Vires Incomitatus

Chapter Six: Aftermath

The moon would set soon, Remus noted. He could smell the morning in the air; could almost feel the sun rising. He turned to Sirius, indicating with his head. The large black dog stopped and sat, curious.

Remus shuddered as energy began to ripple through him. The potion that allowed him to keep his mind also dulled the pain, but there is only so much that can be done to dull the blazing agony that shot through him as his bones reformed themselves, as his body changed. He blocked out his mind, retreating in, letting the pain wash over him without actually touching him, as if all of this was happening to someone else.

Then, slowly, he began to feel the end coming. He pulled out of himself as his fangs retreated into teeth, his fingernails shortened, and the last of the hair disappeared leaving smooth skin. He sat hunched in a ball, naked.

"A robe would be nice, Sirius," he commented. Sirius had brought a the extra garment so that Remus wouldn't freeze, and now withdrew a small scrap of fabric from the pocket of his robes.

"Finite Incantatem," he said, and the piece of cloth erupted in voluminous folds. Shaking it out, he handed it to Remus who took it gratefully. "How much further do we have to go?" he asked.

Remus frowned, thinking. "I think it'll take us at least another four or five hours, at my pace," he said somewhat apologetically. Sirius brushed it away.

"Did we really come that far?" he asked, and Remus shrugged and nodded.

"I guess," he replied. "Come on, let's get moving."

It was nice to do this again, he reflected. He hadn't really gotten to spend very much time with Sirius since he had returned to Hogwarts, what with teaching. The sense of companionship that they had once shared had begun to fade.

"So," he asked, turning slightly as he walked. "Is there anyone new in your life?" He smirked as Sirius did a slight double take and frowned.

"New, no," he answered. Remus paused for a moment, and when no further explanation followed he scowled.

"Well, come on," he prompted. "You can't just say that and then leave me hanging. What's going on?" Sirius ducked his head, and Remus could have sworn that he saw a faint blush.

"Well," the dark haired man shrugged, "you know how Arabella and I used to see each other when we were at Hogwarts?"

Remus laughed. "The two of you are getting together again?" he asked. Sirius glared at him, and he threw up his hands. "I'm not making fun of you. I just think it's kind of sweet. Remind me again, what were those famous last words of yours?"

Sirius glowered. "If I ever see you again, so help me, I won't be responsible for any hexes that just happen to find themselves flying towards you," he muttered. Remus chuckled appreciatively.

"Ah yes, I remember. Very poetic, too. What a shame it didn't come true."

"What about you," Sirius retorted. Remus laughed.

"Me? No one," he replied. "At least, not in that way. I'm just trying to fit myself back into this place again. It's strange."

"But, you've taught here before," Sirius pointed out. Remus shrugged.

"Yes, but I was hiding then. Now I'm being honest about who I am, which means that everything's new again. It takes some getting used to."

Sirius opened his mouth, but whatever he was about to say got cut off abruptly as a large rustling sound came from the bushes ahead of them. The two men stopped instantly, looking warily at the foliage.

"Wha-?" Sirius began, and then a gigantic, boar-like creature leapt from the bushes. It looked belligerently at them, tossing its head and prodding the ground with tusks at least two feet long. "What is that!" Sirius exclaimed, whipping his wand from his robes.

"A sweaneuff," Remus replied softly. "They're somewhat related to pigs. Except that unlike pigs it feeds off of emotions almost as much as it feeds off of flesh."

"Flesh?" Sirius repeated. "Bloody hell, why do these things always have to be flesh-eating?" Remus chucked in reply, and the sweaneuff looked up sharply, rage glinting in its eye.

"Like most 'evil' beasts," Remus noted, "it does not enjoy the lighter emotions. It particularly enjoys fear, sorrow, and anger."

"So, how do we kill it?" Sirius asked, stepping forward. Remus took a step forward.

"You don't," he replied. He placed a hand on Sirius's shoulder, praying that for once his impetuous friend would stand back and let him take control. He was in his element here, he just hoped that Sirius would remember that.

"Then -" Sirius began, and then closed his mouth, watching the subtle change come over his friend.

Remus continued to advance on the sweaneuff, gazing calmly at it. The huge creature caught his look and took a step backwards, unable to break the link. Remus stepped forward.

The closer Remus came, the more the beast began to shake, until it was quivering uncontrollably. Remus continued moving forward, one agonizing step at a time. Finally he came within one pace of the sweaneuff, and extended a hand. The creature let out an agonized bellow, shaking in what appeared to be terror. Remus lowered his hand.

"Go," he said simply, blinking visibly. Released, the beast jerked backwards and tore off into the forest without a backwards look. Remus rolled his shoulders and turned back to Sirius, who was looking somewhere between wary and fascinated.

"What ... just happened?" he asked, as they started walking once more.

"Werewolves are one of the most feared creatures in the bestial world," Remus replied simply.

"Dare I ask why?" Sirius looked at him sideways. Remus smiled.

"The bite of a werewolf on a beast has a somewhat different effect than it does on a human," he replied. "While the human can live a normal life for almost an entire month, if an animal is bitten it will become slowly and irreversibly mad."

Sirius shuddered. "Didn't it realise that you couldn't bite it?" he asked. Remus shook his head.

"I could have held it captive until I next transformed, if I had wanted to," he replied. "Of course, I would have had to keep constant eye contact for the next month, but ..."

"Let's just get back to Hogwarts," Sirius suggested. Remus nodded, and they continued on.

~

Harry opened his eyes to find himself lying in a place that was by now very familiar to him. The hospital wing was as pristine as it always was, and he found himself almost unable to move due to the straight-jacket quality of the sheets which Madame Pomfrey had wrapped around him - probably to keep him from falling out of bed. He ached from head to foot, and for a moment he wondered how he could ache so much worse having not moved at all. Then, of course, reality hit him, and he turned instantly to glare at Malfoy, who was lying with his back to him.

"I don't know what you did, Malfoy," he said threateningly, "but I have never ached this badly without it being your fault. What did you do?"

Malfoy didn't move, but he suddenly began to snore faintly, something Harry would have sworn he hadn't been doing a second ago. Something brushed gently across Harry's consciousness, almost like a whisper, too faint for him to be able to make out. That made him remember something else about that night.

It hadn't happened. That was all there was to it. There was no possible way that what he remembered happening had happened. Because what he remembered made no sense. He had been talking to Hermione, when suddenly he had heard Malfoy ask the question that had been going through his mind as well. The Gryffindor seal summoned the Heir of Gryffindor. The fact that he felt not the slightest pull indicated one of two things. Either he was the most powerful wizard in existence and able to overthrow that spell without a thought, or he wasn't the Heir of Gryffindor. And as much as he would dearly like to believe that the former was true, previous experience had proven time and time again that he was not an all-powerful wizard. He didn't even want to think about some of those times; the humiliation was too recent.

But that wasn't the point. The point was, that he had heard Malfoy ask it. Or rather, heard Malfoy wonder. Because he had serious doubts as to whether or not Malfoy had asked the question. Because he had answered to himself; how the hell should he know? He had pulled Gryffindor's sword from the Sorting Hat, and had been told time and time again that if there was anyone suited to being Gryffindor's heir it was him. But, his father wasn't the Heir of Gryffindor. Of all the things that he had been not told, or had been lied to about, he thought he would have been told this.

But once again that wasn't the point. The point was that Malfoy appeared to have heard his answer. Their eyes had locked, which could have been taken for coincidence if that fact hadn't banished doubt. Because he had been looking at Malfoy's eyes, he knew that the Slytherin's mouth didn't move. And yet, despite this fact that theoretically made speech physically impossible, he had heard Malfoy ask another question. And by the look on his rival's face, he had heard his response.

Harry shook his head, then winced as a staggering pain swept through it. It wasn't possible. He was a wizard, granted, but he was still human, and there were certain things that humans simply could not do. Flying was a perfect example of this. Speaking telepathically was another. Of course, Harry had flown in dreams before. Not using his broomstick, as he usually did, but just out-and-out flying through the skies, looking down on the world below him. That hadn't seemed weird to him upon waking; after all, it was only a dream. What was to say that this wasn't? It was a logical explanation.

But it didn't feel quite as assuring when looked at along with the fact that Harry had woken up feeling like he was going to explode with pain, from a 'dream'. Cautiously, he sat up. The world didn't spin, and the pain in his head lessened. It was a minor miracle, he thought. Then he looked down at his arms, exposed by his pyjama sleeves, which were shoved up past his elbows. They were covered in scratches, gashes, blood. He wondered how much of the rest of him was in a similar state.

Then, as if his movement was a homing signal, Madame Pomfrey appeared by his bed. She came up to him smiling, most likely thinking to tell him that he could go home as soon as he got dressed. However, her smile vanished when she saw his face.

"What have you done to yourself?" she cried, setting the tray she was carrying down onto a table and taking her wand quickly from her sleeve. Harry saw quickly that this was not a rhetorical question, and fumbled for an answer.

"I'm ... not sure," he said finally. "There was an explosion." He watched the Hogwarts' Matron frown, clearly wondering what to make of this explanation. "In a dream," Harry added, wondering if this would help her or just make matters worse.

"You dreamt this?" she asked incredulously, looking sceptical and horrified at the same time. Harry nodded. "This isn't good." Quickly, without pausing to warn him, Madame Pomfrey whipped away the blankets that had been covering him. Harry squawked for a second before remembering that he was wearing pyjamas. Madame Pomfrey gave him a look, and flicked her wand over him. Harry felt a warm tingle envelop his body, and when he looked at his arms again they were unscarred.

"You're lucky that those were surface wounds," Madame Pomfrey said with a frown. "They are easy to heal. Now, is there any other pain?"

Harry shook his head to indicate 'no', then blinked abruptly as the pain returned. The Matron raised an eyebrow and returned her wand to her sleeve. "I'll give you something to deal with your headache," she said in a 'you should know better' voice that made Harry wonder what exactly he should know better than. "But, you'll have to take it easily for the next few days. Brains aren't something that can be just fixed overnight with magic."

Harry nodded, just as movement on his left made him look over. Seamus was sitting up, looking at himself with the same shock as Harry had felt. Then the Irishman's face lit up again.

"I'm alive!" he exclaimed cheerfully. Harry rolled his eyes. Madame Pomfrey looked over at him.

"You too?" she asked with concern and exasperation, bustling over to cast a similar healing spell over Seamus. "What exactly happened in this dream of yours? Oh dear," she added, "that leg appears to be broken."

Seamus's face fell. "Um ..." he tried to explain, but fell somewhat flat. "Um ..."

"We were summoned to a room," a drawling voice on Harry's right supplied, and he turned to see Malfoy sitting upright against his pillows, looking somewhat bored, despite the fact that he was in just as bad condition as Harry had been, perhaps worse. "We were locked into place, and Wormtail tried to perform a Necinterficare Spell." The Matron gasped at the unfamiliar word, and Malfoy continued. "It didn't work, so the explosion didn't kill us. But ..." he shrugged and let the statement hang, gesturing at himself as evidence. The worried look on Madame Pomfrey's face didn't fade entirely, and she turned and cast a healing charm on Malfoy. "You said 'we'," she pointed out. "Who was with you? Just Potter and Finnegan?"

"Hermione was there," Harry said suddenly. "And ... Susan Bones. In Hufflepuff."

"I know which house Susan is in," Madame Pomfrey pointed out. "I should send someone to fetch them right away, if that's the case. They'll be in bad shape. But first," she went over to one end of the Infirmary and retrieved a large purple bottle. From out of it she poured three small cupfuls of a lumpy, viscous orange goop, giving the glasses to Harry, Seamus, and Malfoy. "Drink up," she said, somehow managing to eye all three of them at once. Harry winced in anticipation and complied.

Somehow he managed not to spray the substance all over the infirmary, but swallowing took huge effort and will-power. "What is this?" Malfoy asked indignantly once he had finished his first mouthful. "It tastes like ..." he fell short, at a lost for words. Madame Pomfrey gave him a look, and he subsided.

"It will make your headaches go away," she explained finally. Couldn't these things ever taste somewhat decent, Harry wondered. Suddenly, the door opened and Harry saw Lavender and Parvati come in, carrying something between them. It appeared to be a stretcher, and on it, Harry recognized Hermione.

"Hermione!" he exclaimed. "Are you okay?" Hermione sat up slightly on the stretcher and groaned in reply.

"I think my head is going to fall off," she moaned. Harry gasped when he saw her. She had a large, bloody gash across her forehead, and her nightshirt was soaked in blood. Madame Pomfrey quickly rushed over to her.

"Thank you, girls," she told the Gryffindors. "You did well bringing her here. I'll take care of her now."

"All right," Lavender said, looking at Hermione anxiously. "Hi, Harry, Seamus." Harry nodded, still looking over at Hermione. Lavender and Parvati left the infirmary, and Madame Pomfrey levitated Hermione onto a bed. She turned to Harry and Malfoy.

"The two of you can leave now," she said. "There's nothing that can be done for you except by time."

"Can't I stay with Hermione?" Harry asked as Malfoy instantly began to get out of bed. Madame Pomfrey shook her head.

"She needs rest," she said sternly. "Go on, Mister Potter." Hermione gave Harry her 'stop being an idiot and do what you're told' look, and Harry gave up. He found his robes folded neatly beside his bed, and picked them up. As soon as his hand touched the garments, a screen appeared around him, and he quickly pulled on his clothes. He was relatively used to this, but he was still somewhat afraid that the screen would vanish in the middle. When he'd fastened the clasp of his robes over what appeared to be a fresh set of jeans and a clean black shirt the screen disappeared and Harry went over to where Hermione was lying. Madame Pomfrey had healed her superficial cuts and scrapes, but the large gash on her forehead still looked nasty.

"I'm fine, Harry," she said firmly. "Stop worrying about me and get to class. It's after ten; you'll be late for certain." Harry rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Hermione-" he began, when Madame Pomfrey put a hand on his shoulder and gently spun him around.

"She needs rest," she repeated. "I know you mean well, but the best thing you can do, for her and for yourself, would be to go to your class and let me deal with Miss Granger. Just," she put up a cautionary hand, "don't do anything too strenuous. Your head is still going to be a bit tender, but it should be all right in a few days. That means no flying, Mr. Potter."

Suddenly a thought struck Harry. "Where are the other people from the Advanced Magics class?" he asked. Madame Pomfrey shot him a look of approval mixed with annoyance.

"They were let out early this morning," she replied. "None of them had any serious injuries. Now, shoo!"

"All right," Harry sighed, and left the infirmary with another look at Hermione. He rushed up to the Gryffindor Tower, furtively wondering what class he was late for. When he realised it, he groaned. Of course, he thought. It would be Potions; the worst possible class for "excuses". He raced up the stairs to his dorm, and grabbed the bag containing his potions materials in it from beside his bed, then hurried back down to the Dungeon.

Just in front of him he saw a blonde figure also hurrying towards the classroom. At least Malfoy would be late as well, he thought. Although, in this class it wouldn't really mater. The Slytherin could probably come in ten minutes after Harry and receive no reprimand, while Harry himself would receive a scathing comment and, most likely, a detention. He watched as the blonde slowed abruptly, his walk taking on its typical swagger, and then disappeared into the classroom.

Harry steeled himself and followed Malfoy into the Potions Dungeon.

"- have been informed by the Headmaster of the circumstances, Mr Malfoy," a voice was saying as he entered. A female voice. He looked to see Professor Sinistra standing at the head of the class, looking out of place amidst the stone. He didn't think he had seen her outside of the Astronomy tower except at mealtimes and banquets. Malfoy looked disgusted at the replacement teacher, clearly regretting the fact that he wouldn't get to see Harry chastised. Because, indeed, Professor Sinistra looked at Harry and nodded to him, indicating that the explanation also applied to him.

Harry looked around him, trying to find a spare seat. Dean and Neville were partnered together, and Ron had partnered up with Sarah Reede, another Gryffindor girl. He cast a glance around the room and saw that, in fact, everyone had a partner except for him and ... Malfoy. Not again, he pleaded, casting a quick look upwards towards whatever gods might or might not be listening. He did not want to die, and it seemed that putting Malfoy near dangerous potion ingredients was a very good way of sealing his own doom.

"The rest of the class has paired up," Professor Sinistra said with a regretful smile, seeming to realise that what had to come next would not be pleasant. "The two of you can work together on this. We will be brewing Somnoreloserum. Can anyone explain what that is, for Mr Potter and Mr Malfoy?"

In Hermione's absence, no hands shot instantly into the air. Finally, tentatively, Dean raised his. "It's a potion that will allow someone to relive their dreams," he answered when Professor Sinistra looked at him, and she nodded. Harry balked. He did not want to relive last night, he would rather fail the assignment than relive last night. He wondered if a dream like his last one could be relived. It wasn't a natural dream; it was one induced by Voldemort. At least, it was for the others. Maybe he had dreamed it on his own. Either way, he would not take the risk of reliving it.

As if in answer to this unaired thought, Professor Sinistra continued. "The ingredients and measurements are listed on the board. However, there is one thing that I want to make sure that no one misses. In this potion, almost all of the ingredients are constant. However, take note when adding the moonflower leaves; each leaf will make the potion stronger, and therefore will allow the drinker to relive a dream further back in the past. Add half a leaf for each day that you wish. For example, if you wish to relive a dream from four nights ago, you should add two leaves. Be certain, however, to add no more than five leaves, this potion is already quite powerful."

Several people shuddered slightly, imaging what would happen if they added too many leaves. He wondered himself, but didn't want to find out.

... an idiot would miss... Harry turned around quickly, trying to find the source of the fragment of thought. Everyone was talking to themselves, and Malfoy was staring at the instructions on the board with distain. Harry frowned. Malfoy turned, suddenly.

"Well, Potter?" he demanded. "In case you have failed to realise this, your grade is on the line as much as mine is. As much as you may enjoy the prospect of doing nothing in order to effect revenge for whatever I may have done to you, I must apparently point out that you will suffer as much as I will. Therefore, I suggest that for your own pathetic sake as much as mine you stop thinking about how to sabotage my potion and work towards concocting your own." Harry scowled and Malfoy smirked, obviously enjoying himself.

The potion was not as complicated as Harry had expected, given the name. He had learned that potions with dramatic titles tended to be more difficult to brew, however while this was by no means a simple potion, he had successfully concocted worse. Looking at his watch, Harry dumped 4.6 millimetres of powdered horn of gillyweed into the purple brew.

"So, we have forty seconds before this turns yellow," he said softly, "and then fifteen seconds after that add the inchworm." Malfoy turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised.

"Does it amuse you in some obscure, twisted fashion to recite each step as if I were an imbecile? I suppose I should remind you that the imbeciles are sitting over there," he gestured with a knife towards the Gryffindors. "Discounting you, of course," he added. Harry glared at him and began cutting Kneazle whiskers into one-inch sections.

... too easy. I used to at least have to try; now he's not even... The snippet of thought floated across Harry's brain, and he looked at Malfoy sharply. The Slytherin looked disgusted, watching the cauldron as the potion abruptly turned a dazzling lemon yellow colour. Exactly fifteen seconds later he dropped his sliced inchworm into the brew. It fizzed, steamed, and then settled again, now puce green. Harry stirred it with his wand, then added his now chopped Kneazle whiskers.

The potion suddenly blazed white, and everyone in the dungeon instinctively threw hands over their eyes to protect themselves. When the spots disappeared from in front of his eyes, Harry blinked and looked at Professor Sinistra.

"Was that supposed to happen?" he asked. She smiled and nodded. "So it'll happen to every pair."

"I'm afraid so," she agreed sympathetically. Harry groaned. Malfoy sighed as if he was dealing with a small child. He extended a hand and said, "Luminus Obsctructa." A black sphere flashed around them for a second, then disappeared.

"What did you just do?" Harry demanded. Malfoy gave him a long-suffering look.

"Any new light won't be able to pass the barrier," he said, as if talking to a two year old. Harry shrugged slightly, just as another burst of light flashed across the room. Surprisingly, the light did not hit his eyes. He looked at Malfoy grudgingly as other black spheres began to flash up around the room.

Harry looked down at the now pearly-white potion, and back to the board.

"Blood." He turned to look at Malfoy, who was ladling a portion of the potion into a phial. He set the phial in a stand and looked at the board as well. "Drawn with a silver pin. How dramatic." Harry filled his own phial with the iridescent potion and set it on a stand. He looked down at the pair of silver pins on the table between them and picked one up. Checking the board to make sure that there was nothing he was forgetting to do, he pricked his finger with the pin and held it over the phial as the drop of blood welled up.

The droplet swelled, then dropped from Harry's finger down into the phial. The potion shimmered for a moment, then the colour returned to what it had previously been. Harry watched as Malfoy did the same thing. Blood made everything seem so final, so deadly. The purpose of this potion wasn't to kill; the blood just identified which person's dreams would be relived. Still, potions with blood in them always unnerved Harry. He reached for the moonflower leaves.

There was just one problem; he didn't remember any of his dreams except for the one he had had the night before. Ah well, one night was as good as another. He picked up one leaf and ground it slowly. Then, he added it to the potion. It smoked for a moment, then turned a deep forest green. Professor Sinistra came over and smiled.

"I think you're finished," she said, looking at the potion. Malfoy added his leaves and his potion turned an identical colour. He frowned at the Professor when she looked at him.

"Where is Professor Snape?" he demanded. Professor Sinistra frowned.

"He was called away," she said after a moment's pause. "He should be back soon, but I expect that you will be having a few substitutes until then." Her smile returned. "Good work, both of you. Now, take a small sip of your partner's potion. It should allow you to experience a few minutes at most of their dream."

Harry and Malfoy looked at each other for a moment. "No," Harry said finally, at the same time as Malfoy said, "I am not drinking his blood." Professor Sinistra folded her arms.

"You will take each other's potions," she said firmly. "I am aware that you two do not like each other particularly, but that can exist outside of the classroom."

Slowly, glaring at the Slytherin, Harry took Malfoy's phial. Eying his partner warily, he took a sip.

~

He was flying. Of course, so typically Potter. Pity the poor Gryffindor, he has so much responsibility, so much depends on such a young boy, his sleep is plagued by nightmares. Yeah, right. The world didn't know anything if they thought that Potter was a poor, under appreciated boy who was about to crack from the stress. Potter sat on top of everything and laughed on his broom while the rest of the world broke.

Above him, the sky was blue and clouds were going about their merry ways. Below him, the grass was green, save the borders that outlined the Quidditch pitch. Ahead of him, Draco saw the three golden hoops gleaming. This was the sort of thing that he was supposed to dream. Just over to his left, something flashed metallically. Draco found himself turning before he even knew what was happening. His body was moving in ways that he had only dreamed of before. Of course; he was Potter.

Somewhere, beneath the multiple layers of jealousy, Draco was secretly thrilled at being able to fly like this. As he chased the Golden Snitch, his body working on its own accord governed by the dream, he understood the true joy that Potter felt when he was flying. The Gryffindor wasn't actually that much better than he was, when it came down to it; just good enough to triumph. The difference was something that couldn't be understood though mere observation. Potter flew. He didn't fly on a broomstick; he just flew. There was no conscious division between the Gryffindor and the broom. It was something that Draco would envy until the end of his days.

Draco sat in Potter's dream and allowed himself to feel the exhilaration as he slowly caught up with the snitch. The magical ball changed course suddenly, and Draco dived, then corkscrewed up in a tight ring towards it. It was nice to finally stop having to think about Quidditch and just enjoy it. He watched as the snitch grew nearer and nearer, and then his hand was reaching outwards and he grabbed the golden ball from the sky.

And everything changed.

It would have been easier to understand if it had changed rapidly, in the nonsensical fashion that dreams always adopt. If the sky had suddenly turned blood red and Draco had found himself standing in a bed of thorns being approached by bloodthirsty werewolves, he would have been able to tell himself that this was just a crazy dream, a nightmare perhaps, but still a crazy dream. However, this made perfect sense. The second Draco's hand touched the snitch he felt a sensation behind his navel, and the world spun around him. Someone had turned the snitch into a portkey.

When the world stopped whirling Draco looked around, or rather, Potter did. The sky was still blue, but could be seen only in the distance. He was standing under trees, thick branches blotting out the sky and the sun. Then, before anything else could register, a rough hand grabbed his arm and yanked it behind his back. His other arm was captured as well, and bound quickly with ropes that dug into his flesh. Still unable to see his attacker, he was thrown forwards to the ground, landing heavily on his face. From the pain in his nose, Draco suspected that he had broken it.

Slowly he managed to turn himself over to see who had done this. A figure in dark robes was standing looking at another figure in dark robes. Draco felt a blinding pain in his forehead, unlike anything he had ever known, as the first man turned to look at him. The pain was more than just pain, it shot through his mind, attacking different parts of it and virtually eliminating all of his ability to think coherently. However, the dream didn't rely upon Draco's ability to exist; he felt himself sit, his body paying little attention to the searing agony in his head. His mouth opened, and Potter's voice came from his lips.

"What do you want?" His voice shook slightly, but it was strong, and carried a challenge. The Dark Lord smiled a cruel smile, his coal-like eyes glowing softly in his head.

"Really, Harry," he said in a warm voice, coming forward and stroking Draco on the cheek. He felt as if he would explode from the pain, and felt himself falter. "Don't you know by now what it is I want?" Draco shuddered.

"Why do you keep coming back?" Potter asked, after swallowing deeply. "I didn't say yes then, I won't now." Potter looked down. "Just kill me," he offered. "Then you can go about your life without me to interfere." Somehow, through the dream, Draco felt Potter's acceptance of his words. He meant it. The Dark Lord opened his mouth to speak,

And suddenly Draco found himself crouched beside an unmoving form. He looked down and realised, suddenly, that it was Diggory. Potter looked up, and through his eyes Draco saw the Dark Lord once more. This time, he was not in control. He was surrounded by shadowy figures, and appeared to be moderately terrified out of his mind. A sentiment which, Draco found, Potter appeared to share.

"Stand aside! I will kill him! He is mine!" Perhaps Draco had been wrong in his estimation of Voldemort's mental state. The Boy-Who-Somehow-Kept-on-Living grabbed the obviously dead form beside him and looked around frantically as the Dark Lord raised his want. Potter pointed his wand at an object glinting in the distance and shouted, "Accio!" It soared into his hand and the cemetery and Voldemort's rage-filled scream swirled away.

But the dream still wasn't done with Draco, it seemed. He remembered suddenly someone saying, 'Sometimes a dream can feel like it goes on for hours, and in reality take only a few minutes.' Would he be trapped in here for hours? Trapped in this living nightmare that was Potter's mind? He felt his feet land on grass once more, and found himself holding nothing; no portkey, no dead body, and more worrying, no wand. He was walking somewhere with a purpose. However, his steps were halting, as if he didn't know whether he should go where he was going. He came to the door of a pristine, of tiny, house, and hesitated before opening it.

Draco looked around as much as he could from Potter's vantage point, which was limited. There was a hallway in front of him, and a room on his left that he could barely make out. He walked down the hall, turning into a kitchen of sorts. There was a large, round table in the room, and at it were seated a large, round man and his large, round boy. Draco almost gagged. He felt himself cringe away from them and turn to see a tall, thin woman that looked remarkably like a horse standing and staring at him, with her arms crossed.

"Where have you been, boy?" Potter turned to look at the large, round man as the boy smirked at him.

"Nowhere, Uncle Vernon," Draco heard himself reply. The man stood slowly, menacingly.

"Look at the state of your clothes, boy," he rumbled. "I have warned you before that you are to keep yourself clean. They may allow you to be filthy in that freak-school, but you will be dignified under my roof, before you have no roof to be dignified under." He paused. "Or is that to hard for you to remember?"

"I -" Potter began to defend himself when a stinging pain in his left thigh made him stagger. Draco saw the large, round boy smirking even more. The man, however, drew himself up to his full, beefy height.

"How dare you?" he bellowed. "Of all the underhanded tricks that they say evil-minded boys pull, that is the worst. You dare to pretend to be injured? To escape something that you know you deserve? All I did was ask that you took the garbage to the front steps. Is it that difficult to carry out? And yet you come back twenty minutes later looking as if you have fallen down a cliff and pretend that you are hurt!" The next thing Draco knew he was cuffed on the cheek with enough strength to send him crashing to the floor, and then a thumb and finger pinched his ear cruelly, dragging him to his feet.

"You ungrateful little brat," the man growled. "You take everything I give you and when I ask you to do one simple little thing you use it as an excuse to steal more from my charitable household." Draco felt himself being pulled down the hallway and shoved bodily into a closet. "See how you feel in a few days." The man closed the door with a slam and Draco heard a lock click. It was pitch black, and at that point he realised why he must look the way the man said that he did. He ached everywhere it was possible to ache. Then, when he was beginning to wonder if life would get any worse, a now familiar pain exploded through his forehead into his mind.

~

Draco looked up suddenly as the pain disappeared entirely. Professor Sinistra was standing over him, looking anxious. He blinked a few times to clear his vision. Beside him, Potter was coming to life, apparently waking from his dream.

"Mr. Malfoy, are you all right?" He took a deep breath, trying to banish the images from his mind.

"I'm ... fine," he said trying to pull himself together. If only he could stop himself from shaking. Pansy suddenly ran over.

"Draco!" she exclaimed, touching his arm. He pulled back with a distasteful look. She didn't notice, and put her hand on his arm again. He pulled back. Pansy blinked and her hand hovered in mid air, as if wondering where to put itself now that its desired perch so clearly didn't want it there. She settled for the back of Draco's chair. "Draco, what happened?"

"Absolutely ... nothing," he replied, trying to convince himself as well. Nightmares were normal. He had them almost every night. Pansy frowned, not convinced in the least. He must be extremely obvious, Draco realised. He looked down at his hand. It was still shaking. He put his other hand firmly on top of it.

"Are you all right," Professor Sinistra repeated. "What happened?"

"A dream," Draco blinked again. "It was just a dream. Just a dream." Maybe if he said it enough it would leave him alone. Potter had stood, and was looking over at him now, seeming surprised. Professor Sinistra looked at him, frowning.

"Perhaps you two should discuss this," she suggested. "Mr. Potter has experienced whatever it is, he can offer you guidance." Shit. Bloody hell, no. He was not going to sit there and let Potter play bloody guidance counsellor. He saw that his partner looked just about as thrilled as he did. However, Professor Sinistra was standing there, looking expectant. Draco shook his head.

"I'm fine," he said and was pleased to hear that his voice was regaining a bit of its steadiness.

"Why are you fine?" a voice on his left asked with a yawn, and Malcolm Braddoc looked over.

"I'm fine," Draco repeated.

"You screamed," Pansy protested, returning her hand to his arm again. Draco pulled away.

"I ... what?"

"You screamed," Professor Sinistra echoed. "I tried to wake you, but Somnoreloserum is a powerful drug."

"I'm fine." Brushing away the crowd of people, Draco stood. He swayed for a moment, and grabbed the table, glaring at everyone who seemed to see this as a sign that he was not fine. Of course he wasn't fine. He turned to Potter, and suddenly everyone seemed to find somewhere else to be.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Potter?" he demanded. The Gryffindor looked confused.

"What ... happened?" he asked, unsure. "I ... don't remember any of my dreams for the last few weeks."

"Never mind," Draco turned away, remembering and trying to banish the images from his mind.

"Oh." He turned to fix Potter with a suspicious glare. He was looking at him, but downwards. "That."

Draco frowned now. That? What was it with Gryffindors that they suddenly decided to become all cryptic as if by imitating a Ravenclaw they would become smarter, or masters of the universe, or something. "What are you talking about, Potter?" he demanded. He hadn't said anything.

"That wasn't a dream," Potter shrugged. "Or at least, not what I mean by a dream. I didn't even think about that."

"What the hell was it, if not a dream?" Draco demanded. Potter looked at him, his gaze holding the same challenge he had felt it hold when he had looked at Voldemort.

"Memory," he said simply. "Ain't it wonderful how the mind works? Personal bed-time stories." With that he turned and began packing up his supplies into a bag, leaving Draco ... well ... flabbergasted. Inwardly, at least. He had composed himself on the outside again. But, Potter was casually brushing aside what had to be one of the most terrifying experiences that Draco had ever had, in or out of the dream world. Maybe there was more there than he had thought. He shuddered.

~

Harry left the dungeon alone; Ron had somehow managed to get himself detention, and Neville, Dean, and almost everyone else had left to visit Hermione and Seamus. Harry worried about them, but he decided to go see them when the infirmary wasn't packed with other students. He made his way back to the Gryffindor tower to drop his books off, thinking.

This was insane, or some sinister plot, or perhaps both. There was no way that events could have occurred the way they did naturally. First, Malfoy was adopted in what appeared to be a very painful ceremony by Voldemort. Then, he and Malfoy ended up working together in a portal realm, nearly killing themselves, only to be transported into a dream realm with Wormtail trying to kill them all when they were supposed to be recovering. As if that wasn't enough, as soon as they woke up from that experience, they were plagued by nightmares.

Correction, Harry amended. Malfoy had been plagued by nightmares. At least, Harry guessed they must be nightmares. He had been having them for so long now that it seemed almost natural before going to sleep to find his mind going through his past, incident by incident, until he passed into a different level of sleep. He frowned, remembering Malfoy's reaction. Had it really been that horrible?

His own dream had been boring, if nothing else. He had been running down a flight of stairs, except that the stairs were chairs, and his left shoe refused to come off his foot. Suddenly, he had landed in a bed of flowers, and then the flowers turned into fireworks and sent him flying off somewhere. It had been amusing, in a sort of disturbing way, because his left shoe still would not come off, and he couldn't for the life of him reason out why he wanted it off in the first place.

Harry shrugged. He couldn't help it if Malfoy was slightly unbalanced. At this point, he was more worried about what Malfoy would perceive going on in his own head. It would be just like the Slytherin to claim that Harry was mentally unstable and should be sent to St Mungos.

No, he realised. Actually, it wouldn't. Back in their Fifth Year, it might have been true, but things had changed somehow since then. He supposed it was really that everyone had grown up. Well, most people. Ron still went out of his way to make Malfoy's life living hell as often as possible, and some of the Slytherin cronies seemed bent on doing the same to the Gryffindors, but for the most part people had tired of the pointless arguing between the houses. Of course, if there was a point ... at any rate, Harry didn't think Malfoy would just resort to calling him insane. It lacked the certain flare that he normally showed.

Harry rubbed his head. Since when did he ever try to analyze Malfoy's twisted psyche?

I can't believe he would do it. She's lying. She has to be. Harry stopped abruptly. He didn't need to wonder where the thought fragment had come from. He hadn't thought it, Malfoy must have. How many of his thoughts were transferred to Malfoy, he wondered. And there was one other question. Why?

~

Draco paused for a moment, then picked up his quill. The bi-weekly report to his father, outlining the happenings at Hogwarts, as well as anything that might be of note. He had written them every other week since he had been in his Second Year, with the opening of the Chamber of Secrets. His father had always said it was like having a spy on the inside, but one who was fully justified. It had been their little joke, for a while. Draco the spy, serving his father under their very noses, helping to bring the Dark Lord his justice.

Dear Father,

It has been two weeks since my last letter. Life goes on, as it always does. Dumbledore, the old fool, still believes that he will win this war.

The customary introduction, one which altered in phrasing and terminology, but had maintained the same meaning for as long as the letters had existed. Draco frowned. One week and six days ago, he had been called into a room with seventeen other students and had been told that he was special. Now, he didn't know what to do. Dumbledore had indicated from the beginning that the training of the Virini was not common knowledge. That indicated that it may hold a key in the war. His father would want to know.

I regret that I cannot pass on as much information as I would like. The first Quidditch match of the year is about to take place as I speak, between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. I sincerely wish that Potter falls of his broom, however I doubt that this is likely. Beyond that, Hogwarts has been quite uninteresting, outside of class. As you undoubtedly know, an attempt was made on my life last night. I would have liked to be informed of this, Father, so that I can prepare myself. You do not expect me to be able to continue your work if I am dead, surely.

That, of course, did raise the interesting question. Had his father known that Wormtail would try to kill him? And had he simply stood by and watched? Draco closed his eyes for a moment. He still remembered his father's blistering words, hear his voice dripping with harsh scorn. You are not my son. That is where you belong, not me. So perhaps he had been abandoned after all. The incident had not been mentioned since, both parties continuing as if nothing had happened. But Draco frowned again.

Similarly interesting, my Advanced Magics class has, for the most part, survived the Test of Animagi. Regretfully, neither Crabbe nor Goyle were able to make their way past the final barrier, and I fear that I shall remain superior to them in this way as in all ways, much as you are to their fathers. However, Blaise made her way through, and stands fully behind me.

Once again, his quill paused. Did he mention Potter? Did he give his father that additional edge of knowing his opponent's abilities?

I fear that is all I am able to tell you, Father. I hope that these last two weeks have been more successful to you than they have to me. Please accept my humble apology for my failures. I hope that this information will aid you and your Master in his rise to greatness.

Your Son,

Draco

The conclusion, as much a ritual as the introduction. Draco tied the parchment neatly and sealed it with his personal variation of the family crest with a flick of his wand. Whistling softly, he caught the attention of the large, black owl that was sitting on the windowsill. The owl that had come today to receive his letter. He had made his decision. He would not assist his father. The Dark Lord would hear nothing of Dumbledore or Potter from him. He tied the letter to the bird's foot and opened the window, watching it soar away. If this deception was found out, he would pay. But his allegiances lay with himself. He would no longer be his father's spy.

~

Ron grinned at Harry and dumped an egg on his plate. This was followed in rapid succession by two sausages, a spoonful of beans, and two slices of orange. Harry poked at his plate for a moment until he unearthed the piece of toast he had been about to take a bite out of. He glared at Ron.

"Are you trying to get me heavy enough that I'll fall off my broom?" he demanded. "Or just trying to make me feel sick. This is enough to feed an army of elephants!" Ron frowned.

"Right." He nodded. "You don't like eating very much before a game."

"You shouldn't even be playing," Hermione commented, pointing at Harry with her fork. "You just got out of the hospital wing a week ago."

"I'm fine," Harry protested. "You were worse than I was, and you're out. And Seamus is fine. I'd just think that after seven years Ron would figure out that if I eat too much before Quidditch things don't go all that well."

"It's taken you seven years?" Natalie Macdonald laughed, turning away from her spoon, into which she had been gazing intently for the last few minutes.

"No," Ron protested. "It's just ..." he paused, looking at the Gryffindor Fourth-Year. "What are you doing?" Natalie looked at her spoon and blushed.

"I think Stewart likes me," she explained, gesturing to the Ravenclaw table. Lavender and Parvati instantly beamed.

"Come over here," Lavender instantly beckoned, taking the younger girl under her wing. Hermione rolled her eyes. Ron, however, appeared to be intent on giving Harry something of a pep talk prior to the pep talk he always gave before the game.

"It's only Hufflepuff," he said encouragingly. "They've really lost some of their edge since Elenor started playing seeker, so you shouldn't have too much of a problem in that respect. Wayne Hopkins isn't the best beater, but watch out for Anthony." Harry blinked.

"Ron," he interrupted in a pained voice, "you're telling me the same things you've told us for the last two weeks. I know. Watch out for Anthony and don't get between Megan and Laura if one of them has the ball or I'll end up getting knocked off my broom by the quaffle. Calm down, you're getting worried over nothing. We can take Hufflepuff."

"That's the spirit!" Ron beamed, standing suddenly and grabbing Harry's sleeve. "Come on!" Harry managed to get his toast on his plate before he was dragged off under Hermione's pityingly amused look.

Once in the Gryffindor change-room, Ron encouraged everyone to get into their Quidditch robes as quickly as possible. Since becoming Quidditch Captain, he had somehow developed the miraculous ability to change into his robes before the rest of the team had gotten theirs out of their bags, and now was sitting and tapping his foot in front of the door to the girls' change-room. As Harry left the boys', Ron stood up and knocked on the other door.

"Are you ready yet?" he asked, sounding for all the world like an anxious boyfriend waiting for his date.

"No!" Amie's voice came back, muffled through the wood. Ron huffed and sat down again. By this time Colin, Aaron, and Dean had come out of the boys' change-room.

"Girls," Ron muttered. "Come on, Seamus!"

"Just a second!" Seamus's voice echoed from through the open door, and Harry looked to see him hopping madly up and down on one foot, trying to get his foot through the leg of his pants. He stifled the urge to laugh as Seamus glared at him, jamming his leg through and doing up the clasp of his robes. "What was the great hurry?"

"Ron was nagging Amie," Harry explained with a conspiratorial grin. "He didn't want her to get changed before 'the guys' after all of that."

"Yeah, yeah," Ron grumbled, crossing his arms. "Now, if Amie would only get out here, we would be able to -" he stopped suddenly. Amie had emerged from the changeroom, followed by Natalie and Mari Vasques, another fourth year girl, both of whom were thinking of becoming Seeker when Harry left.

"Are you done?" Amie asked sweetly, crossing her arms in what seemed like an imitation of Ron. He scowled and nodded, grabbing his broom. The room off of the change rooms had always served as a tactical chamber for the Gryffindors, and Ron immediately went over to the chalk board that was propped up against a wall and touched it with his wand.

"Change of plans," he said without preface, and the entire Gryffindor team groaned. "Sorry," Ron shrugged, "But they saw our strategy at practice yesterday, we can't use it against them, they'll be ready for it." He turned to look at Dean and Colin."The two of you, you have to focus on Megan and Laura. Don't do anything Slytherin to them," the beaters grinned, "but don't let them go wild either. Now, you three." Aaron, Amie, and Seamus straightened. "We were planning to rely generally on our standard formation, with Seamus in the front and Aaron and Amie winging, with the weaving pass. Now." Ron's wand had been moving throughout the entire speech, and now a plan began to take shape on the board. "Aaron, you're comfortable down low, aren't you?" The elf nodded, and Ron smiled. "Good, that's something most people aren't. Here's what we do;"

Harry felt himself beginning to drift off as Ron explained the tactics behind the Chasers' play. Quickly he schooled his face into a mask of attentiveness, and caught Dean's eye. The other boy mouthed something.

-What-? Harry moved his hand in a way he hoped conveyed confusion.

-Psyched?- the word came again, more clearly as Dean exaggerated the movements. Then he grinned. Most of the people at Hogwarts wouldn't have understood the bit of Muggle slang, but it had been a safe bet that Harry would.

-Ooh.- Harry nodded. -You ready?- he mouthed back. Suddenly he felt something almost prickling on the side of his face, and he turned to Ron earnestly a second before the redhead turned to look at him.

"Harry." By this point Ron sounded like he was about to explode, so Harry nodded and held up a hand.

"Same thing as always?" Ron shrugged and nodded with a grin.

"Make it up, whatever you want, just catch the Snitch." Harry rolled his eyes. "Now let's get out there and win this one!" Ron pocketed his wand and grabbed his broom again as the rest of the team stood and began to move towards the pitch.

"He's just as bad as Oliver ever was," Seamus grinned.

"Don't ever point it out to him, though," Dean agreed with a laugh.

"That's true."

They filed out of the Gryffindor area and gathered on the pitch. Madame Hooch stood between the opposing teams, doing a quick visual count of players before she opened the trunk that contained the balls.

"We've done this before," she said, taking the quaffle from the case, "so I don't think I need to explain the basics again. I will tolerate no foul play on behalf of either team. Now. Everyone, mount your brooms."

The players on both teams proceeded to do so. "First whistle up, second to begin," Madame Hooch said briskly. Then, she raised her silver whistle to her lips and one sharp note echoed across the pitch. There was a flurry of cloth as the members of both teams kicked off from the ground, the Chasers and Beaters hovering for an opportunity at either the quaffle or the bludgers, the Seekers and Keepers moving to their respective positions. Madame Hooch looked around quickly, then blew the whistle again, tossing the quaffle high into the air and releasing the bludgers.

Harry watched as the light flashed on something gold and silver, but made no move to try and catch the snitch. Having just been released, the golden ball was bursting with energy. Trying to capture it so early, he had learned, just resulted in falling flat on his face. Elenor Branstone made a quick dart towards it, then seemed to notice Harry's lack of movement, also stopping.

Circling lazily above the field Harry watched the rest of the game, waiting for the snitch to make its next appearance. The quaffle had gone early to Kevin Whitby, one of the Hufflepuff Chasers. True to form, the opposing team then launched into a rapid-fire of passes between the team members, moving gradually closer and closer to the Gryffindor posts. Harry tensed as Laura Madley shot upwards and threw the bright red ball directly at one of the posts, but instantly knew that he had been worrying for no reason, as Ron appeared from offside to pluck the ball from the air feet away from the golden rings. He grinned at the team and tossed the quaffle off to Seamus.

Suddenly, Harry heard a whirring noise behind him. He spun his broom around to see a bludger hurtling towards him at full speed. Without thinking, he tipped the nose of his broom towards the ground, passing just under the murderous leather ball as Dean came flying up after it.

"Sorry about that, Harry," he called as he passed. "It got away from me."

"I do like living," Harry returned, rising to his former position once more. Dean grinned and sent the bludger zooming towards Megan Jones, who narrowly avoided a hit.

In the meantime, it appeared that the Gryffindor Chasers had done something right; the giant score that hovered, glowing, above the staff box read a score of ten to nothing, in favour of Gryffindor. Harry looked around, but there was still no sign of the snitch.

Gryffindor continued to score, and Harry was beginning to get a bit impatient. The snitch hadn't showed itself since the first moment when it disappeared, and he wondered how long the game would last. Then, Ron caught another shot by Hufflepuff and tried to pass it off to Aaron, only to have the pass intercepted by Kevin Whitby, who soared up and easily tossed the quaffle through one of the rings. Ron glared at the ball, now in the hands of Laura Madley. As if this first goal motivated the team, the Hufflepuff chasers began to play with increased vigour, until the score was almost tied, sixty to fifty in favour of Gryffindor.

"Come on," Ron shouted from in front of the rings. "We're losing here! Pull it back together, let's try the play we were working on!"

"We were working on a play," Colin asked, passing by Harry. He laughed, shrugging.

"I guess in his mind we did," he returned as the sixth-year flew off after a bludger. Ron grabbed the quaffle and spun if off to Amie. The elf made a dramatic catch, and immediately Laura Madley and Megan Jones began to follow her. Seamus flew up and over to her right, followed closely by Kevin Whitby. Unnoticed, Aaron streaked along the ground, flying scant feet above the earth. As Harry watched, Seamus called out to Amie and flew into a good position to receive the pass. Amie in turn bolted upwards, drawing the other two Chasers with her. However, instead of passing to Seamus, she dropped the quaffle straight down to Aaron, who had manoeuvred himself into position. Before the Hufflepuff players had realised what had happened, Aaron shot up and pitched the quaffle through the goal.

Ron whooped, doing a small loop in midair and nearly falling off. "It worked!" he exclaimed. "It really worked!"

"You didn't know it would?" Colin asked, sounding somewhat terrified. Ron scowled.

"Of course I did!" he replied, diving quickly to avoid an oncoming bludger. Harry grinned, once again squinting for the snitch. He guessed that it had been about half an hour, and he had done nothing. Time to liven things up, he thought.

Making sure that Elenor Branstone could see him, he looked quickly to an area near the ground on the opposite side of the pitch. Then, he dove down sharply. The Hufflepuff Seeker quickly followed suit, and the two streaked towards the grass at a terrifying pace. Then, calmly, Harry pulled up just before he would have rammed himself face first into the dirt, returning to circle the pitch. Elenor hovered just above the ground for a moment, stunned, before she shook her head and rose above the crowd. She caught Harry's eye and gave him a wry look. Harry smirked. Now she wouldn't be as quick to follow him, which would work to his advantage when he actually did see the snitch.

Show-off. Harry jerked as the word echoed in his head. I can't believe she fell for that. It was pathetic. This will be a long game. It was the first time that Harry had actually managed to grasp the full thought. He frowned, scanning the crowd until he saw a head of almost unnaturally blond hair. Malfoy was right about one thing, though. It would be a long game.

~

Slowly it began to grow dark, and finally as dusk began to creep across the Quidditch pitch Madame Hooch mounted her broom and blew three sharp blasts on her whistle.

"I call a recess of twenty minutes for everyone but the Seekers," she called, her voice magically amplified. "If the bludgers could be captured?" Dean and Colin raced after the leather balls, pinning them and managing to force them into the trunk, then made their way to the sidelines. Harry and Elenor were still circling the pitch, with no snitch in sight.

Madame Hooch and Professor Flitwick were on the field, and slowly charmed lights began to appear all over, illuminating the field. The cheery glow of the ghostly balls of light extended about twenty feet on every side past the stands.

"How long have we been playing?" Seamus asked, turning to Ron, who looked over at Natalie on the side.

"Three hours and fourty ... seven minutes," she answered. "Longest game I've ever seen."

Dean nodded emphatically. "I don't think we've had one this long in ages," he commented. "I wonder how long it'll last for."

"Maybe the snitch has just flown off," Colin suggested, then his eyebrows came together in puzzlement. "Can it do that?" he asked Ron. The redhead shook his head.

"No," he answered. "A long time ago there weren't any restrictions on the snitch. One game it took off, and the match went on for about two days before there were reports in Algeria that an unknown snitch had just crossed over the border."

"Really?" Colin asked, entranced. "What happened?" Ron shrugged.

"There was a mad rush by the Seekers to see who could be the first one to fly to Tunisia and catch the snitch," he replied. "They caught it, but after that spells were put on the snitch. It can't leave the Quidditch pitch for longer than twenty-five minutes now."

"Wow," Colin murmured appreciatively. "Imagine, no school for two days while we waited for Harry to catch the snitch."

"Well," Dean interjected, "I don't think that's going to happen. Anyway, we've got fifteen minutes to grab a bite to eat before we have to go back up again. There are sandwiches over there, if you want."

Fifteen uneventful minutes later the rest of the Quidditch teams returned to the field. Harry gazed longingly at a plate of sandwiches for a moment before turning his gaze once more to the skies. The snitch had to show up sooner or later, he reflected, and the sooner it was caught the sooner he could get down from his broom. As much as he loved flying, there were limits, and four hours of doing effectively nothing was beginning to push on those limits.

Suddenly, a flash caught his eye. He looked over at Elenor, who appeared not to have noticed it, then checked once to make sure that he wasn't seeing the glint of the charmed lights on a watch or necklace. However, sure enough, the golden glint moved. Instantly Harry dove. Behind him, Elenor Branstone watched suspiciously, trying to see if this was another trick.

"Down there!" Harry couldn't see the speaker, but he could feel the Hufflepuff Seeker dive down, tailing him. However, the split-second delay had served its purpose. As if sensing that it was being pursued the snitch darted right, Harry right behind. It shot upwards, just brushing by his left ear, and he turned the handle of his broom up to follow. The other players were all moving out of his way as he chased the golden snitch. Then, the charmed ball darted back down. In an instant Harry had moved, intercepting its path. He stretched out one hand and snatched the snitch from the air as the stadium erupted in cheers.

Harry grinned at the crowd, but inside he felt a distinct lack of emotion. Despite everything, he had had no feelings of doubt as to the outcome of the match. The challenge was fading.

Well, of course he won. What else would Perfect Potter do?