who had killed so many innocents, and the next on Damian, who had been petty about a teammate in a Quidditch game. They burned at his soul with ridiculously equal ferocity. "This is what Voldemort wants!" he growled. "For us to bicker and distrust and spend our anger on each other -- on the people we can reach -- instead of on fighting him."

He felt his seething hatred crystallize and purify into a single intent: Voldemort would be destroyed, if he had to do it himself.

In the library, Harry stared unseeing at Practical Applications of Simile in Transfiguration. Perhaps he did need to destroy Voldemort himself. Everyone thinks I can do this, he said to himself. They have since I was a child and it was ridiculous. But what if they're right? What if it's up to me? Not just the end, but the whole thing? Harry tried to think. He made a mental review of each time he had encountered Voldemort, in any of his forms, and what had worked and what had not.

I've never been prepared, but I've survived. I need to stop reacting. I need to have a strategy.

Harry closed his eyes. He still felt all the anger, but it wasn't burning him now. It was lifting him up above the deep sorrow of the school and the petty attacks that hid it, into someplace pure and black as a winter night. He could think, here. I need to know everything he can do. Everything I can do. Harry drew over a parchment and began to write.

Sunday night, Harry was still working on his private research. Susara spiraled down his arm and out of his sleeve. She arranged herself in a coil on his pile of library books and raised her head up.

"Symbol of wisdom?"

"Beautiful, Susara. That's perfect."

"You are not happy?"

"I'm trying to figure something out."

Guiltily, Harry reached over and stroked her gently. He'd paid her hardly any attention since the attack.

"Tell me?"

Harry sighed. "I have this enemy...."

"I will bite him."

Harry had to smile at her ready answer.

"Pardon, Susara, but I don't think it would help."

"I'm a vector torclinde. The pet store did not know. We hide it when we can."

"Vector?"

"If you give me poison, I can send it out in my bite."

Harry remembered reading about that. A few torclindes, approximately one in a thousand, had the ability to retain poisons or potions and inject them with a bite. Snakes of this sort were usually retained for medical use, or torture, or a number of other things that were probably not a pleasant life for a snake, especially one designed to enjoy companionship.

"That could be useful,"

he said, "but Voldemort, my enemy, is also a parselmouth, and a powerful wizard. He has a snake that is many times as big as me, and poisonous. I wouldn't want to send you up against him." Harry felt Susara's disappointment. "Perhaps against some of his servants, however. I'll put you on my list."

"What is this list?"

"It's a lot of lists, actually."

Harry looked down at his papers, spread in piles on the desk. "Things to research, Voldemort's talents, Voldemort's limitations, my talents, my limitations ... A sheet of talents and limitations for each Death Eater -- Pity I can't ask Snape about them...."

"What eats death?"

"'Death Eater' is what my enemy calls his servants. Voldemort hopes to be immortal. He has done a lot to make himself hard to destroy. Impossible, he says, but everyone makes mistakes."

"Yesss."

Susara's agreement extended in emphasis. "Nothing is perfect." She slithered forward and looked at Harry's paper. "Silly lines. What do they mean?"

"Well, these are my enemy's advantages. This one says 'unicorn blood.' That's under his disadvantages too, though. Maintaining your life with unicorn blood curses you in some way. I've found a bunch of sources that tell me that much, but none that give specifics. I need to get into the Restricted Section, I think. Underneath, it says 'parselmouth.' Of course, I'm one too, but that doesn't help. His snake won't do what I tell it to, just because it can understand me."

"If you told me 'do this now' I would want to do as you said, even if you were not my master. Your voice is strong."

"Yes, but if someone else came and said 'no, do that,' you would find the stranger easier to disobey than me, wouldn't you?"

"Ah. I see. She is his."

"Yes. Which is a pity, because if I could make her attack the Death Eaters...."

Harry suddenly imagined himself surrounded by a ring of Death Eaters, and Nagini mowing down some with her tail as she bit others. Voldemort would need to stop her....

"Yes?"

"Well, it would be easier, that's all."

Harry suddenly realized his heart was hammering in his chest. Perhaps he should investigate ways to affect Nagini.