The Knights Of Walpurgis

Chapter Ten: The Seekers

Harry's bad feelings were justified the next day, although not in the manner that he had anticipated. He came down from breakfast to find Ginny and Neville poring over the latest Daily Prophet. Taking a seat opposite them, he was about to ask what was so interesting when Ginny wordlessly handed him the paper.

MINISTER FOR MAGIC VOTED EMERGENCY POWERS

By Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent

In a widely expected move late yesterday evening, the Wizengamot passed a resolution granting the Minister for Magic, Amos Diggory, emergency powers in the Ministry's efforts to control the second uprising of the He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

Although caution was recommended by the elderly Albus Dumbledore, chief warlock of the Wizengamot, the ruling was passed by a majority vote. Diggory, in his first act under the new powers, daringly reinstated the legal use of the Unforgivable curses against known and suspected Dark Wizards.

"We must be ready to fight fire with fire," Diggory said as the announcement was made. "The Dark wizards will stop at nothing to deprive us of the basic right to enjoy our lives and feel safe. They must know that they run the ultimate risk should they dare act against us."

In his speech, Diggory cited the memory of his late son, Cedric, who was the first victim of You-Know-Who's return, as his inspiration in every action he takes as Minister.

"I know how it feels to lose someone close to me," Diggory announced. "It is my pledge that I will do everything and anything that it takes to prevent any more families from feeling that kind of pain and misery."

"Skeeter and the Prophet are back on speaking terms, then," Harry said, passing the Prophet back to Ginny. "Cedric wasn't the first person Voldemort killed, either. It was a Muggle."

"Rita was never known for researching her stories," Hermione said heavily, taking the seat next to Harry as Ron sat next to Neville. She placed her own copy of the Prophet on the table. "And who'd care about a Muggle?" she added, with a heavy sarcasm as she exchanged looks with Harry.

"What do you reckon, is this a good thing?" Ron asked. "It might put some people off joining You-Know-Who."

"Mad-Eye Moody didn't like using the Unforgivables," Harry said. "He always tried to bring in his prisoners alive."

"Moody was the best, though," Ron said, his eyes circled with dark rings. "Dad always says so. What if Tonks or someone got into a scrap with Bellatrix Lestrange? You think she should try and hold off on killing her?"

"Yes," Neville said firmly. The others turned to look at him.

"She needs to go back to Azkaban," he said. "Death's too good for some people. It wouldn't pay for what she's done."

Harry, thinking of the prophecy, nodded.

"I don't like the idea of using the Killing Curse," he said. "Imperius, maybe, I can see why the Aurors get to use that. I don't think that the Cruciatus should be used, either, but I can see how it could be useful in stopping a fight."

He shuddered, and for a moment found himself remembering his battle with Voldemort in the Little Hangleton graveyard the year before. A warm hand clasped his, and he looked up to see Ginny looking at him with concern.

"I'm okay," Harry said automatically. "Really. Just remembering..."

Ginny seemed unsure, but withdrew her hand as Dean took the seat next to her, glancing oddly at Harry before he opened his own newspaper - a Muggle one - and turned to the football section.

"The Cruciatus works," Harry said.

"I know," Neville said flatly.

The conversation didn't grow much more cheerful, and Harry was rather glad to leave the table when the bell rang for classes. Try as he might, though, he was unable to lose himself in his Herbology work, and it wasn't until after lunch, when Bill took the Defence class through methods of defending and countering Trip Jinxes and the Impediment Jinx that he was able to shift the dark mood that had been hanging over him all day. By the end of the lesson, Harry and Susan had managed to earn ten points each for an impromptu duel that Bill had talked them into. They had stood a few feet apart, throwing the jinxes at each other and reversing them when struck, and had ended to a round of applause from the rest of the class. Although Harry had been the clear winner, Susan had done well enough that she seemed really pleased with her performance, and Harry was gratified to know that certain moves that she'd used had been learnt from him, rather than Bill or any of their other previous Defence teachers.

Harry made his way up to Dumbledore's study after the class and found his headmaster sat comfortably in his chair. The incense was already burning, the lights dimmed and the old headmasters nearly asleep. Harry wordlessly took his place on the chaise lounge and relaxed.

"Now, Harry, how have you felt about our sessions together so far?" Dumbledore asked.

"Okay," Harry said cautiously.

"There are no right or wrong answers, Harry," Dumbledore said gravely. "You can tell me if you think that I am a doddering old fool, and that you would rather have Professor Snape teach you again."

Harry grinned, and the last of the unease slipped away.

"No, I think I'm learning," Harry said. "I can relax now, and clear my mind before I go to sleep, and when I get angry sometimes as well."

"Just sometimes?" Dumbledore asked, his voice absolutely neutral.

"I'm practising," Harry said. "But it's not easy."

"Very few Gryffindors have the right temperament for Occlumency, Harry. The foremost practitioners of this age have come from Slytherin and Ravenclaw. I have some skill, it is true, but it was hard won."

"How do you think I'm doing, sir?"

"You are coming along, Harry," Dumbledore said. "As is so often the case in many branches of magic, a person may make steady progress, or he may make no progress for a considerable period of time, and then leap great distances in no time at all. I think that you are somewhere between the two."

Harry thought about this for a moment, and decided that Dumbledore meant he wasn't progressing as well as might have been hoped.

"I'm trying. There's a lot going on right now."

"And you're sixteen, Harry. That is not to be discounted."

"Sorry?"

"Your teenage years are a time of great turmoil," Dumbledore said. "Physically, emotionally, hormonally... You have a lot of factors working against you."

To Harry's relief, Dumbledore didn't sound particularly concerned about this. In fact, he almost sounded amused.

Harry felt his scar prickle slightly.

"He knows," he said simply.

"That is no longer surprising. Have you had your dream recently?"

"No."

"Hmmm," Dumbledore sat back in his chair, and steepled his fingers. "Tell me, Harry, what troubles you today?"

"Minister Diggory. And the match on Saturday."

"And Voldemort?"

Harry felt his stomach churn.

"Yeah."

"But he is not a constant threat?"

"No. He's... He's in the distance. He scares me, but it's hard to take him as seriously. He's not an immediate threat."

"But he could be. At any moment, he could appear and attack you."

"But he hasn't done."

"That is not necessarily an indicator of the future."

"It's not the way he acts," Harry said.

"What do you mean?"

Harry closed his eyes, remembering the times that he'd touched Voldemort's mind with his own. He shuddered, and his stomach churned. His scar throbbed, and then the pain disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. Harry forced himself to relax, made his muscles relax and brought Sirius to mind. It was as though a cool hand had been placed on his forehead.

"When I've seen inside his head, I know what makes him happy," Harry said, the word feeling alien and uncomfortable on his lips. "He doesn't act without reason, sir. He plans, and checks his plans, and he has people trying to poke holes in them."

Dumbledore was nodding.

"Very true," he said. "We cannot discount the possibility that he will change his ways, especially as he must be aware of your knowledge, but I think we can focus primarily on reducing your worries about Minister Diggory and the Quidditch season. Tell me, why is it that you are so worried about the Minister?"

"I don't know," Harry said. "I just don't know if he should be the Minister. I mean, you said that he's Voldemort's choice."

Dumbledore nodded. "So it appears. That does not mean that he cannot be an effective Minister."

"What if he's not acting for himself?" Harry asked. "He could be under the Imperius curse."

"He is not," Dumbledore said. "At my suggestion, he is tested regularly. It is an examination conducted by senior Aurors, and the Minister well understands its necessity."

Harry nodded.

"He's talking about Cedric a lot," he said.

"Yes, I am aware of that," Dumbledore said heavily. "You think that his loss may adversely affect his father's actions? It is possible, I will admit this."

"I... What I felt for Sirius," Harry said, staring at the empty portrait that normally held the figure of Phineas Nigellus. "It must have been like the way Mr. Diggory felt about Cedric. I know how I reacted when Sirius died. And now Aurors are allowed to use the Unforgivables again."

"It is the Minister's privilege and choice to authorise the use of those spells, Harry," Dumbledore said.

"I don't think that it's right," Harry said. "Voldemort's affecting the way we act."

"It is necessary," Dumbledore said. "In war, we must take precautions."

"I know," Harry said. "Of course we do, but people will go too far. I keep thinking of Mr. Crouch."

"Ah, yes," Dumbledore said. "War often grants the opportunity for quick advancement. Mr. Crouch was a particularly effective catcher of Dark Wizards."

"But look at what it did to him," Harry said. "He ignored his son, and he ended up dead."

"Harry, we must trust people to live their own lives," Dumbledore said. "Would you tell everyone how to live? How to do their jobs? How can we learn if we do not make mistakes?"

Harry sank back on the chaise lounge, trying to frame his reply.

"I don't want to tell people how to live their lives," he said. "But I don't think that it's right to put temptation in people's way."

"A view you hold ever since you used an Unforgivable curse yourself?" Dumbledore asked. "Perhaps it is a good thing for people to experience it. Most will learn that there is no honour earned from such a thing, as you yourself have learned. A few will, perhaps, think that the power they are granted puts them above others. It is part of human nature, both the good and the bad," he sighed. "Rest assured that everyone is being observed. Aurors do not work with partners just to provide additional firepower."

Harry smiled slightly, and nodded. Although he still felt uncomfortable with the idea of the Aurors being able to use the Unforgivable curses, he supposed that he wasn't the only person to have noted Mr. Crouch's enthusiasm for their use during the first war against Voldemort.

"Now, as for your concerns about your upcoming Quidditch match, might I suggest that you simply place your faith in your teammates? I understand that that has worked well as a tactic for Gryffindor in the past?"

Harry sighed. He felt that calming his concerns over the next match was going to take a lot longer than calming his concerns over the use of Unforgivable curses in the fight against Voldemort's army.

*

It only took until Saturday morning for Harry's concerns to be justified. He had been the first one down to breakfast and had watched Ron stumble through the doors to the Great Hall and towards the Gryffindor table with mounting concern.

Ron looked a mess; His shirt was done up with the buttons in the wrong holes, his hair was sticking up even more wildly then Harry's normally did and large, dark bags hung under his eyes.

"Why did I choose the Cannons playbook?" he asked, dropping heavily into his seat. He waved away Harry's offer of bacon and eggs and let his head drop onto the table. "I mean, the Tornadoes are bloody cheats, but Wigtown or Puddlemere would have been all right. I had to choose the Cannons, though."

He looked up sharply and speared Harry with an intense gaze.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I tried," Harry said, stung by his friend's accusatory tone. "You didn't listen, remember?"

"Oh, yeah," Ron groaned, sinking back into his seat. "I forgot. Sorry."

"Hello, Ronald."

Ron turned around slowly, clearly dreading what he would see. Luna stood directly behind him, much closer then Harry would have felt comfortable with.

"What do you want?" Ron sighed.

"I came to wish you good luck," Luna said, bending forward as though about to kiss him.

"Not now!" Ron barked, leaning back as far as the table would allow him. "Merlin's beard, give it a rest, will you?"

Luna stepped back, and Harry thought that he saw a spark of wounded emotion cross her face before her usual serene expression returned.

"I shall see you after the game, then," she said, and walked slowly in the direction of the Ravenclaw table. Ron didn't watch her go, and other than mumbling "It's a match, not a game," under his breath, gave no reaction to her departure.

"Ron! Harry!" Ginny came bursting into the Great Hall, half her hair streaming behind her, the other half curled tightly in the bun she put it in for Quidditch. She sprinted along the Gryffindor table and came to a halt by Ron, red in the face and out of breath. "It's Natalie."

"Oh, what now?" Ron groaned. "Don't tell me, she's been suspended for getting into a fight with twenty Slytherins."

Ginny looked stricken. "You've already heard?"

"What? I mean-" Ron's face fell. "She hasn't, has she?"

Ginny nodded, dropping onto the seat next to Ron. "She got into a fight with Millicent Bulstrode and ended up trying to take on half the house."

"Oh..." The rest of Ron's words were drowned out by Hermione's arrival at the table, every bit as quick as Ginny's and rather louder as she dropped Omnioculars, flags and what appeared to be Luna's lion's head hat on the floor behind her. "Have you heard?" she asked, gasping for breath as she sunk onto the bench next to Harry.

Harry nodded, staring worriedly at Ron, who in contrast to the pink-cheeked girls was distinctly green-faced.

"What are you going to do?" Hermione asked. "Professor Snape said that he was going to have her suspended from the team for the rest of the year."

"He wouldn't, would he?" Ginny asked, looking from Hermione to Harry in disbelief.

"'Course he would," Harry said. "Anything to try and stop us beating Slytherin."

"Oh..." The rest of Ginny's words were drowned out by the arrival of the other sixth year boys at the table.

"Have you heard?" Neville blurted.

Harry clambered across the table, leaving Ginny and Hermione to deal with the others. He grabbed Ron's arm and hauled his friend into the gap between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables.

"We've got to find Dennis Creevey," he said.

"Yeah," Ron said listlessly. "Right. I'd better, uh..."

"Ron!" Harry snapped his fingers in front of Ron's eyes. "Come on. You've got to talk to McGonagall. I'll find Dennis."

"Right. McGonagall. And say what?"

"You've got to get her to speak to Snape," Harry said. "It was her who was going to punish me last year after I hit Malfoy. I'm sure Snape can't punish a member of another house, but we might have to let her sit out this match."

"Right, right..." Ron said. "Yeah," he looked up, and Harry was relieved to see him looking more like his usual self. "Snape's not going to get away with this."

He hurried off in the direction of the teachers' table while Harry sprinted towards the door to the entrance hall, and the stairs up to Gryffindor Tower. At the doorway, he passed Pansy Parkinson.

"Last minute substitution, Potter?" Pansy hissed. "Fat lot of good it'll do you. Even if we do only have six players, we'll still beat you."

"What are you on about now, Parkinson?" Harry asked, stopping in his tracks. "You can't play with only six players."

"As good as," Pansy huffed. "Haven't you noticed? Draco's been in a mood all term, but we can't get him off the team, can we?"

"Shouldn't have let his dad buy your brooms, should you?" Harry said.

"And play on Cleansweeps and Shooting Stars, like the Weasleys? Please, Potter," Pansy scowled. "Anyway, even if Draco's only there to make up numbers, you've still got that walking plank as a Keeper, so we shouldn't have any problems getting a big enough lead."

"Haven't you heard, Pansy?" Harry smiled. "Ginny's not on a Shooting Star anymore. She's got a Firebolt."

Harry just had a moment to enjoy watching Pansy's smile fall before he turned and ran up the stairs, remembering at the last second to hop over the trick stair halfway up.

*

"Right, we're not off to a good start," Ron declared, standing in front of his team in the changing rooms. Natalie McDonald stood to one side, looking chastened but still retaining a hint of rebelliousness about her. "But it's Slytherin. We never lose to Slytherin, and we're not going to start now. They're not as good as we are, they don't want it as much as we do, and they don't have two Firebolts. They're worse off than us in every single department, got it?"

The team nodded. Dennis, looking swamped in a robe that had been meant for the much taller Natalie, nodded most vigorously of all.

"Right, now, we'll start off with the Cannons plays we've been practising-" Ron paused, as though awaiting protest. "I know that they haven't worked out all that great, but let's see if we can pull them off in a match, yeah? If not, we'll swap things around and see how that works out.

"Now, Dennis is playing his first match today, but the rest of you are all experienced enough. Let's head out there and show them what Gryffindor can do, okay?"

The team stood and made their way out into the tunnel, where the Slytherin team were jostling and shouting. Ron stood in the doorway for a moment, and then turned around. Harry, the only person left in the dressing room, took one look at his friend's face and got out of his way. As Ron dashed into the toilet, Harry tactfully shut the dressing room door on his way out.

*

"Welcome to the first Quidditch match of the new season!"

Harry squinted up at the commentator's box, high above the ground. He supposed that he shouldn't have been surprised to hear a new voice commentating, as Lee Jordan had left Hogwarts earlier in the year, but the sound of Pansy Parkinson's voice amplified over even the roar of the thousand Hogwarts students was shocking enough to make him stop in the entrance to the player's tunnel. Dennis walked into him and staggered backwards.

"Sorry," Harry muttered, as several of the Slytherin players smirked at them.

"It's okay," Dennis grinned. "Isn't this brilliant? I can't wait to get up and play."

Harry grinned back.

"Yeah. It'll be great to fly in a match again."

"I can't believe I'm actually flying. And in a real match! This is so great!"

"Might want to watch it, titch," one of the Slytherin players growled. "You're up against me out there. You'll be lucky to stay on your broom once the whistle goes."

Harry looked at the Slytherin, a tall, bulky seventh year by the name of Adrian Pucey, and frowned.

"You're not threatening one of our players are you?"

"Get over yourself, Potter," the Slytherin said. "You can't search for the Snitch and look after your little Mudblood too."

Only the appearance of Madam Hooch prevented the Gryffindor team from throwing themselves at Pucey. She glared at the two teams, and her eyes fell on the vacant space behind Jack Sloper, where Ron should have been standing.

"Where's your Keeper?"

The door to the Gryffindor changing room swung open and Ron appeared in the tunnel. He fell into place behind Sloper, and it seemed obvious, Harry felt, that he had been violently sick.

"Nice of you to join us, Mr. Weasley," Hooch snapped. "Now, I am well aware of the animosity between your houses, however, I will have a good, clean match today. Anyone caught deliberately breaching the rules of the game will be suspended from your next match. Do I make myself clear? I understand that Gryffindor already have one player suspended. You should not attempt to make it more."

She spun on one heel and lead the teams out into the weak autumn sunshine.

"And here come the teams! For Slytherin we have Draco Malfoy as Seeker, Chasers Pucey, Arthur and Zabini. The Beaters are Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle and our Keeper is Graham Pritchard!"

There were cheers from the Slytherins among the crowd, and some respectful applause from among the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. The Gryffindor fans were silent, but roared to life as the team made their way into the light and mounted their brooms.

"Gryffindor is represented today by Potter, Bell, Weasley, Creevey, Kirke, Sloper and Weasley," Pansy announced in a monotone. "And now for what I'm sure will be a hard-fought match. Winning after all, is everything."

Harry looked up instinctively, waiting for Professor McGonagall to say something, as she would have done if Lee had come out with such a comment. But Professor McGonagall wasn't in the commentator's box this year. Harry's heart sank as he realised that it was Professor Snape sitting alongside the Slytherin girl. There was no way that he would interrupt an anti-Gryffindor comment, the way McGonagall had done when Lee had got out of hand in insulting Slytherin.

"Ignore her," Ginny said, coming alongside him and following his gaze. Her Firebolt gleamed in her hand, and Harry made a note to himself to get a new broom repai kit the next time he went to Hogsmeade. He was finally nearing the end of the one that Hermione had given him for his birthday a few years before, and he knew that in a few weeks, when the last of the polishing wax ran out, his broom would start to look rather the worse for wear. "She's not worth it. She's going to be as bad as ever, but we've heard it all before."

"Yeah. Still, I wish it were Lee up there. I bet she doesn't even say anything about your broom."

Ginny grinned, and then grew serious again.

"Harry, about that-"

"To your places!"

Harry and Ginny dashed to their starting positions. Ron and Malfoy walked to the centre circle of the pitch and shook hands. Malfoy looked as though he couldn't care less about the match, and Harry wondered exactly why he'd been made captain if he wasn't interested in Quidditch any more. He didn't even try to crush Ron's hand, as had been common practise for Slytherin captains in the past. Then again, Harry supposed Ron would have been able to break Malfoy's thin fingers as easily as a bundle of twigs, had the Slytherin captain tried anything.

"Captains take flight!" Hooch's voice rang through the stadium, and Ron and Malfoy lifted gracefully into the air, Ron heading directly for the Gryffindor hoops, Malfoy coming to a halt about fifteen feet above the centre circle.

"Teams take flight!" Harry and the other players rose into the air. Harry rose to the same height as Malfoy and hung opposite him. Malfoy met Harry's gaze and shrugged, before looking down at the trunk containing the Quidditch balls.

The Snitch zipped out of the trunk, pausing briefly between Harry and Malfoy, zipping from side to side before disappearing southwards towards the Ravenclaw section of the crowd. The Bludgers soared skyward next, one brushing across the handle of Harry's Firebolt, shaking him back to awareness and making him focus on the match instead of Malfoy. Madam Hooch mounted her broom and with a sharp blow on her whistle, tossed the Quaffle upwards, before lifting gradually upward from the ground.

The Quaffle shot up between Harry and Malfoy, and above them the Chasers dived into the fray. Harry heard a truncated yelp from Dennis as something hit him, but his focus fixed once more on Malfoy.

The blonde Slytherin sat idly on his broom, unmoving as the Chasers and Beaters played ferociously above them. Harry stared at him, waiting for Malfoy to make a move, but whole minutes passed by and still Malfoy remained motionless. Gradually, Harry became aware of his teammates urging him to become involved in the game, and eventually even Pansy's voice reached him.

"Potter and Malfoy apparently playing their own game today, neither player involved in the match so far. The two have been at odds since their first meeting, and now it seems as though their feud has spilled over onto the Quidditch pitch."

Harry was vaguely aware of Katie scoring a pair of quick goals to put Gryffindor twenty points in the lead, but his attention remained fixed on Malfoy. The Slytherin's pale grey eyes held Harry's gaze unblinkingly, but also unchallengingly. Harry sought the animosity that had defined his relationship with Malfoy since their meeting aboard the Hogwarts Express more than five years before, but found it absent. Malfoy was observing Harry as Harry might have observed the classroom wall in a History of Magic class: with little real interest, but knowing him to be of greater interest then the events occurring around him.

"Harry, move!" Ginny whipped past, a rapid red blur as she pushed her Firebolt to its limits. Harry shook his head, and turned his own broom away from Malfoy, looking for the Snitch.

The match continued for nearly an hour. The Gryffindor Chasers were outclassing their Slytherin counterparts by some distance, but the Slytherins were trailing by only thirty points. The Slytherin third year Keeper, who was making his debut for the team, was having an exceptional match, and was largely responsible for keeping the scores down, with Slytherin trailing by forty points to seventy.

Sweat-streaked and tousle-haired, Ron called a timeout as Ginny's latest shot was saved almost miraculously by the opposition Keeper.

"This feels like it's going to go on forever," Ron said. "Harry, where's the Snitch?"

"I don't know," Harry said. "I'm sure I've seen it, a few times, but every time I look it disappears again. It doesn't want to be caught."

"Great," Ron seethed. "Okay, look, let's forget the Cannons playbook. Any suggestions?"

"Crabbe and Goyle are their weak point," Katie said immediately. "If we can keep the Bludgers flying at them, we can take more time to line up our shots."

"Right, okay. Here's something that Puddlemere tried last season," Ron said, looking as though the words were causing him pain as they left his mouth. "Jack, I want you close to Katie at all time. Andrew, stick with Dennis. Ginny," he turned to his sister. "You're on a Firebolt. You can outrun any Bludger, right?"

Ginny nodded silently. Harry thought that she looked nervous, but before he could catch her eye she looked down at the handle of her broom and began to mutter under her breath.

"Okay, change of plan then," Ron said. "I still reckon the Cannons' plays will work."

"Not against that Keeper," Katie said. "No offence Ron, but..."

"Yeah, I wish he was on our side too," Ron half-smiled. "But you're stuck with me, right?"

"You'll do," Kirke grinned.

"Bloody right I will," Ron said. "Now, you know what you have to do. Get out there and do it."

The team broke up from its huddle and upwards once more. Harry hung high above the pitch, floating on the breeze as he looked for the familiar flash of gold that signaled the appearance of the Snitch. He could see Malfoy's pale head standing out starkly against the dark green of his robes as the Slytherin Seeker looped lazily around the far end of the pitch. He didn't seem to have lifted more than thirty feet above the ground for the duration of the match, and Pansy had taken to baiting him directly

The match recommenced with Ron's new tactics having an immediate impact. Gryffindor scored immediately, and within five minutes had added two more. Katie and Dennis were well protected Kirke and Sloper, while Ginny and her Firebolt were causing massive disruption to the opposition team. To Harry's delight, Crabbe swung wildly at a Bludger and managed only to catch Goyle in the stomach, leaving Goyle sprawled along the length of his broom as it dipped slowly downward.

With one Beater removed from the match, Slytherin were overrun, and when they did manage to keep the Quaffle for a few moments, either Ginny's disruptive flying or the indefensible Bludgers broke up their attacks.

Even the Slytherin Keeper could only do so much to hold back the tide. Shot after shot flew past him, and Gryffindor were soon leading by one hundred and forty points.

And then, after Harry had begun to wonder whether it had broken its enchantments and left the stadium, the Snitch appeared. It rocketed out from beneath the commentary box and flashed across the pitch. Harry had begun to accelerate in its direction almost before he recognised it.

Malfoy had reacted even faster. He was in exactly the right place, and even as Harry leant further forward, flattening himself against the handle of the broom, wringing every last ounce of acceleration from the magic, he knew that it wouldn't be enough.

He was trailing the Snitch, following its wake.

Malfoy was in front of it, accelerating towards it on a direct intercept path.

Harry willed the Snitch to change direction, even slightly, anything to throw the other Seeker off.

But it didn't.

Even above the roar of the crowd, and Pansy's amplified squawl, Harry was sure that he heard the slap as the Snitch hit Malfoy's gloved palm.

Gryffindor had lost.

Malfoy had caught the Snitch.

To be continued...