Snakes and Lions Extended Ending

Goals

Harry did get out the next day, but not until evening. During the afternoon, he heard quite a lot of activity from the other side of his screen.

"What's going on?" he asked Madame Pomfrey, the next time she stopped by his bed. "Was there an attack?"

She sniffed disapprovingly. "If you want to know, ask your friends."

That was all she would say. When she finally let him out, Hermione and Ron were waiting for him.

"Dumbledore thought you shouldn't walk down to dinner alone," Ron explained, as they left the room together. "Not until you've got your balance back," he amended hastily.

"I'll be fine," Harry said automatically. At Hermione's angry look, he added: "tomorrow."

Hermione sighed. "You may not know who went after you, Harry, but a number of other people seem to think they do. I've seen more black eyes today than I did all of last year."

"A few retaliations," Ron elaborated, with obvious satisfaction. "I wasn't in on any, but some people bragged to the wrong friends, I'd say. The house is more narked at them than you, now, except for a few of the Muggleborns."

Hermione grimaced. "It does seem to be an issue for more of the people raised outside Wizarding society, but it's not as if--"

"Yeah," Harry assured her. "I won't make assumptions."

Dinner was uncomfortable, but not as bad as Harry had expected. A few people made a point of stopping to speak to him. Except for Ryan, one of the Gryffindor Beaters, Harry suspected that they were just showing support. Ryan genuinely wanted to know if he would be able to play in time for the match.

"Madame Pomfrey says I should be able to fly tomorrow. Even if she's wrong, I should be okay by Saturday."

After Ryan had left, Harry turned, puzzled, to Ron. "Do you understand that? He was one of the people who was most upset by Draco when we were just friends."

Ron shrugged. "Draco turning down You-Know-Who, maybe? I mean, everyone knows. It was in the Prophet!"

"Or maybe he just thinks you have a better excuse now," Seamus suggested slyly. Dean, further down the table, made a face, but didn't say anything.

Madame Pomfrey's diagnosis may have been correct in terms of safety, but ability was a more complex issue. When Harry went for practice that evening, he was certain well enough to fly -- he could control the broom and maintain his balance -- but he was unable to turn as sharply to the left as he expected to. He had to keep the problem from Draco's attention, as he had no doubt that Draco would take shameless advantage of any weakness that he discovered. On Friday, the team practiced after lessons, and Harry was relieved to find the tightness almost gone. The house standings were close, this year.

At dinner, he didn't see Draco at the Slytherin table. Harry frowned. That was odd. Unlike him, Draco never showed pre-match jitters -- or, at least, he went to some effort to try not to. He should be with his teammates, preening and putting up a front of confidence, with only his pallor giving him away.

So it was that after dinner, Harry found himself headed down to the dungeons, to a place he had been to only once before. The dimly lit corridors were mostly deserted, and he confided his worries in Susara as he crisscrossed the tangle of unfamiliar paths, looking for a particular carved archway. At his touch, the stones inside it melted back, revealing a conventional looking door with a sneering gargoyle knocker. The gargoyle took one look at his school tie and told him not to bother. Harry took great pleasure in bashing its bat-like wings back against the brass plate.

Snape wore a similar sneer when he opened the door.

"If you are going to ask if Draco can come out and play, the answer is no."

Despite the man's contemptuous tone, the statement was definitely a joke. Harry found himself less worried and more unbalanced. "Er, just wanted to be sure he was okay."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Hoping he'll be grounded tomorrow, I expect?"

"Hardly." Harry smiled, finally. "That would take all the fun out of it."

"Hmph." After a long, critical appraisal, Snape turned. "Come in. You may have ten minutes only; I cannot mark in the presence of nattering children."

For the second time, Harry stepped into Professor Snape's rooms.

Draco was curled up at one end of the couch. Other than his presence, he seemed to have had no affect on the room. It was still austere and underlit, with most of the color provided by the many books that lined the walls. Snape moved to a small writing desk and, despite his words, began marking essays. Harry, oddly conscious of being chaperoned, moved to sit on the other end of the couch. "Hi."

Draco smiled wryly. "Hello, Harry."

"What's up? You don't look sick."

Draco shrugged. It was a tight movement that made him look smaller than he was. "The Wizengamot wants me to testify about Bellatrix," he said. "Next week. I received the summons, and ...." He shrugged. "Didn't feel like going out."

A flood of guilt washed through Harry, and regardless of Snape, he moved close to Draco, his hand reaching out to settle on Draco's knee. "You don't have to do this. I'll go. It was--"

"No, you will NOT!" Draco snapped, sitting upright and dislodging the touch. "Damn it, Harry, if you go, we're both doomed. I can handle this, all right?"

"Can you? You skipped dinner."

Draco rolled his eyes. "I skip meals rather easily, as you may have noticed. I thought it was better to get my sulk in tonight, rather than risk being distracted tomorrow." Crossing his arms over his chest, he huffed and sat back into the couch. It was too stiff to give much. "And then you have to go and spoil it!"

Harry laughed. "So sorry," he said insincerely.

"Forgiven. It was becoming rather tedious anyway." Draco stood gracefully. "Perhaps you could escort me to the library?"

"Of course."

The dungeons to the library was a marvelous walk, Harry decided. It had so many shadowy alcoves and corners along the way.

The next day dawned clear, but by the time they walked down to the pitch, a blustery wind had risen, going first this way and then that, in a manner that Harry knew would exhaust them in the air. It was a relief to duck into the changing rooms, and Harry didn't have to tell anyone to use the woolen robes and heavy gloves that had been set aside weeks ago. He could request a time out if the day grew warm.

When everyone was suited up, and the clamor of their fellow students was heard in the stands above, Harry called the team together.

"This is the last match of the season," he said, "and crucial for the Quidditch Cup, which is the only thing that will give us a chance at the House Cup. I'll do my best, and I expect this same from all of you." He looked around at all of them. Damian was rolling his eyes. "Any complaints or questions about Draco need to be now, or after the match."

"Is he good?" Ryan called out, but the gibe seemed to be in good humor, and everyone laughed. Everyone except Damian, anyway. He crossed his arms over his chest and added his own question.

"Is he worth it?"

"More something you should ask him of me, isn't it?" Harry shot back. "Considering his father's trying to disinherit him, and all I have to deal with is a few crabby housemates. But yeah. Worth it." He grinned. "Not that he's getting an inch for the next few hours. Are we ready?"

"Gryffindor!" shouted Cornelia Carter, and they were suddenly united, answering her back with "GRYFFINDOR!" Harry sent a spell at the door, it swung open, and they strode out onto the cold, bright pitch.

Two hours later, Harry was feeling less inspired and more stubborn. Gryffindor had been doing well -- indeed, at the one appearance of the snitch, Draco had obstructed him, but not gone after it himself, because Gryffindor had been so far ahead that Slytherin wouldn't have had the points to beat them if he caught it. Now, however, they were all starting to tire, and Cornelia, who had taken several blows, was losing precision in her attempts to guard the hoops. The wind was wicked, bearing bludgers and quaffles and brooms off-course, and raising debris which obscured the tiny snitch and got in the eyes and stung. The Hufflepuffs grew quieter as the scores climbed, eroding their faint chance at the Quidditch Cup, which relied on a speedy victory by one team or the other.

When the sun was halfway to the horizon, Dumbledore spoke to McGonagall, and McGonagall called a time out. Harry swooped down, feeling angry, but as his feet touched the ground, he stumbled. He hadn't realized quite how exhausted he was, he thought, as someone pushed a sandwich into his hand. His legs and arms felt like rubber. He took a bite of the sandwich -- a peppery egg mayonnaise -- and at last remembered to look around.

Sandwiches had appeared in the stands as well, it seemed. Everyone was eating. While he was swallowing his second bite, Professor McGonagall appeared.

"You have a twenty minute break," she told him. Harry suspected she was repeating the earlier announcement, but he appreciated it. "You may enter and leave the changing rooms during that time. Oh, and Mr Potter?" He looked up, and she nodded briskly. "Good flying."

Twenty minutes later, they were back in the air, still tired, but refreshed, and Harry climbed back up to a Seeker's height to scan the pitch for a glint of gold.

"And it's Slytherin in possession!" Ernie Macmillan announced, with bipartisan enthusiasm. "Coming in to the hoops, and Carter saves! Ouch! She moved in front of the bludger too! The players are definitely suffering from the duration of this game. Will that blow slow down the Gryffindor keeper?"

To Harry's dismay, it did. Cornelia was definitely having trouble stretching out to guard as much territory. Now Slytherin's scores started to climb, and Harry tried hard to keep the current state in his head, as well as listening to the announcements. Slytherin had two hundred and eighty, now, a ninety-point lead; catching the snitch would still get Gryffindor both match and cup. If the lead extended to one hundred and thirty, they would get match, but not cup; to one hundred and fifty, and they would draw for the match as well as losing the cup. The actual score, however, was a moving target, as the Chasers continued to score. Gryffindor were still falling behind; Slytherin scored more often. He hoped Ryan or Damian could slam a bludger into the Slytherin keeper.

The action below was fast and furious when Harry next saw the snitch. The score was to three hundred and thirty to two hundred and ten, with Slytherin regularly getting the quaffle through the Gryffindor hoops. He twisted and dove. At this point, he might even settle for match.

Draco saw the motion. He was further away, but he put out the effort, and the snitch's course favored him, heading towards him for a few crucial seconds.

"The Seekers are on it, both moving fast. We could have a collision -- no! Brilliant!"

Draco and Harry, both unwilling to lose ground, had adjusted their courses with a rolling corkscrew turn that Harry was sure they could never have executed had they planned and rehearsed it. They ended up neck and neck, both flying flat out, and Harry felt a familiar rush of exhilaration. For just a moment, there was no exhaustion, no spectators, no Quidditch Cup, just the rush of flying with Draco and pushing himself to the limit.

They were close. The snitch glittered in front of them like a dream, and Draco's robes fluttered into Harry's in a motion perceptible from the rush of the wind. Harry pulled ahead an inch -- two -- stretching out to compensate for Draco's longer arms. He was almost there. Almost....

"Slytherin scores! Slytherin in possession."

Wingtips tickled past his fingers. He could let it go, hoping for a later gain. The Cup....

He was suddenly ahead of Draco, and the snitch was in his grasp, wings still beating desperately.

"GRYFFINDOR!" Ernie's voice faltered. "Er ... That's match to Gryffindor, and cup to Slytherin. Well played!"

No one seemed to hold losing the cup against Harry. It was generally agreed that catching the Snitch then had been the best move he could have made, under the circumstances. With Cornelia injured and everyone blurry, delaying would only have cost them the match. The Gryffindors partied good-naturedly. Dean, when rather tipsy, even came over and offered Harry a truce. Harry would have rather it had come with an apology, but he was feeling relieved enough to be generous, and he didn't say so, just shook hands before Ron dragged him back into analyzing the match.

Draco, when they met the next day, was practically glowing. "I could have beaten you," he said cheerfully. "I was expecting you to fall back."

Harry shrugged. "No point. We weren't getting any better."

"You see? That's realistic, and you're never realistic! Especially not about Slytherin leading in house points."

Harry rolled his eyes, and Draco lunged in and kissed him, hard, but fast. "Come on, Lightning! We have quiris to meet."

They started up the stairs to Horsyr's office, not touching, but walking as friends. His good mood made Draco restless, and he walked sideways, or sometimes backwards, talking. "You know, I was thinking about Ron's predictions. At first I thought he might actually have picked up on something. You did give up the Cup ... but that's hardly pissing in it, really. Is your house split over it?"

"Nah. It was generally agreed to be a good call. It's even smoothed over some of the earlier trouble."

"Ah well. The cup was just chance, then."

In the door to Horsyr's office, Harry stopped. He had thought he had remembered what the quiris had looked like the first time he had met them, but he hadn't, not really. One was sitting on Horsyr's shoulder, now, petting her hair with its long, slender fingers, and another was on the desk, examining a quill feather, the ear tufts shifting slightly as it cocked its head, and its almost human face exhibiting a studious expression. Harry heard a small surprised sound come out of his mouth at how darling it looked. The quiris heard also, and the one with the quill feather left it, seized the edge of the desktop, and somersaulted down to the floor to come and investigate Harry. Harry stepped forward, squatted down, and held out a hand to it.

"Come here, darling!"

The quiri moved rather like a monkey, but the gait that had seemed lumbering and threatening a few weeks ago now looked spry and comical. When it stopped and sniffed at his hand, its whiskers tickled his wrist. Harry glanced back at Draco and found him standing where Harry had paused, looking wary and wistful.

"I'm not ready for that, yet, I think," he confessed. "It doesn't look scary, much; I just feel like it might bite me."

The quiri had climbed up onto Harry's shoulder, and Harry stood. "Well, that was how I felt last time, so you must be close," he said encouragingly. He had forgotten how happy the creature made him feel when he touched it. "In a few days maybe."

"We shall see," Horsyr said, but Harry could hear the smile in her voice. He turned and looked at her and the quiri on her shoulder. Its long tail wrapped around her shoulders, with the lion-like tuft tucked between her breasts. Harry felt embarrassed to have noticed it that way, but it was hard not to. Professor Horsyr didn't seem aware of it.

"Is that the one I met the first time?" he asked, emphasizing that he was looking at the quiri. "I remember that gold. This one is more white." Like Draco's hair, he thought. He stroked the kitten-soft fur of the animal on his own shoulder, and it responded with a pleased chirrup.

Horsyr nodded. "Yes. This is Tuktuk. The one that has you at the moment is Cheefi. They are a mated pair, but young."

"There are browner ones, aren't there?" Harry thought he had seen a browner one last week. "Or is that part of the Dark Arts effect?"

"Keeba and her daughter are darker, but the brown is still golden."

Harry nodded. "Like a dark lion. I recall." Cheefi swung down from his shoulder and clung until he put an arm around her. Nestled in the crook of his arm, she looked back at Draco, who had been easing closer, and yawned, showing sharp, white teeth. He stepped back.

"Hey there!" Harry scolded. "Be nice to my boyfriend."

He set the quiri down on the desk, resisting his reluctance like he would the Imperius Curse, and moved back to put an arm around Draco. Draco stood stiffly. When Harry looked at Horsyr, she was smiling.

"I think you're a good match," she said mildly, and Draco groaned.

"I think Harry should watch his mouth."

"What?" Harry demanded, stepping away. "Everyone knows."

"No. Everyone suspects, which is fine."

"I thought it was okay, now."

"It's ... Mother knows. That was the main danger. But I still have my house to placate, you understand, and if you insist on keeping this chaste, I have little to excuse the association to them."

"Because, of course, this needs to be about sex."

"It would be the most acceptable reason."

Horsyr laughed. "Slytherins!" she said. Her tone was dismissive, if not unkind, and Harry saw Draco tense. He reached out and took his hand.

"We should go," he said to Professor Horsyr. "Tuesday, after lessons?"

"I look forward to it." After setting down Tuktuk, she took a few quick steps forward, intercepting Draco at the door. "Draco. I meant no offense, just ... the mode of reasoning is foreign to me. What should you need to say but that you love him?"

"Love is a folly."

"Love is a joy."

Draco shrugged. "One that gets in the way. My house is about results. I need reasons."

She looked at him solemnly. "For them, Draco, or for yourself?"

"For ... for them, I suppose." He let out a huff of air. "I know I'm just mad, but there's no point in advertising it." He looked desperately at Harry. "May we go?"

"Of course." Harry grinned at him. "Let's grab our brooms and fly until dinner."

"That sounds brilliant."

After dinner, Harry found the Common Room noisy. His mind was going in too many directions to concentrate over it. He went up to the dormitory. No one was there, so he sat at one of the desks and tried to decide what to work on. Susara shifted against his arm -- the slight movement that he had come to recognize as a reminder that she was there.

"Come out," he hissed, laying his hand palm-up on the worn wood of the desktop.

Smooth scales twisted down his arm, and the torclinde emerged from the arm of his robes, gold coils gleaming in the firelight. "Master? Are you sad?"

Harry wasn't sure. "It's Draco."

"He is leaving again?" Susara asked.

"No. He's just...." Harry couldn't find a word, in any language, for how Draco would sometimes move close and then step away.

"He makes you unhappy," Susara hissed indignantly, and Harry realized that Draco had come up before, recently. He had been telling her rather irritably last week about how Draco had already scheduled the end of their relationship.

"He makes me happy too," he countered.

"I will bite him whenever you tell me to."

"I don't want you to."

"When you do."

On Tuesday, Draco was late. Harry had been waiting at the first floor landing for over fifteen minutes when he finally arrived -- coming down the stairs instead of up.

"It's--"

"Dumbledore," Draco panted. "His office! I'm off, Harry; I'm cleared!"

"What--" Harry stopped. Draco had grabbed him in a hug and was hanging off of him, as if they were not in a public corridor. "Cleared?"

"Of killing Bellatrix. They closed the case today. The headmaster just told me."

Finally understanding, Harry pulled Draco tight to him in a fierce embrace. "That's great!"

"Isn't it?" Draco wriggled clear. "Let's go see the quiris. Do you think it will be today?"

It was. Draco was ecstatic. He stroked the quiris with a naked joy that he rarely showed in anything. "Do you like it here?" he asked Cheefi. "Do you wish you could meet more of the people?"

"That might be a bit complicated for her, for English," Horsyr said.

Confused, Draco looked up at her. "Is there a better language?"

"Wolof, perhaps, or French."

"Ah." Draco smiled at the quiri. "Aimes-tu faire la connaissance des gens?"

The quiri looked up, cocking her head to the side in puzzlement. Her ear-tufts bobbed as her ears flicked forward. Harry thought she hadn't understood, but she had had more of a sense of the words as language.

"M'aimes-tu?" Draco tried.

Cheefi rubbed her head against his hair and chirruped.