The Knights Of Walpurgis

Chapter Twenty-Four: Ravenclaw vs. Gryffindor

Harry's stomach churned as he dragged his eyes away from the headline and forced himself to look at the toad-like face of the former Hogwarts Headmistress. She was standing outside the phonebox that served as the public entrance to the Ministry of Magic, and striking various poses for the photographers. A wide smile split her squashed-looking face, and she appeared to be genuinely happy -- something that Harry had come to view as a reason for great concern the year before.

Unable to look at Umbridge's revolting visage a moment longer, Harry turned his attention to the article that took up the rest of the page.

Exclusive interview by Rita Skeeter

Dolores Umbridge, 47, is tired of failing standards in the Ministry of Magic.

Umbridge, who was never officially removed from her position as the High Inquisitor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, has bigger targets in mind than just improving the standard of education offered to our children.

"Minister Diggory is a failure -- and so are many of his heads of department. One need only look at the records of Amelia Bones and Arthur Weasley to see that incompetence is not solely a province of our under-performing Minister," said Umbridge. These are definitely fighting words, and only the beginning of the challenge she posed Minister Diggory, who was elected in dubious fashion last August.

"I have proof that the election last summer was rigged. I certainly did not vote for Diggory -- I always felt him highly incompetent, and in the wake of the death of his son, he has proven to be dangerously unstable."

Harry looked up from the paper and sought out Dumbledore at the staff table, but the Headmaster was absent. Frowning, Harry turned back to the article.

Minister Diggory's son, Cephalus, was killed during the Tri-Wizard Tournament two years ago. His killer has never been revealed, although Minister Diggory has always claimed that it was the work of You-Know-Who.

"This ridiculous obsession with a long-defeated Dark wizard has cost us the lives of too many of our Aurors. There are certainly Dark wizards terrorising the wizarding population, and they appear to be emulating the long-departed Death Eaters, but who among us truly believes that? Only if I were to see You-Know-Who with my own eyes would I believe this nonsense."

One wizard who has claimed to see He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named with his own eyes was Miss Umbridge's former boss -- the last Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge. When the Prophet approached for a comment last night, however, Minister Fudge's house-elf informed us that Minister Fudge was only accepting guests by appointment, and was in consultation with a number of high-ranking wizards.

"Of course, I would not presume to challenge for the post of Minister myself," Umbridge says, giggling most charmingly. "My role is always, and has always been, that of a servant. We -- that is, myself and those who agree with me -- have a candidate in mind and will soon officially announce his challenge for the Minister's position. This will be an open election, as the last effort was riddled with suspicion and unusual events."

When pressed for further details, Umbridge said, "Why did Gladforth Goyle resign from the contest? Why did he offer his support to Amelia Bones? And how did Amos Diggory come to be on the shortlist? He was barely a junior head of department -- freshly elected to his new position, and certainly he didn't have the experience to take on his new role. And I think that we've seen that he's incompetent. No, we've had to suffer through eight months of the wrong decisions under the control of a misguided and thoroughly unsuitable Minister. Don't you think that it's time we had someone capable back in charge?"

And what of her former role, the woman in charge of Hogwarts?

"I still believe that Albus Dumbledore is a dangerous and unsettling influence on our children," Umbridge says, looking still more serious. "But I see now that it no use attacking the symptoms of a disease. One must tackled the cause of the illness -- and that is located in the Minister's office right here at the Ministry."

Regular readers will know that The Daily Prophet has been questioning Diggory's regime for some time -- and that Albus Dumbledore's eccentric control of Hogwarts has been the subject of numerous investigations. We will continue to cover this story as it develops.

"Oh God," Harry said, sinking into a seat. "I don't believe this."

"Believe it," Hermione said. "Skeeter sent me a note last night -- and it's all true. At least," she said, as Harry threw an appalled glance her way. "Umbridge is quoted correctly. She's foul -- but it's Umbridge who's lying here. Apart from getting Cedric's name wrong, she didn't actually lie."

Harry looked at his hand, which still bore the faint scars from Umbridge's detentions. I must not tell lies, he read.

"I thought that we'd got rid of her," he mumbled.

"I wish," Ron said. "Fred always says that the cream isn't the only thing that rises to the top, though."

Ginny giggled, and Harry managed a taut smile, but he felt anything but cheerful.

"Look, everyone and their mother knows that Umbridge is a cow," Ron said. "We all know that the election was dodgy, but Mr. Diggory's not doing a bad job, is he?"

"Isn't he?" Harry asked. "What if they're right, though? What if he is obsessed with Voldemort to the point that he's neglecting the rest of his duties?"

"I wouldn't worry about it," Ron said. "That's not how the Ministry works. It's not like he's King or something. The heads of Department can each run their own patch, and the Minister only gets involved if he needs to, like if they need to make a major policy decision -- like devoting more resources to the Aurors as they hunt You-Know-Who. Besides, he is out there. I'd rather we have someone in power who's hunting him down than whoever Umbridge has picked to support."

"What I don't get is how can a mystery candidate can be acceptable," Neville asked. "If Mr. Diggory wasn't an acceptable candidate, how can they claim that someone unknown is?"

"I don't think that it is someone unknown," Hermione said. "Look at what she's saying. 'Eight months of the wrong decisions.' Putting someone capable 'back in charge.' Don't you see who she's talking about?"

"No," Ron said. "But then, you always were the only one who paid attention to what she was saying."

Hermione looked for a moment as though she was unsure whether this was a complement or an insult. Shrugging it off, she said, "Who do we know that Umbridge was supposed to be loyal to? She bypassed him to send the Dementors after you, Harry, and with him in charge, she'd have someone that she could manipulate as much as she wanted.

"It looks as though Umbridge wants to put Cornelius Fudge back in power."

*

Harry didn't make much headway in his training session with Marchbanks that day. He was so unfocused that he had trouble with the simplest of spells, and when they were practising his wordless Patronus, he couldn't even manage the wispy silver spray he'd previously progressed to. Whenever he tried to think of a happy memory, he found himself remembering his first sight of Dolores Umbridge, peering down on him from on high, preparing to have him sentenced for underage magic. The whole hearing still brought a shiver to his spine, but the thought of Umbridge in particular left him feeling particularly unsettled. Imagining her back in power, as she would surely be if she helped Fudge get re-elected, made him feel both anxious and somewhat angry. After the way that she had treated him and the other students during her time at Hogwarts, he couldn't bear the thought of her having any success.

"I can tell that you're upset, Potter," Marchbanks said at last. "Does this have anything to do with this morning's Prophet?"

Harry nodded.

"Very well. Forget the Patronus, Potter. Think about Umbridge. I understand that you had quite the feud with her last year. What would you like to do to her?"

Harry's mind filled with a thousand possibilities, each nastier than the last. What did he want to do to Dolores Umbridge? He wanted to see her pay for costing him a year of Dark Arts lessons that could have helped him save Sirius' life. He wanted her to pay for banning him from Quidditch. He wanted her to pay for the detentions she'd handed him, and others, where she'd made him slice open his own hand. He wanted her to feel as bad as he had.

Marchbanks didn't wait for him to answer.

"Pick a spell, and focus that feeling on it. What would you do to Dolores Umbridge if she walked through that door right now?"

Harry waved his wand, and thought of the most powerful Stunner he knew. The spell erupted from his wand and smashed into the far wall of the room, splintering several of the bricks. Harry stared at his wand in surprise.

"Good," Marchbanks said. "Very good. We may have found the way forward. I suppose that I should have known -- every teenager has reserves of anger and other negative emotions to spare. We'll pick up again tomorrow."

*

"Hi, Harry."

Harry looked up from his Charms essay. Professor Flitwick had come up with a very tricky essay on medicinal charms, and Harry was struggling with it. He had finally secluded himself in the Library, behind a stack of books that seemed to be nearly as tall as Hagrid, and each of which Hermione had suggested he read through to get a proper understanding of the subject.

"Hi," Harry said cautiously. It had been several weeks since he'd spoken to Susan anything more than in passing, and he wasn't sure why she'd sought him out now.

"You've been busy," she said. "I've been trying to catch you for a while now."

"Oh," he said. "Sorry."

"It's okay," she said. "I just... I wanted to explain. About Ernie and I."

Harry blinked in surprise. He hadn't expected her to say that.

"You don't need to explain," he said.

"No, I do," she said. "It must have seemed like I was breaking up with you to go out with him."

In truth, Harry really hadn't given the issue a second thought. What Susan did with her life now that she was no longer his girlfriend was entirely up to her, but she seemed to want to talk, so he shrugged and let her continue.

"He's normally so nice," she said. "A bit pompous, but..." she tailed off with a smile. "I felt rather guilty. I was aware that he liked me, and at the same time I started to like you. But when we started going out, Ernie was so hurt that I felt sorry for him. I know that it sounds silly..."

Harry made a non-committal sound.

"I do like Ernie. But we're not going out. It just all seemed to come to a head all at once. You were losing interest, Ernie was getting deeper and deeper into Malfoy's world -- and taking Justin with him, as well. And there were all the rumours... I just felt that this was the best way. This way I could help sort everything out."

Harry didn't say anything. Susan looked uncertain.

"I just... I didn't want there to be any misunderstandings," she said.

"Okay," Harry said.

"You're not angry?" she asked.

"Why would I be? I think you made the right choice. About us, anyway," he said, with a slight sigh. "And I'm glad you were able to help Ernie. He's a good bloke, although he doesn't always seem to remember it."

Susan smiled a little.

"You're right," she said. "He's a little like you. He's very passionate about doing the right thing, although he can get confused about what is right."

"Then you'll have to help him realise it," Harry said.

"I guess so," Susan said. "Oh dear, I sound like I'm signing up for life, don't I?"

Harry smiled.

"I don't think it will take Ernie too long to sort things out," he said. "He didn't do anything too bad, in the end. If the worst thing he does in his life is spread a few nasty rumours, he'll do okay."

Susan smiled.

"I hoped that you'd understand," she said. "I've known him since I was eleven and I couldn't just give up on him."

Harry nodded. He'd had arguments with Ron and Hermione that had made things very tense for weeks or months at a time, but things had calmed down since then, and they'd stood by him unquestioningly throughout the previous year, when things had been at their worst.

"He needs a friend," Harry said. "And I'm glad he's got you."

"Thanks," she said. She glanced at his essay. "Oh, is that the medicinal charms one?"

"Yeah, I'm--"

"--behind with your work?"

"Yeah," he admitted ruefully. She giggled quietly.

"Would you like some help?" she asked. "Ernie showed me how to do this one."

"Yeah," Harry said. "That'd be good, thanks."

As Susan helped him to find the right books and draw up an outline for the essay, Harry reflected that at last he seemed to have gotten things right with her.

*

Over the next several days, Harry learned to cast several wordless spells. Each time, Marchbanks would goad him into imagining an opponent in front of him, whether it was Umbridge, Voldemort or Professor Snape. Each time, Harry would fire powerful spells that would have injured his opponent, with the possible exception of Voldemort. At the end of each session, Harry returned to Gryffindor Tower feeling exhausted, and feeling the need for a long bath or shower that often continued long after he'd scrubbed away the day's accumulated dirt.

His head felt jumbled, and using the Pensieve didn't seem to help. Even when he removed the memories from his head and placed them in the stone basin, it didn't make any difference. They were still in his head, and he didn't really want to go into the memories and relive them. It wouldn't have helped him feel any less unsettled. Raising his Occlumency shields also became difficult, as he couldn't achieve the state of calmness required for several hours after his lessons. He felt almost as helpless as when he had been learning Occlumency under Snape the year before -- unable to stem the flow of unsettling memories, and unable to find a calm centre from which to ride out the storm.

As a result, it was very late before he fell asleep, and he seemed to sleepwalk through his lessons. He stayed at the back of each class, hoping not to be called upon for demonstrations, and while most of the teachers seemed to know that he wasn't able to take part in the lessons, Professor McGonagall made a point of calling on him to show the class a spell that the she had suggested to him for use in his duelling. Harry stood uselessly at the front of the class, unable to even remember the incantation, and Professor McGonagall ordered him to remain behind after the class had ended.

"Potter, what is the matter?"

"I'm just tired, Professor," he said.

"I see. You are struggling with all your extracurricular activities?"

Harry nodded.

"I don't suppose that you would agree to suspend your Quidditch practises, would you?"

Harry shook his head.

"Potter, be sensible. The final match of the season is this weekend. Weasley will understand that you have to take a break. I believe you have entered a most trying part of your studies with Professor Marchbanks?"

Harry nodded glumly.

"Potter, do not attend the rest of your Quidditch practises. That is an order. You only have two left -- I know your schedule. You can use those few hours to get some sleep."

Although Harry didn't say it, he was grateful for McGonagall's order. Ron, however, was appalled.

"McGonagall, of all people!" he seethed, at dinner that day. "How could she? I don't care if we're down to the last week! These are the critical practises. This is where it all comes together!"

"Ron, I'm a Seeker," Harry said, eventually, after Ron had ranted for several more minutes. "I know what to do, I know how to do it. I'm not going to miss much by skipping the last practises."

Ron scowled, but fell silent.

Harry sighed. An angry Ron was something that he didn't want to have to bother with at the moment. His head felt as though it were throbbing, and nothing he did seemed to make any difference.

He wished that he could talk to Dumbledore about it, but the Headmaster was still absent from the school, and no-one seemed willing or able to reveal when he'd be return. Hermione had suggested that he was probably at the Ministry, serving as Head of the Wizengamot, the wizarding High Council which would decide whether or not a new election was required.

Harry almost considered going to Professor Snape to discuss his inability to control his thoughts, but decided against it. He knew that the sneer with which he would be greeted would just make things even worse.

At least he was able to sleep as much as he needed, if not as much as he wanted. By the time Friday night came, and Ron ordered the team to bed just after eight to avoid their being infected by the nervous tension that was coursing through the common room. Harry had barely noticed the previous year -- but then he'd been trying to avoid it as it was too painful to watch the team prepare without him. This year it hit him hard as he undressed for bed. The Quidditch Cup was at stake, and it was up to him, as Seeker, to win the match for Gryffindor. He didn't remember being so nervous in his third year, and for a moment he struggled with the realisation that it had been three years since that match, three years in which he'd found and lost Sirius, fought Voldemort, broken into the Ministry of Magic, nearly been banished from the wizarding world and faced down a horde of angry centaurs without even his wand to defend himself with.

Put like that, he felt a little better about the match the next day.

*

"Final match," Ron said.

"The decider," Ron said.

"The Cup's at stake," Ron said.

"We have to win," Ron said.

Harry turned back from the small window that looked out onto the pitch and gave Ron his full attention.

"We need to win by two hundred points," Ron was saying. "Now, a couple of us have been here before," he said, with a wave at Katie and Harry. "Three years ago, this team went into our final match needing two hundred points, and they did it. We're going to do it again, just like they did it. Harry--"

"I know," Harry said. "Don't catch the Snitch 'til we're fifty points up."

"At least," Ron said, nodding. "Ravenclaw only need to win by eighty -- they can catch the Snitch at any point, almost. Any other result, and Slytherin win the title. Does anyone here want that?"

There was a resounding chorus of 'No!' from the team members. Ron nodded.

"Natalie, you're starting today," he said. Natalie nodded, and slapped Dennis Creevey's hand. Dennis looked disappointed, but he was only a third year -- he'd almost certainly replace Katie the following year.

"Ravenclaw can play rough if they need to, but they usually try and keep it clean. They've got a good trio of Chasers, and their Beaters are more than competent. Their Keeper isn't bad, but he's not great -- he's really their weak link, although he's good enough to stop most things. Of course, they've got Cho Chang as Seeker, and she'll want to win the Cup in her last match, but Ginny caught the Snitch before her last year, and Harry beat her three years ago, so I don't think she's anything to worry about."

"She's mine to worry about, anyway," Harry said. "I'll see what I can do."

"Good man. Now, let's go play."

They walked out into the tunnel leading up to the pitch. Harry lined up beside Cho, who shot him a nervous smile that Harry suspected was not entirely due to nerves about the match.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," she replied.

"Ready to play?"

"Yeah. You?"

"Yeah. Good luck," he said, smiling as he reached across. She gave him a look of surprise, and then shook his hand.

"Thanks," she said, and smiled a little more confidently. Harry grinned back, feeling as though he'd finally laid their past to rest.

The players took to the air to the resounding roars of the crowd. The Ravenclaw and Gryffindor sections were creating a huge amount of noise for their teams. The Slytherins were booing lustily, led on by Draco Malfoy, eager for both teams to fall short of their points target so that they would end up winning the Cup. The Hufflepuffs, meanwhile, cheered in patches, while others seemed uncomfortable cheering either team. Harry could see Susan and Ernie sitting in the front row of the stand, watching silently while Justin waved a Ravenclaw flag on one side and Hannah cheered while wearing a Gryffindor scarf on the other.

"Harry?"

He turned around, finding Ginny smiling uncertainly at him from atop her broom.

"Hi," he said.

"Harry, I wanted to talk to you."

"Now?"

"It won't take a minute."

"Er, okay," Harry said. "What's up?"

"Harry, I know that you paid for my broom."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but then remembered that he had, in fact, paid for part of the Firebolt that she was riding. It seemed so long ago, when in reality it hadn't even been eight months.

"Half of it," he said. "How did you know?"

"Hermione worked it out. Thank you," she said.

Harry shrugged.

"Why did you do it?"

Harry shrugged again.

"Harry, even half a Firebolt is still a lot of money!" Ginny said. "Please tell me why you did it."

Harry frowned. "You needed a broom," he said. "And you've been really good to me. Besides, you didn't make Prefect, so your parents weren't going to pay for it like they did with Ron."

Ginny nodded slowly.

"That's what I thought," she said. Impulsively, she flew a little closer and gave Harry a quick hug.

"Thank you," she whispered against his chest, before releasing him as quickly as she'd hugged him. She zipped away, the Firebolt carrying her down towards the ground where she skimmed along the surface of the pitch. Harry blinked several times and then turned his attention back to the match, which was about to start. Madam Hooch was carrying the trunk with the Quidditch balls in it out towards the centre of the pitch, and Ron and Cho were descending towards the ground in order that they could shake hands. Harry leaned forward on his Firebolt, sending the broom speeding forwards. Leaning to one side, he banked around in front of the Ravenclaw crowd, noticing that Luna was sat in the front row, a set of Omnioculars clasped to her eyes. She appeared to be scanning the crowd, rather than the players, and Harry shrugged. It seemed like fairly typical Luna behaviour.

Madam Hooch sent up a shrill blast from her whistle, and the teams moved into position, watching intently as she undid the trunk. Cho and Ron shook hands and mounted their brooms as Madam Hooch unleashed the Bludgers. Ron soared back up into the sky and sped towards the Gryffindor goalhoops, where he hung in midair, waiting for play to begin.

Harry's eyes narrowed as Hooch unleashed the Snitch. It zipped upwards, high, high above the players, soaring up into the sky. Harry craned his neck back as far as he could, until the Snitch was almost invisible against the overcast sky, and then watched as it plummeted groundwards, almost hitting the ground in what, if Harry had tried it, would have been a credible Wronski Feint. The Snitch disappeared quickly, vanishing into the stands.

"And we have a very frisky Snitch today," Pansy Parkinson announced. "Like many of the players out there today," she said, pausing as though waiting to be censored by Dumbledore, but Dumbledore had still not returned to Hogwarts, and the Prophet was now reporting that the Wizengamot was now hopelessly snarled up amidst the intricacies of whether or not a new election was required. Apparently there had to be a two-thirds majority vote one way or the other, and the Wizengamot was deadlocked.

Harry shook his head, trying to clear his mind. It didn't entirely help, but with the extra sleep he had been getting, he at least felt that his head wasn't overflowing with thoughts and memories. He had tried using the Pensieve to clear his head, but there seemed to be no real link from one thought to the next. He wondered whether his head would eventually settle down, but suspected that it was probably quite hopeless. There was too much going on -- Marchbanks and dreams and magic and Quidditch and schoolwork and the tension that still existed between the houses and... He frowned.

Ginny.

He'd tried not to think about it, but he had to admit that the thought that maybe she liked him was... intriguing. There was no other word for it. And the more time that he spent with her, the more he liked her as well.

It wasn't helping him to keep a calm mind, that much was for sure.

Harry lined up with the rest of the team, hovering high above the pitch. Ron, perhaps mindful of Harry's diminished concentration, had directed him to stay high during the match, and not get involved too much.

The spring sunshine glinted faintly on Madam Hooch's whistle as she raised it to her lips. Harry looked quickly around the Ravenclaw team -- the Keeper, two Beaters, three Chasers and Cho as Seeker. She, in direct contrast to Harry, was so low as to be almost on the ground. Harry frowned, and hoped that the Snitch wouldn't appear quickly. Cho was flying a Nimbus 2001, and had nearly as much straight-line speed as Harry. In a direct race for the Snitch, if she had a head start, she would probably win.

Harry frowned. He wasn't about to let that happen.

A shrill blast hung upon the air. The game had begun.

Harry dived, kicking the Firebolt up to top speed as quickly as he could. He was aimed directly into the heart of the Chaser scrum which had surrounded the Quaffle. All six were reaching for the red ball, and none had the advantage. Harry caught a glimpse of one of the Bludgers as he dropped, heading away from him. He didn't know where the other one was, but he was flying too fast to care.

He shot through the Chaser pack like an arrow, scattering the Ravenclaws, who hadn't been expecting the attack. As he flashed past, he saw a red-clad arm grabbing at the Quaffle, and smirked.

He pulled up on the handle of the broom, looping through a wide arc that took him flashing past Cho, who was looping slowly around the perimeter of the pitch in a hunt for the Snitch, last seen ducking under one of the grandstands.

As he soared higher, Harry watched the Gryffindor Chasers firing passes back and forth, the Quaffle bouncing from one to another almost without pause. Ron's tiring drills had evidently paid off - the three girls seemingly knowing where to pass almost without thought.

Ravenclaw couldn't get near them. Bludgers flashed through the air behind them. Chasers tried and failed to catch up to them. It was Quidditch at its finest. Harry couldn't help but smile at one play that saw Ginny receive the Quaffle at least five times, Katie and Natalie whirling around her like planets around the sun as she darted up the pitch.

Within ten minutes, Gryffindor led by seventy points to zero, and Pansy Parkinson was venting her frustrations on the microphone.

"Ravenclaw putting on an appallingly inept display," she squawked. "Quite what they think they're playing is beyond me -- but it isn't Quidditch."

This seemed to be the straw that broke the Hippogriff's back. Ravenclaw Beater Orla Quirke wound up and smashed a Bludger as hard as she could. It cracked hard into Ginny, who moments before had released the Quaffle. Harry cried out, and dived downward, aiming straight for Ginny who was laying limply across her broom. Madam Hooch blew her whistle for a penalty, and the game came to a gradual halt.

"Ginny Weasley of Gryffindor hurt by a Bludger there," Pansy announced flatly. "And Potter flying to her rescue. Perhaps he does care for her after all."

Harry felt a flash of anger, but did his best to ignore it. He came to a sharp halt beside Ginny, who was glassy-eyed and shaking.

"Ginny?"

She didn't respond.

"Ginny, can you hear me?"

There was still no response. Harry wondered what he should do. He looked around for one of the teachers, or Madam Pomfrey, but no-one seemed to be coming up to help her. He swore under his breath and wondered why he'd never bothered to learn any first aid tips during all the training he'd had.

Gently, he laid one hand on Ginny's shoulder. She was slumped over her broomstick, staring blankly past him, and didn't seem to notice his touch. She trembled under his hand.

"Ginny!"

"Harry..."

It was faint, in fact, he'd only heard the last part of it as she'd begun speaking while he was saying her name, but she had definitely said his name.

"Have to..."

"Ginny?"

"Have to tell..."

"Easy now, laddie." Madam Hooch appeared at Harry's elbow, and gave Ginny an experienced glance.

"Concussion," she declared. "Might have hurt her neck as well. It caught her a fair blow. She'll be okay, I think."

Hooch waved her wand at Ginny, who began to sink slowly groundwards.

"She'll have to go to the hospital wing," Hooch said. "You can tell your captain that he can bring on a substitute, Potter."

Harry nodded, and watched helplessly as Ginny dropped downward. Looking around, he realised that the others were all flying towards him, including a frantic-looking Ron.

"Is she okay?" he said. Harry nodded.

"Yeah, Hooch thinks so," Harry said, his eyes returning to Ginny's small form. "She took a Bludger, in the back I think."

Ron hissed at the thought, and scowled in the direction of Orla Quirke.

"It was an accident, Ron," Katie said, quickly. "I'm sure she didn't mean it."

Ron turned, and nodded.

"You're right," he said, shortly. "We're not going to let this rattle us, right? Natalie, get Dennis up here now. Everyone else, back to the match. We're going to win the Cup, march up to the hospital wing and stick it in Ginny's hands, right?"

"Right," Harry said, fiercely.

And then I'll find out what she had to tell me, he thought.

*

A half-an-hour later, and the signs weren't good for a Gryffindor victory. Dennis and Natalie weren't at all used to each other -- in fact they had never even practised together. It had always been assumed that if one were going to play, then the other would not, and Ron had even allowed them to miss practises where the other was being drilled.

As a result, while both knew how to play with Katie, their passes to each other went too often astray, and Ravenclaw were quick to seize the advantage. The Ravenclaw Beaters began to mark Katie almost to the point of exclusivity, and Natalie and Dennis were no match for the three Ravenclaw Chasers, all of whom were sixth years and long-time friends.

Gryffindor's only goal came from a stunning piece of individual skill from Natalie, as she slalomed through the massed ranks of both teams after receiving the Quaffle from Ron on the edge of the Gryffindor goal area. She had put the speed and manoeuvrability of her Nimbus 2000 to good use, looping up and over Su Li when the Ravenclaw girl had tried to tackle her, and surprising her with a shoulder barge that nearly sent Li into the stands. From there, it was an easy shot past Lisa Turpin to take Gryffindor up to eighty points.

At that point, there was still hope. Ravenclaw had scored five times without reply, but were still trailing. From that point onwards, however, it all fell apart.

Su Li, in an apparent search for revenge after her embarrassing collision with Natalie, managed to fool the Gryffindor girl with a faked pass that sent Natalie the wrong way, into a collision with Katie. In retaliation, Natalie sought Li out and lashed out with a right hand that cracked across the Ravenclaw's face. The entire stadium seemed to hold its breath, except for Pansy Parkinson.

"There's the Gryffindor spirit!" she crowed, delightedly. "If in doubt -- hit something! Pity that Li wasn't smart enough to see that coming."

Madam Hooch's whistle couldn't drown out Pansy's taunts, but it still cut clearly through the almost silent stadium.

"Two penalties to Ravenclaw! Fifty house points from Gryffindor for an unprovoked and violent assault on the Ravenclaw Chaser. And I'll be speaking to Professor McGonagall about this," she snapped, fixing Natalie with a ferocious, hawk-eyed glare. "You've already missed one match this season for fighting, Miss McDonald. I should think you can plan on missing at least one next season as well."

Natalie hung her shoulders in shame. Her fiery temper was well known among Gryffindors, and her attempt to fight the Slytherins months beforehand had cost their house twenty-five points, as well as her suspension from the first match. Now she had cost them again, and it was clear that she was as disappointed with herself as everyone else was with her.

Ron did his best, saving Michael Corner's penalty, but he couldn't stop Terry Boot's shot, and Ravenclaw were now only twenty points behind. If Cho caught the Snitch, then Gryffindor would lose the match and the Cup.

Harry seethed, high above the action. He could see Natalie pounding her broom in disgust as play restarted, but didn't have much sympathy for her. He was tempted to drop down and give her an earful, but it wasn't his place to do that -- it was up to Ron, who was preoccupied with the Ravenclaw Chasers. Su Li in particular, her nose adorned with a wide, white bandage, seemed to be playing as though she had something to prove. Whenever she contested the Quaffle with Natalie, she flew into the tackle with a total commitment that even drew an almost-admiring comment from Pansy.

"Li of Ravenclaw there -- the one with the divided face -- making a good tackle. And McDonald seems to have lost her fighting spirit. I suppose she isn't interested if the other person is ready to make it a fair match."

Indeed, Natalie seemed to be shying away from tackles. Harry supposed that she was trying to avoid being placed in a position where she might lose her temper, but all it meant for Gryffindor was that they were even more outmatched. Kirke and Sloper could barely get near the Bludgers, which were being smashed back and forth by Quirke and Anthony Goldstein, usually with Katie in the middle. Ron was roaring from his goal area, but there wasn't much that he could do to make the team gel. Harry wanted to throw his hands up in the air as a dispirited Natalie let Corner through for another shot at Ron's goal, and only a fine save from Ron stopped the Quaffle from going in.

The match was finely balanced as the sun hung high in the sky. The early clouds that had made the day overcast had long since been burned away, and it was now a warm, spring afternoon. Harry felt himself grow hot in his heavy robes, and his head felt heavy, hot with thoughts and with exhaustion. He longed to dive and swoop through the sky, cooling himself off through dangerous moves.

As Ravenclaw scored again -- they were now ahead by twenty -- he got his chance. Ron signalled for a timeout, and Harry plunged groundwards, pulling off an impressive Wronski Feint and braking sharply as he reached the rest of the team. He felt better already.

"Harry, we need you to get involved," Ron said, without preamble. "Snitch or no Snitch, if the game ends now we've lost the cup, so you need to start using that Firebolt of yours to mix things up. Get into the match, disrupt their Chasers and put yourself in between their Beaters and the Quaffle, okay?"

Harry nodded.

"Right. McDonald, snap out of it," Ron said. "I don't care if you miss the first match of next season -- you're not helping us out this time by playing like you are, got it? I picked you for your spirit, and I'm not seeing it when you pull out of fifty-fifty challenges, understand?"

Natalie nodded. Harry noticed teartracks running down her cheeks, but decided never to mention it to her. He thought it likely that her loss of temper wasn't a permanent thing, and didn't want to have a broken nose of his own to tend to.

"Dennis, I want you on the right wing. Their Beaters are both right handed, and there's a chance that they won't be as comfortable hitting the Bludgers that way. Katie, keep going down the centre, but keep an eye on Harry, okay? Where he is, you aren't. Jack, Andrew, if you see a Bludger, hit it. I'm not going to tell you to put yourself in harm's way, but just remember that this is Quidditch, and you're Beaters. You might need to take a few risks. But," Ron paused, and looked at them meaningfully. "I'll leave that up to you."

Kirke gulped and nodded. Sloper just looked nervous.

"Right," Ron said, wearily. "We need to score seven goals before that Snitch pops up. It's tough, but I have faith. Let's go."

Harry rose back into the air, as Pansy's voice echoed around the stadium.

"And after Gryffindor captain Ron Weasley admits to everyone that his tactics weren't working, the game restarts."

Harry immediately fired into the heart of the Chaser pack, remembering something that Oliver Wood had told him once -- any player could touch any of the balls in play, but they couldn't control a ball that they weren't allowed too. A Beater couldn't catch the Snitch, a Chaser couldn't hit a Bludger, and a Seeker couldn't pass the Quaffle.

Not with their body, anyway.

If a ball bounced off their broom, however, then that was another matter.

The Quaffle was plummeting towards the pitch as Harry dropped after it, accelerating down and then slewing to his right, swinging the tail of his broom around just in time to clip the Quaffle and send it arcing up and towards the Ravenclaw goal. The ball dropped into the waiting arms of Katie Bell, who took off like a rocket, pushing her Cleansweep Eight to the limit and blasting past the slowly reacting Ravenclaw Beaters. A Bludger sang through the sky in her wake, and it was a simple matter for her to slot the ball past Turpin and through the right hand hoop. Harry punched the sky in delight. His head felt as though it was throbbing from the effort of maintaining his concentration for so long during the match, but he strove to ignore it and focus on the job he'd been given.

Cho picked up on Harry's tactic after his interventions became too blatant to be accidental, Harry and began to get involved in the Chaser conflicts. The Quaffle bounced between the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor teams, helped on every so often by their Seekers. Harry performed rather better than this -- his Firebolt was significantly faster than Cho's Nimbus in performing the spins and swerves called on by the irregular tactic. Slowly, Gryffindor began to edge back into the lead.

The only worry for Harry was Natalie, who was still pulling up short on questionable tackles. She scored twice, but also let Terry Boot through when she had the chance to stop him, and Harry could tell that Ron was losing patience with her.

Rather than have her yelled at by Ron, which would probably only have made her feel worse, Harry decided to take matters into his own hands. As she turned away from the Gryffindor goalhoops, shoulders slumped from watching the team concede another goal, Harry increased speed and flew right across in front of her. He caught a glimpse of her jumping, and then he lopped around quickly and flew up from underneath her, slapping at her foot as he went past. Next he dropped down from above, grabbing at the handle of her broom and yanking at it, nearly toppling her sideways. By the time he came back for a fourth pass, she seemed to have got the idea and blocked him with a hard shove of her forearm that bounced him backwards.

"Wake up," he said. "I can't do it all myself, you know."

She responded with a rude hand gesture and a scowl, but Harry thought that he had made his point.

"Potter flirting with McDonald. Apparently he's keen to add another notch on his bedpost, although she's only a third year, which should surely be too young," Pansy announced. Harry and Natalie shot the commentary box identical hate-filled glances. Realising this, Harry grinned at Natalie. She scowled back, and shot forward, plunging whole-heartedly into a challenge on Terry that left the Ravenclaw Chaser Quaffleless and nursing the side of his head.

Ron caught Harry's attention, and gave him a thumbs up. Harry grinned, and turned back to the match.

And then the Snitch appeared.

Harry had almost forgotten it, in the excitement of the rest of the match, but it was shooting upwards from the grandstand, increasing height and speed as it arced towards the Ravenclaw end.

Harry swore, and shot forwards, trying to work out where Cho was. He saw her ahead, rising up from near the ground. She was in front of him, but he was nearer the right height, and with the Snitch nearing the edge of the stadium, it would have to loop back.

But instead the Snitch followed the curve of the stadium, dropping as it did so. It fell almost into Cho's lap, but it slipped past her as she stretched, and almost overbalanced. Harry felt a thrill as he sped up still more, following the Snitch around the stadium.

Behind him, he knew, Cho was chasing after him. Harry felt his mind clear, suddenly, as he focused on the Snitch. It all felt so simple as he arrowed in on it.

He glanced up at the scoreboard. Gryffindor 130, he read. Ravenclaw 100.

A jolt ran through him. He couldn't catch the Snitch yet -- he had to stop Cho from catching it until Gryffindor had a bigger lead.

He slowed his broom slightly, enough that Cho had to slow as well to prevent herself slamming into him. He held the speed, knowing that she was close enough that he was obscuring her vision. Glancing back, he saw her start to move right, and he swung across to block. The Snitch was still directly ahead, and he swerved left as Cho reacted to his move. He heard her curse, and he swung right again, ready to block her next move.

But Cho was an experienced flyer, and she anticipated his block. With a cry of success, she dropped below him and accelerated past, leaving him in her wake. He watched for a second as she picked up speed, and then shot after her. She had a lead, but he had the faster broom, and she wasn't that far ahead.

The Snitch looped back towards the pitch, and the two Seekers followed it, arcing up and over the heads of the Slytherin section of the crowd, close enough to make some of the taller students duck. Cho had the inside line, allowing her to gain a slight lead over Harry as they accelerated into the straight, but the Firebolt allowed him to make up that ground easily enough. The Snitch shot directly across the pitch, and as Harry watched it, he could see Dennis firing the Quaffle past Lisa Turpin. He risked a glance at the scoreboard -- Gryffindor were ahead by forty points.

Then a Bludger shot across the path of the two Seekers. They braked instinctively, Harry going low and right, Cho high and left. By the time they set off again, the Snitch was much further ahead. They rejoined their chase, jostling shoulder to shoulder, shooting determined glances at one another.

But Harry's concentration was gone. Where it had all been so simple, his mind was now flooded once more with thoughts of loss and despair. He remembered all too clearly the sight of Malfoy catching the Snitch earlier in the year -- distantly, he heard Pansy screaming about it even as the crowd cheered on the Seekers -- and also losing to Cedric Diggory's Hufflepuff team in his third year. That had felt dreadful, for different reasons.

Harry could feel himself faltering. His head was aching, and the sunshine was so bright that his eyes were hurting. He wanted nothing more than to lie in a cool, dark room, but he couldn't. There was a Snitch to catch, a match to win, a Cup to lift. He had to march up to Ginny and...

He wrenched his attention back to the match. Cho was ahead, and he was trailing. He scowled, and leaned forward, lying almost flat on his broom as he coaxed the acceleration from it. He was gaining, gaining, gaining. There was barely any distance in it. Cho was reaching, but so was he. And he had longer arms.

But Cho had the Snitch.

*

Harry felt dreadful. He snapped at everyone and everything, and when Hermione tried to cheer him and Ron up, he came very close to erupting in an outburst that he would have regretted dearly. The only consolations, as far as he could see, were that Ron felt even worse -- although this wasn't much of a consolation -- and that he was able to use the experience to cast some extremely powerful spells for Marchbanks.

"That's good, Potter," she said, as he cast powerful Stunners and Fire Hexes on command. "Soon, hopefully, we'll be able to use some positive emotions to cast spells as well."

But as Harry took the HA through their drills later that evening, he wondered whether he'd be able to conjure any positive emotions to work with. That night, as he undressed for bed and felt his scar begin to burn, he wondered whether Voldemort was somewhere, thinking happy thoughts to power his own wordless magic.

*

"Potter!"

Harry was running late for breakfast. He'd not slept that night, and was feeling dreadful. His head felt more jumbled than ever, and his scar was still burning intermittently. With all this, the very last thing he wanted was to come face to face with a grinning Draco Malfoy, who looked as though everything that he had ever wished for had come true.

"Quite the talk of the school today, isn't it, Potter? I don't think there's long to go, now. Not with your precious mob joining the right side."

"What are you talking about, Malfoy?" Harry asked.

"You mean you don't know? I knew that loyalty among you Gryffindors had fallen off somewhat, but I thought that pet Mudblood of yours would have said something. Maybe she's done the sensible thing and run off into hiding somewhere. After all, you're not exactly safe to be around, are you now?"

"Malfoy, either come out and say what you mean, or sod off and leave me in peace," Harry growled. He wasn't in the mood to trade insults with Malfoy -- especially as Malfoy seemed to be hitting Harry's weak spots with unerring accuracy.

"I'll do better than tell you, Potter," Malfoy smirked. "I'll show you. It's a bit of a wrench to give you this, but I have other copies."

He pulled a copy of the Daily Prophet from his pocket and shoved it at Harry, before smirking again and walking away.

Harry unfolded the paper, and felt his heart sink as he saw the headline. Then he looked at the accompanying photo, and felt like he was about to throw up.

Death Eaters Celebrate Walpurgis Night

New Recruits Participate In Mass Slaughter Of Muggles And Aurors

Death Toll 'In Hundreds and Rising' Says Ministry

Accompanying the article was a picture of three Death Eaters, engaged in an attack on an Auror whom Harry recognised as a member of the Order. Two of the Death Eaters were masked, while one looked as though he'd had the mask ripped from his face. The man had two long cuts running the length of his cheek, and blood spilled freely from these onto his clothes.

But this wasn't what had made Harry feel ill. Harry felt ill because he knew the man or, at least, he thought he had.

Harry looked at the picture again, just to be sure. It was in black and white, and for a moment Harry thought that he might have been mistaken.

But the thrill of hope died quickly. There was no mistake. He'd seen the man in the Prophet before, and knew him well enough that he couldn't mistake him for someone else.

The unmasked Death Eater was Percy Weasley.

To be continued...