The Dementors' Kiss

Chapter Seventeen: Gryffindor vs. Ravenclaw

Harry had spent the days since receiving the Cupid Kiss on tenterhooks. The message was simple. Harry, I'm crazy about you. When you win the Cup then I'll show you who I am. The feel of the kiss as it exploded in his mouth had been amazing. He knew, knew in his heart that there was only one person who could do that. The way she'd grinned whenever she'd seen him since then was enough for him to know. Almost, anyway. He'd have been positive if it weren't for the way that every girl in the school seemed to be grinning at him the same way.

So he lay awake the night before the match, the dormitory silent with everyone still downstairs. He tried to banish the thought from his head, but it stuck. Win the cup, get Ginny. Win the Cup, get Ginny. Win the Cup, get-

"Harry?"

"In here," he said, looking at the silhouette in the doorway. "Is something wrong, Ron?"

"Everyone's wondering where you got to," Ron said, coming into the room. "You okay? Not feeling ill, are you?" he added, a note of panic creeping into his voice. Harry grinned.

"No, I'm fine. Just wanted a bit of time alone."

"Harry. . . That Kiss you got. . ."

"Yeah?"

"Was it. . . Was it from Ginny?"

Harry swallowed in the darkness. He'd been hoping this conversation wouldn't happen tonight.

"I don't know. Whoever it was, they said they wouldn't reveal who they were unless, well, unless we win tomorrow."

"So you've got two reasons to want to win tomorrow," Ron said, trying to force some humour into his voice.

"Yeah," Harry said., staring at the ceiling. "I guess so." Don't ask, don't ask, don't-

"Harry. . ."

". . .yeah?"

"Do you want it to have come from Ginny?"

Harry swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. Walking around the dormitory, he stood in front of Ron, his friend's face nervous in the moonlight. He took a deep breath, and quietly said;

"I like Ginny a lot, Ron. I know you've noticed that. I tried not to, but I've been feeling like this about her since the summer. I guess it's the same way you feel about Hermione. So, yeah, Ron, I'm hoping the Kiss was from your sister."

"Right," Ron said, before turning and walking out of the door. It closed quietly behind him.

Damn.

*

Ron found Hermione sitting by the fire, trying to focus on her Arithmancy coursework through the maelstrom raging around her.

"You talked to him," she said, not looking up from the textbook.

"Yeah," he said, sitting cross-legged at her feet. He leant back against her legs, and stared into the fire. "I was right. He likes her. I mean, really likes her. What am I going to do?"

"Why do you have to do anything?"

"He's my best friend, 'Mione. And she's my sister."

"And?"

Her quill scratched across the parchment as he tried to marshal his thoughts.

"It's not that I don't wish Harry the very best, but. . ."

"So Ginny's not the very best?" Hermione asked, quietly. Ron paused, and then turned over, resting his chin on her knees. The quill scratched across the parchment some more.

"I'm being stupid, aren't I?" he said.

"Yes," she said. Then she looked up, her eyes sparkling mischievously beneath her fringe. "But at least you're getting better at recognising it."

He grinned sheepishly, and stood up, sliding into the seat beside her. The Arithmancy homework soon lay forgotten.

*

"Harry? Harry, you awake?"

Harry stared at the canopy of his four poster bed. He couldn't sleep, and didn't want another discussion with Ron right now. He kept silent.

"Huh, guess not. 'Spose it can wait 'til tomorrow."

*

The wind streamed through Harry's hair as he sped around the Quidditch pitch. The match was ten minutes old, and Ravenclaw were proving a tough nut to crack. Fred and George were attacking with reckless abandon, the Bludgers flying with pinpoint accuracy at the Ravenclaw team. Harry winced as Cho lost her balance and tried desperately to right herself on her broom while she looked around for the Snitch.

"And after ten minutes the match is still scoreless, but there's not been a dull moment. These two teams are very evenly matched, you can barely fit a wand between them!"

The Slytherins were booing lustily, as they always did when their team wasn't on the pitch. The Hufflepuffs were cheering everyone, while the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws were as partisan a group of supporters as one would expect. Every feint, every dive, every pass, shot and save was cheered loudly. Harry felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle as he looked around at the crowd.

"Pay attention, Harry!" George yelled as he just intercepted a Bludger that had been aimed at Harry's stomach. Harry grinned sheepishly and dived back into the match, cutting directly in front of Cho as she made a long, looping circuit of the pitch in search of the Snitch.

"Oi!" she yelled. He waved back at her, and heard her laugh. Harry smiled happily. Whatever was going to happen after the match, it was directly under his control now. He would win this match the way he always had, by getting the Snitch. So much the better that it was being played in such a friendly spirit. The competition for the Quidditch Cup had seemingly been left behind, which surprised Harry, but the sheer respect the two teams had for one another meant that the teams were as interested in the match itself as they were the result.

At the far end of the pitch, Harry saw Katie seize on a misplaced Ravenclaw pass and accelerate goalwards on her Nimbus 2000. He began to chase after her, intent on providing assistance if it was needed. Even as the Firebolt hit top speed, though, he saw it wasn't necessary. Katie feinted left and slotted the Quaffle neatly into the right Ravenclaw goal hoop.

"Gryffindor lead, ten points to nil!"

After half an hour, the teams were all square. Harry was high above the stadium, extremely grateful for Hermione's glowstone, which kept him warm in the cool February air.

"At sixty points a piece, this match is as level as can be. Neither team seems willing to give an inch! It's been a scintillating match, played in the true spirit of the match, and- Is that the Snitch?"

Indeed it was. Lee's magnified call brought everyone's head around, and they could all see the Snitch, hovering almost directly above the centre circle. Harry and Cho saw it too, from opposite sides of the stadium. Turning in, they willed their broomsticks on, wringing every ounce of speed from the magic. It was Harry's Firebolt against Cho's Nimbus 2001, Cho's slight head start making the contest a very even one.

They sped onward, no thought on their minds save the Snitch. They were on a collision course, no time to brake or evade, and then;

"The Snitch moves! They're gonna crash!"

But they didn't. Seeming to act with one mind, the Seekers slewed to their respective rights, halting in mid air for a split second with their backs to one another as their momentum ceased. Then they were spiralling downward, their brooms spinning through a double helix of blurry red and blue that had the whole crowd holding their breath as the Snitch led the fearless Seekers onward.

"Unbelievable flying from our Seekers! If neither of these players turns pro, I'll eat my cauldron!"

At the very last second, the Snitch shot off at a right angle, cutting across the grass of the pitch at an incredible speed. Amazingly, the Seekers were equal to the challenge, and were already pulling their broomsticks up and parallel to the ground. They were a single blur now, the magic from their overtaxed broomsticks crackling in the air behind them.

"Potter and Chang inseparable, and their sharp turn has gained them ground on the Snitch. The Snitch is going lower. Much lower and it'll be underground! It's close, it's-"

It was, everyone agreed, a spectacular crash. Harry and Cho took their hands from their brooms at the same instant, reached forward for the Snitch, and in doing so, shifted their balance forward just enough to send the noses of their brooms into the ground.

The combined mass of two brooms and two Seekers ploughed the Quidditch pitch for nearly fifty metres, and there were screams of fear from the crowd. The remaining members of the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor teams sped downward, briefly obscuring their Seekers, and then Harry and Cho rose up on the shoulders of their teams, the players intermingling as the Seekers raised their joined hands above their heads.

"It's a tie! A tie! Chang and Potter both have the Snitch! That's seventy-five points each, and Ravenclaw and Gryffindor tie for the Quidditch Cup! What an amazing match! People will be talking about this for years to come! Simply incredible!"

*

Whether it was because it was the second party of the week or not, Harry didn't know, but he seemed to have less enthusiasm then he might otherwise have done. Winning the Quidditch Cup, or a share of it, was always cause for celebration, and he'd certainly indulged in his share of Butterbeer and Fizzing Whizbees. However, he kept looking at his watch, as though waiting for something.

Someone.

He collapsed into a chair as Fred and George began juggling their clubs, Trevor the Toad, Hermione's copy of Hogwarts: A History and an unexploded Birthday Bomb back and forth. Harry watched with interest as the speed began to pick up, and laughed along with everyone else when Fred missed his catch. The Bomb went off and covered him in soot, just before Hogwarts: A History hit him in the stomach, and sent him staggering backward, landing in Angelina's lap. Harry shook his head. The twins had a knack when it came to women, there was no denying it.

He looked up when a shadow fell across his lap. Ron was looking down at him, an emotional war playing out on his open, honest face.

"You can date Ginny," he said. "If the Kiss was from her, I won't give you any hassle. Just don't hurt her. Ever."

With that, he turned on his heel and stalked off, the tips of his ears very red. Harry looked after him in amazement.

*

The party went on long and loudly, until, at two in the morning, even Fred and George decided to call it a night. Sort of. Harry watched from beside the Common Room fire as the twins, along with Alicia, Angelina, Lee and Katie slipped out of the portrait hole. Harry could hear the Fat Lady calling after them, but to no avail. He'd overheard them making plans that apparently involved the Prefect's bathroom, and Harry knew full well that the Fat Lady had little chance of stopping that sort of adventure.

He stood up and stretched. Looking around the common room, he smiled ruefully at the mess that would need to be cleared up the next day. Maybe if he slept long enough, the others would do it? He snorted. Not likely. Another example to set. . . He pulled out his wand, and doused the lights with a flick. Heading for the stairs to his dormitory, he paused, and turned around, a light breeze on the back of his neck telling him there was a window open somewhere.

And there, silhouetted against the fire, she stood.

*

You're four years old, and learning to read from The Boy Who Lived. Your brothers are re-enacting the scary parts, and you feel so sorry for the little boy who lost his parents.

Six now and one of the schoolbooks tells you more about Harry, about how he lives with Muggles and won't learn any magic unless he goes to a wizarding school.

Eight years old, and you spend the afternoon drawing a picture of a black-haired boy and a red-haired girl holding hands.

Ten now, and your brother starts to write to you. That nice boy you met on the platform, who you didn't find out until afterwards was Harry Potter, he's your brother's best friend.

Eleven, and you come down to breakfast in your pyjamas. And Harry's sitting there, smiling at you! You run away.

Eleven still, and everyone's teasing you, even your brothers, and Harry doesn't notice you. Only one person understands you, a spirit in your diary. But you're not feeling at all well...

Twelve, and Harry's risking his life for you, and you're so grateful, and there's nothing you can say to explain how you feel.

Fourteen, and the chance to go with Harry to the Yule Ball has just passed you by. And you cry yourself to sleep that night, knowing that it's not to be.

Fourteen, and he's standing there, in front of you, and you're so scared because, maybe, he's about to kiss you. And then the Dementors attack, and the moment is lost, and you can never quite get it back, and now he's the one who looks scared.

Fifteen, and he's standing there, looking at you, nervous, and worried, and anxious, and everything that you're feeling,

he's feeling too.

*

"Hi," they said together. Harry came away from the stairs, walking slowly toward the fireplace where Ginny stood.

"Did you like your Kiss?" Harry said, stumbling over the words, aware of every bone, every muscle, every joint in his body.

"Did you like yours?" Ginny replied, her hands clenched in front of her to stop them shaking.

"It was you then?" Harry said. "Does it matter that we didn't win outright?"

"I can forgive you," she said. "Can you forgive me for playing with you the last few days?"

Harry stopped scant inches in front of her. He reached out a trembling hand and touched her clenched fingers. Slowly, she unwrapped her hands from one another, and slipped her hand into his. He squeezed gently, and looked her in the eyes. His gaze took in the deep brown eyes that mirrored the anxiety he was feeling. He smiled as the breeze from the open window caught her hair, making it dance in the firelight. Reaching out with his free hand, he traced his fingers through her hair, revelling in the silky feel.

"You have the most amazing hair," he said, looking at her eyes once more. She stood frozen, no longer even trembling, just focussed on him. "You are the most amazing girl," he added, quietly, his gaze slipping downwards, away from her eyes. Glancing back up, he thought he could see the trademark Ginny blush begin to spread across her cheeks.

You said you wanted her to be less embarrassed around you. . .

Taking her head in his hands, he tilted it back slightly and leant forward, pressing his lips gently against hers. The last sane thought either managed as they flowed into one another's arms was:

The Cupid's Kiss was nothing against the real thing.