Destiny Finds a Way

Chapter III - Reopening of Wounds

Maybe it was because their match against the Tornadoes was only a month away or maybe because Liz was back in town for her European Tour or even the fact that an old friend was getting married in about two months and a week's time... but that letter slipped from Harry's memory as if it were as slippery as Jell-O.

Harry might've forgotten that he left it in the front pocket of one of his robes---the very same robes that, before he had gone to sleep that fateful night, he had stashed at the bottom of his dresser for him to wear again---but it was there. Yes, maybe a bit torn and crumpled in a messy heap but still readable and still immensely important. And not just the don't-forget-to-remind-this-and-that-to-go-to-the-grocery important but the your-whole-entire-future-depends-on-it important. But it would take Mr. Harry Potter a little more time to figure that out.

Today was another practice session, all though Harry's thoughts were elsewhere. He had a feeling the rest of the team felt the same but Odwin took no immediate notice and prattled on with his tactics. He had placed a miniature model of a Quidditch field in front of the team and inside were tiny models of themselves and the opposition. As Odwin told the team what to do, the little models demonstrated. It was quite amusing during the first hour but as it was their third, Harry felt as if his bum had fallen off completely and his brain had melted.

It was quite something, though, that Odwin had gone back to normal practices. Maybe he did hear what Prittleby had said and was afraid of a coup or possible losing his spot or something if he proceeded with his more "unique" approaches.

Harry knew he ought to be listening. They had a match with some team every few days or so but those were the teams that weren't really much to worry about. There were some though, like this upcoming game with the Tornadoes that was worth taking note of as they had not lost yet. But it was incredibly hard to do so.

Harry's vision began to blur but then it went back to full color when Odwin's voice cracked like a whip upon all of them, "Are any of you listening?"

Thwagg, who had been dozing off with his head on his knees, woke with a start. A few other members jumped from their seats. Harry blinked and shook his head.

"I thought so..." said Odwin in disgust.

"Well you can't really blame us," Charisma pointed out as the others nodded in agreement.

"Fine. Pick up your brooms and meet me outside," Odwin sighed in defeat, picked up his models and his broom then marched out onto the field while his team followed suit. They exchanged worried glances. Odwin never dropped an argument just like that. Nevertheless, they welcomed the break. Harry breathed in the sweet smell of fresh air to cure his damaged sinuses. Breathing in the stench of sweat in the locker rooms seemed to have that sort of effect after a few hours.

"I suppose you think you're all immensely skilled so you thought you didn't need to listen to me back there. And maybe you are. This is why I want to introduce to you all a method I've been working on for quite some time," Odwin began as he paced around his team.

Harry was stumped and puzzled. Was Odwin going to reward them or punish them? He was looking very odd---well, odder than usual. A deep look of concentration mixed with anxiety and excitement riddled his strong-jawed face.

"Oh bloody hell, Odwin! You're not going to have us learn a new dance or something, are you?" Adrian grumbled.

"No, no. Nothing like that. You all know, of course, that one of my favorite team plays of all time was that of the Irish team back in 1994?" Odwin said slowly, still looking deep in thought.

"No, we didn't know that. We'll make a mental note of it. But what does this have to do with anything?" Prittleby said sarcastically.

"Everything. Do you know why I possibly favored the Irish team?" Odwin went on.

"Because their Chasers were seamless. They looked like they could read each others' minds," Harry exclaimed, having once witnessed that match of Ireland against the Bulgaria during the summer before his fourth year.

"Exactly, Harry! The Chasers looked like they could read each others' minds! But what if their whole team could do that? They would be unbeatable!" Odwin grinned widely, clapping his large hands together.

"Let me get this straight... you want us to read each others' minds? That's impossible. No potion or spell has ever been invented for mind reading. Only Seers could possibly do that and they have to have the Gift," Crandlewick countered, scoffing at this preposterous-sounding idea.

"I didn't mean literally! I was thinking more on the lines of a new sign language that only we could understand..." said Odwin, looking as though he were too engrossed in his own thoughts to take proper insult.

It was as if a light was switched on in Harry's brain. For the first time, he could see where Odwin was going on this one. But it would take a lot of work---a whole lot of work. Harry sighed jadedly. More work. Great... this is exactly what I need. Harry thought sarcastically. He had a sinking feeling that he'd have little time for anything else but work.

So the new regime had begun. Odwin was so obsessed with it that he called practice everyday. The team had no weekends off or anything. They would spend at least twelve hours on the field everyday, playing and practicing. It was grueling and sometimes Harry just wanted to stop and curl up in his bed back home (which by now was visited by fewer owls). But there seemed to be an unspoken agreement between everyone that they were going to go through this no matter what. They had to. There were signs for every Quidditch move, every flying pattern. It was easy practicing them on the ground but it was tricky to do it inconspicuously so that the other teams couldn't figure out the meanings of their signs. That would blow the whole point. Their practices were going better and better each day. Even if they still had a few bumps to smooth out, the new-found precision and timing of their moves due to this new level of understanding was so staggering that Harry could hardly believe this was his team. Harry's alertness and attention to detail seemed to have tripled and he was so sure he could even hear even the faintest rustle of a robe or the softest breeze. That was good. It would give him the advantage when looking for the immensely quick Golden Snitch. And it was only after their second week that Harry was able to test his theory.

Odwin teamed up all the line-up players and all the reserves. He threw all the reserves plain white robes and asked them to change into them. He was going to make them play a practice match. There was even a referee. Odwin said he invited a couple of people to watch and give feedback but so far, the stands on their field were empty. Even though Harry knew perfectly well that he was just playing against his own team-mates, he couldn't help but feel the anxiety only a Quidditch game could bring. This was going to test all their work during those whole two weeks.

Before the game began, Odwin gathered them all up and said, "Now, this is the first time we will truly see the fruits of our labor. The match is in a two week's time. We will be doing this sort of thing only once more afterwards then it's the real thing. I want you to play as if your very life depended on it. I want you to play like the other team is the Tornadoes---"

"Oh, wait, Odwin... does this mean we're all Tornadoes?" Shantall interrupted, raising her eyebrows.

"Not now, Shantall," Odwin muttered through gritted teeth and continued; "Now I want you to play your very best. And keep those signs barely noticeable. We don't want our whole strategy blown."

With that, Odwin gave the sign to the referee that they were ready to start and they all took their positions. The referee threw the Quaffle into the air and it was immediately caught by Charisma.

It went on for hours. Harry had never played in a match this fierce or this long. Everyone was almost dead even and Montimmer was giving Harry a run for his money. Four times he made Harry miss the Snitch and it was increasingly getting on Harry's nerves. Even though Montimmer didn't show it very much, he was still very sore about losing his position to Harry in that last match against the Prides and seemed determined to show Odwin that he was still the better choice. He wasn't the only one though. All the other reserves were trying to one-up their counterparts as well. But they weren't starting line-up for nothing.

Harry's foot was already broken for not being able to completely evade a Bludger and the pain was searing but he was not going to loose. He already saw the Snitch darting behind Adrian's left arm on the other side of the pitch. Luckily, Montimmer was searching in the wrong direction. Harry was monitoring the Snitch's movements very carefully... when it got near enough, he would go for it. Montimmer was too good of a flyer to risk the chance over such a long distance.

A few diversionary tactics later, Harry finally got his chance. The Snitch was flitting only two feet above him. Harry's side was ahead by ten points. He had to get it now. He sped upward with Montimmer close behind him. Montimmer tried cutting Harry, to try and make him change directions but Harry expected this and urged his broomstick downward, going under Montimmer instead. Harry pulled out of his dip and finally ending the game, Montimmer looked stunned. He hadn't expected that. The game was over, 420 to 260.

"Well done, Harry! You never disappoint," Wood smiled, flying beside Harry as they went to land with the others.

"Very good, very good. Close game---as it should be," Odwin beamed at them all as Harry's team all threw him glowing looks. The reserves looked pretty proud as well but Montimmer was looking a bit pale as a mediwizard put a Numbing spell and some gooey purple ointment on Harry's foot. Harry would have to come back later to have it fully healed.

"Now," Odwin continued, "I told you I'd be inviting a few people to witness this little match. I've invited five, in fact. You might know some of them." He gestured at a couple of people who were walking toward them. Harry suddenly felt his heart stop beating.

"Hello Harry," Liz was right there in front of him, looking as beautiful as the morning sunshine. Harry was so shocked he could hardly breathe.

"Hey there, Harry. She insisted that I bring her along," said another familiar person. It was Hermione. Harry didn't even notice she was there.

"Hermione, the invitation was only for you," Odwin said, looking cross.

"Oh come on, Odwin... she's an old friend. I already have her sworn to secrecy," Hermione waved away Odwin's concerns. If only Harry had just taken off his Liz-blinders at that moment, maybe he could've taken a better look at Hermione but he was too busy being flabbergasted.

"Fine, then. But any leaks and I'll hold you responsible," Odwin told her. Hermione smiled and agreed. Turns out, Odwin and Hermione had gotten to be good friends since Odwin's brother worked in Hermione's department. There were three other people aside from Hermione and Liz. They all looked very professional and even quite middle-aged. One was a tall, slender black woman with a few white hairs mixed with the black. There was a fat old man with bald patches on his pale head then there was a younger looking man with long, blonde hair. The last one looked very familiar. All of the other players seemed to recognize them.

"Well, team this is Hermione Granger, she's the boss of my brother as well as a close friend of mine. You all know Elizabeth Ramirez---we all look forward to listening to her on WWN? ...Makasha Jannsen, Whitby Melner, and---I think you all know him---Nigel Branwood, who have all been Puddlemere players at one point or another. They are here to give us their separate opinions on our performance," Odwin explained as he introduced their guests.

Each explained what they thought. From the sound of their voices, they probably thought they had done swimmingly. But, then again, Harry wasn't quite listening. He felt as if he were in a comma or something. He knew he was staring at Liz but she didn't seem to notice. He felt numb and not just because of the Numbing spell. He was in such a daze that half an hour in; he was still sitting on the same spot with the same expression.

"Harry! Snap out of it!" Wood whispered, clapping Harry on the forehead.

Harry blinked and looked at Wood's face.

"It'll be over soon, for the meantime stop looking like you're brain dead," Wood said.

So Harry looked away from Liz and listened to whoever was speaking. It was still hard to understand anything. His brain wasn't working properly. He could hear words but it was as if it had un-learned the language of English because all that Harry seemed to be receiving was a load of gibberish.

When it was all over, Harry tried to escape as quickly as possible into the locker rooms, hiding behind Wood who was helping him get him back to the mediwizard. Unfortunately, Hermione was too quick for him.

"Oh, Harry, stay a bit! We haven't seen you for ages!" she chimed, grabbing his arm.

"I can't, Hermione. Broken foot, you know?" Harry forced a laugh, pointing at his foot.

Failing to catch on, Wood said brightly, "Oh, that's OK, Harry! I can have Nestor come here to you guys. I'm sure you'd want to catch them up."

Harry turned to Wood and narrowed his eyes at him. Wood's eyes widened in late realization and he grinned apologetically but the damage was done. Wood turned and went to get Nestor the mediwizard and left Harry to his doom.

"That was a great game, Harry! I'm so proud!" Hermione cried, throwing her arms around Harry.

"Yeah... er... thanks," Harry said slowly, trying to peel Hermione off him, he was trying very hard not to groan in pain. Hermione's weight was putting pressure on Harry's broken foot. It was throbbing like mad and she must've realized it because she gestured to Liz and the two helped him onto one of the players' benches. Harry pleaded for Nestor to hurry it up.

So they talked for a while. It really wasn't all that bad. I mean, these girls were his friends, after all. But Harry was still uneasy around Liz. He knew it was unfair to Hermione whom he really wanted to talk to again properly since she was always too busy with work. But she had already worked out a way for them to catch up, so it seemed.

"You know that once in a while I'm asked to do a few articles for the Prophet to update them on the Department, right?" she asked.

"Yeah, sure... why?" said Harry.

"Well, the editor knows I'm really close to you and asked me if I could do an interview if I had the time..." Hermione said slowly. Harry began to see where this was going and he sighed resignedly. He knew Hermione well enough to know that there wasn't a way he could deny her.

"Sure, sure..." Harry said without letting her ask him formally. His foot was completely healed now and he was aching to high-tale out as soon as possible.

"Fantastic!" Hermione grinned, giving Harry a big, friendly hug.

"Oh, hey... I need to be going. I've got some things to attend to." Harry lied as Hermione let go.

"Oh, of course, but Harry--wait!" Liz exclaimed and before he could do anything to stop her, Liz gave him a hug as well. He was rigid with shock and slight incredulity at her audacity. Didn't she know how much she had hurt him? What was with her that she was acting as though none of it ever happened? But despite this, he found himself melting into her grasp. He breathed in deeply, trying to take in this moment, trying to remember Liz's sweet scent. But a different aroma met his senses. She smelled strongly of something strangely familiar...

"Raspberries," Harry said aloud. He had turned his whole room upside down looking for the letter and he had finally found it. He made his way across his room, throwing a few clothes out of the way before he sat on his bed.

Could Liz be the author of the letter? It didn't seem so impossible. The parchment had the exact same scent Liz wore earlier. Harry hit himself on the head with the letter. How could he have forgotten to ask where she had gotten her perfume?

Harry felt as if the all the clues were coming into light. And Harry always knew that Liz kept a typewriter at home since it was a gift from her muggle-born great Grandma Constantina. But he had forgotten if she had broken it or not. It had to be her. It just had to.

"She wants me back, Hedwig!" Harry laughed triumphantly.

Hedwig hooted incredulously.

"Well what else could it be? She's trying to get my attention... get me intrigued. That's her style," Harry smiled.

Hedwig turned around, leaving Harry to stare at her indifferent tail.

"Fine. Be that way," Harry told her crossly. He knew he was right. This was a good sign. This was a green light for him to start making his move on her.

He would finally get to ask her the questions that had been haunting him since the day they went their separate ways. Like, why they ended the way they did, just when things were looking as though they were at their peak. Like why she kept acting like nothing had ever happened between them. Like why she had the audacity to act as if they were all chummy-chummy again.

"You'll see. You'll see that I'm right," Harry grinned.

Hedwig hooted as if to say, "Bring it on."