The Temple of Le Fay

Chapter Twenty-Two: Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff

Harry sat on one side of the dressing room, his eyes fixed firmly on the floor as Ron gave his pre-match talk. The rest of the team, including the three reserves, was lined up in a row along the opposite wall, their faces showing various emotions.

Ginny seemed absolutely calm. Harry had noticed Dean's hand resting lightly on hers, and quickly averted his eyes.

Seamus and Josh looked jittery but, along with Dean, they were trading banter back and forth and ignoring Ron's jittery, stumbling team talk.

Katie and Vickie were watching Ron intently, but from the way their expressions were glazed over, Harry felt certain that they weren't taking anything in, either. Harry felt bad for Ron. It was his first match as sole captain in charge of the Gryffindor house team, and it was clear that he wanted to make a good impression.

Professor Flitwick, who was refereeing the match, rapped on the dressing room door, squeaked "Time!" in his high pitched voice, and went to collect the Hufflepuffs.

Ron's voice dried up, and he stood frozen in the middle of the dressing room, his mouth opening and shutting silently. Harry opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it. Instead, he raised an eyebrow fractionally at Dean, who shifted his attention from Ginny to Ron.

"Ron, you're going to be great," Dean said enthusiastically. "You know more about Quidditch then anyone, so why worry?"

Ron nodded mutely, before turning sharply and walking out of the dressing room. The others followed, the reserves heading off for their place in the stands. Harry was the last to leave, double checking the bindings on his pads before walking out to the players' tunnel.

"Harry."

He turned, and felt his stomach flip as he realised that it was Ginny who had spoken.

"Hi Ginny," Harry said cautiously.

"I saw what you did back there," she said, her eyes fixed on a point above and behind his head. "You're not exactly my favourite person right now, but thank you for doing that for Ron."

Harry didn't say anything. He didn't trust himself to. He barely heard what Ginny was saying, instead he found that his mind was elsewhere.

Wouldn't it be great to kiss her now? Just think how good she feels, how right she feels against you. She couldn't care less about Dean. Just kiss her!

"It was nothing," Harry said. "He's every bit as good as Dean said. We all know it. He just needs to believe in himself, that's all."

"Strange to hear you say that," she replied, he eyes slowly drifting down to meet his. Harry felt pinned to the spot by her intense gaze. "After all, you're the only person that you have faith in, aren't you?"

"That's right," Harry said, forcing himself to meet her eyes. "Just me. I won't put anyone else at risk."

"What risk?" Ginny said, her voice suddenly heated. "The risk of being your friends? The risk of being targets? We didn't care, we never did, we never would have."

Harry looked at her, shifting uncomfortably.

"It wasn't fair of me to make you targets for Voldemort," he said, eventually. "Just accept it. Move on. Dean's a nice guy-"

"Harry Potter, don't you even think of finishing that sentence. It may have escaped your attention, living in your own little world like you do, but Dean and I are just friends. Some people take more than a few weeks to get over having their heart broken."

She stormed off, shouldering him aside as she made her way towards the pitch. Harry stood frozen for a moment.

"So I'm told," he muttered, before turning and trudging up the tunnel towards the pitch.

*

"Branstone, Abbott, McMillan, Bones, Jones, Madley and Finch-Fletchley, please give a big hand for Hufflepuff!"

Applause filled the stadium as the Hufflepuff players soared up into the sky. Harry stood at the back of the line of Gryffindor players, his Firebolt ready in one hand. It felt like forever since he'd had a chance to fly, even though it had barely been six weeks.

"And for Gryffindor, I give you Weasley, Finnegan, Cochran, Weasley, Bell, Boyd and Potter!"

One by one, the Gryffindors mounted their brooms and kicked off, rising to the appreciative roars of the crowd. Harry, last in line, swung one leg over his broom and pushed off.

He was barely level with the top of the stands before he realised that something was seriously wrong.

*

"Welcome, one and all, to the final Quidditch match of the calendar year! Today the mighty Hufflepuff, unfortunate losers to Ravenclaw in their last match, square up to reigning co-champions Gryffindor. It should be a great match!"

Harry wasn't sure quite what was wrong. His Firebolt didn't seem to be responding the way it was supposed to. It seemed slower, less responsive and the balance was poor. Harry wasn't keen on trying any maneuvers on it until it settled down. Twitching the handle slightly, he tried to bring his trajectory around in line with the rest of the Gryffindor team.

"And Harry Potter's showboating!" Lee announced. "It's not often that we see Harry showing off like this, faking a fall from his broom. Of course, it's very hard for a wizard - or witch - to fall from his broom. Even a Squib can fly perfectly safely, the basic magic they possess keeping them perfectly safe. I'm sure that Harry's just making fun of the rumours that say he's lost his powers. As if, folks! This is Harry Potter we're talking about."

Harry scowled. He wanted to tell Lee to shut up, to stop going on about it.

It was beginning to dawn on Harry just how serious his power loss was. He couldn't even balance properly on his broom, and that was something he'd been able to do since he was eleven.

He looked around, gauging the other players. Ron, Ginny and Justin were all staring at him, each of them trying to decide for themselves exactly what he was up to.

Cautiously, Harry righted himself on his broom. He nodded carelessly to Ron, as though to say that he'd been messing around. Ron glared at him, but nodded curtly.

Harry didn't even need to look at her to know that Ginny was glaring furiously at him, too.

She'll hate you for the split second where she thought you were in danger, and she started to care about you again.

Harry gritted his teeth, and focused on the trunk that Cho and Terrence Higgs were carrying out to the centre of the pitch. In there was the Golden Snitch, and that was all that he had to think about for the next however long it took him to catch it. Clumsy brooms, angry former best friends, furious ex-girlfriends... Nothing mattered. It was all about the Golden Snitch.

Harry caught Cho's eye as she set her end of the trunk down. She smiled encouragingly up at him, and he nodded to her. His mind returned to the match, and wondering how exactly he would catch the Snitch when Justin - he glanced at the Hufflepuff Seeker - seemed to be on fine form. Frowning slightly, he returned his gaze to the trunk, watching carefully as Flitwick undid the catches and popped the lid open.

"And there goes the Snitch! It's a fast one today, folks. Look at it go!"

Harry swallowed with difficulty. His throat suddenly felt very tight. He'd barely seen the Snitch before it disappeared. Taking care to hold on tightly, he twitched the Firebolt slightly. His face fell as it shuddered unpleasantly in his grip.

The match kicked off, the Quaffle blasted magically up into the air from the tip of Flitwick's wand. Harry just about had time to blink before the Bludgers came alive and targeted the nearest player.

Unfortunately for Harry, that player was him.

He dived instinctively, nearly tumbling off of his broom as gravity caught him. The Bludgers followed relentlessly, staying fixed on Harry as he frantically tried to evade them. He knew that Bludgers attacked the nearest player to them, and he looked frantically around, trying to locate someone else for the Bludgers to pursue.

"And Potter is already in trouble! He looks like he's really straining here, but he's not pushing the Firebolt as hard as he has in the past! Whatever troubles Harry Potter has had recently, he obviously hasn't fully recovered! Of course, Gryffindor have no reserve Seeker, so they could be in real trouble here today."

Dean and Josh finally caught up with Harry and the Bludgers when a wide, sweeping turn by Harry allowed the Beaters time to anticipate where to go next. The Bludgers rocketed away, one nearly decapitating Justin as it went.

"The Hufflepuff Seeker was caught napping there, but the Bludgers are back in play. Hufflepuff lead by twenty points to ten!"

Harry flew low to the ground, as intent on avoiding a long fall from a great height as he was on catching the Snitch.

"Harry's taking a very different approach to his usual tactics. I can't say that Gryffindor captain Ron Weasley looks very happy with the new tactics, though."

Harry cringed, not daring to look back at Ron, but not wanting to watch as Susan Bones slotted the Quaffle neatly between Katie and Vickie, setting Jones free to make a run on Ron's goal.

"Great Bludger work by Finnegan," Lee crowed. "A well timed interception denying Jones a clear scoring opportunity."

Harry watched the game play out from a few feet above the grass. Every time he tried to climb upwards, the Firebolt began to tremble and Harry forced the broom downwards again. After the first several half-rises, Lee had christened the maneuver "The Potter False Dawn, not as dangerous as the Wronski Feint, but every bit as interesting. Well, actually it's not. Get on with it, Harry!"

Harry scowled, as much at Lee as at Hufflepuff's dominance of the match. He groaned as Bones and Jones broke through the Gryffindor defence again, and Ron was fooled by a simple reverse pass.

"Seventy-twenty to Hufflepuff, and you have to wonder if the Hufflepuff Chasers could have scored if Harry Potter weren't inspecting the pitch boundary lines."

Harry sighed. He wondered if Lee were baiting him because of Fred and George, as he had Michael Corner, or if Lee was just offended by Harry's playing style. He found himself hoping that it was the latter. He remembered Ron saying how embarrassed Ginny had been by Lee's commentary during the match between Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw.

Ten more minutes passed, and Gryffindor began to impress themselves on the match. They scored five goals in quick succession, tying the scores, before a ferocious exchange of Bludgers sent Hannah Abbot's club flying from her grasp. Ernie McMillan temporarily abandoned the match to check on Hannah and then dived down to snatch the club up. Free from attack, the Gryffindor Chasers scored three times before Ernie, a ferocious scowl on his face, returned to the match. A loud cheer from the Hufflepuff greeted his swinging both clubs, catching both Bludgers, and sending the heavy iron balls towards Ginny and Vickie, who were celebrating their last goal.

Harry was rising before he even consciously registered that the girls had their backs to the onrushing Bludgers. He yelled loudly, but his voice was drowned out by the lusty roars of the crowd. He distantly heard Lee, roaring loudest of all, and then Vickie and Ginny looked around at the same time, throwing themselves into spiraling, sharply diverging dives. Harry could see that it wouldn't work; that the Bludgers were just too fast. He was dimly aware of Flitwick's whistle sounding shrilly over the roar of the crowd, and then he passed Josh, snatching the Beater's club from his hand as he squeezed every last shred of acceleration from the Firebolt.

Harry swung, the club tingling in his hand, the world seeming to slow, the golden letters on the back of Vickie's robes glinting in the weak sunlight as he slammed the club into the top of the Bludger, driving it downward, buying Vickie the time she needed to get clear.

And then there was...

...Ginny...

...who was speeding around the pitch, far from any other player. Harry silently raged at her for failing to stay near the others, for making him chase her, for putting herself in danger. But even as the Firebolt hit top speed again, he knew that she'd had no choice. A fixated Bludger could fly as fast as almost any broom, and even the best fliers would have little or no time to think. Ginny was flying purely on instinct and, as a particularly loud roar punctured his concentration, he knew that Ginny's instincts were what had kept her from being caught by the Bludger.

Slowly, inch by inch, he found himself gaining. He wanted to yell out, to tell Ginny where to go, but he knew that any distraction could be disastrous. Instead, he had to anticipate the moves of a girl whom he'd never really understood.

And then it was over.

*

Harry sat in the middle of the silent Gryffindor common room. After a long period of thought, he'd managed to work out what had happened in the last few seconds of the match.

Firstly, just as Harry had drawn within reach of the Bludger, Ginny had jumped off of her broom.

Secondly, Dean had swooped past on his broom and caught Ginny in mid-air. Harry noted sourly that the two of them had been almost inseparable ever since.

Next, in his surprise, Harry had missed his swing at the Bludger and overbalanced. Panicking, he lost control of his Firebolt and tumbled off of it, plummeting groundwards.

After that, he had tumbled through the air. With a detached mind, he noticed that the Hufflepuff team were celebrating wildly, Justin held up on their shoulders, his fist held clenched in the air. Harry had decided that his senses were focusing on anything other than his impending death, which explained why he could see the Snitch's silver wings beating hopelessly against Justin's clenched hand.

Then Flitwick cushioned Harry's landing with a wave of his wand, and time, which had been operating in slow motion since Harry had swung at the first Bludger, returned to normal. Flitwick informed Harry that both he and Ernie had lost ten points for their respective houses for illegal usage of the Beaters clubs. For Harry, it had been the froth on the potion, and the phrase he used - one that he'd picked up from Ron - had cost Gryffindor another twenty points.

It's strange, Harry decided. I thought people would be furious. They're just... beaten.

He looked around the common room. The last time he could remember the Gryffindors being so quiet was after the first attack on Hogsmeade by the Dementors a year before.

I cheered people up last time. I don't think I can manage that this time.

After Flitwick had set him on the ground, Harry had turned around to face a furious Ron. Ron had glared at Harry for several long seconds, before storming off. Harry had been left standing alone at one end of the Quidditch pitch as the teams and the crowd streamed out of the stadium. He had cut a very forlorn figure as he made his way back to the changing room.

And now no one was talking to anyone. Hermione had buried herself in a thick book on Morgan Le Fay, Harry noted. Ron was staring listlessly out of the window. Neville was idly playing with Trevor, his pet toad. No one seemed to be in the mood for doing anything.

Harry checked his list of study sessions. Vickie and two of her classmates were booked in to study Banishing charms that afternoon. Even as he put his list away, however, Vickie got up and walked over to him.

"Harry, I'm not coming to your study session this afternoon."

Harry nodded. "Okay, I understand."

"Do you?" she asked, looking at him quizzically. "Somehow I don't think that you do."

"Well, do you want to explain?"

"Harry, I could have dealt with that Bludger," Vickie said. "You didn't have to come after me like that. We lost the match because you came after Ginny and me, rather than chasing the Snitch. Why didn't you trust us?"

Harry opened his mouth to reply, and then shut it again. Of course they could have handled the Bludgers, he thought. But they didn't have to. I stopped them getting hurt. Well, I did with Vickie, anyway. Why isn't that enough?

"Anyway, Sam, Amy and I are going to work on the spell on our own. I don't think we could learn very much from you if all you're going to do is try and protect us from everything."

Vickie turned and walked away, leaving Harry lost in thought.

*

Harry awoke early on Sunday morning with a school owl nibbling on his ear. He opened the letters it had brought while it sipped from his goblet of apple juice. Harry wasn't surprised that the letters were from other Gryffindors canceling upcoming study sessions. He suspected that they wouldn't be the last letters of the sort that he received. Checking his list, he crossed off the cancelled sessions, and realised that he had the day free. He decided to spend the day in the library. He could catch up on his homework, put in some time researching the history of Le Fay, and maybe even help out some students who hadn't decided that he wasn't worth their time.

Stopping by the Great Hall to grab some toast, he entered the library to find a scene of great activity, far more than he'd expected at eight o'clock on a Sunday morning. Gilderoy Lockhart stood in the centre of the chaos, poring over a huge book that he was holding up with the help of another wizard. Harry recognised the second man as the wizard who had snapped at Hermione several weeks before, and time didn't seem to have calmed him. He looked up at Harry, snarled "Library's closed!" tossed his heavy ponytail and fixed his gaze once more on the book.

Harry was just about to leave when Lockhart looked up and smiled. "Harry! Come in, come in, don't mind us. How are you? We're all a bit excited at the moment."

Lockhart stepped away from the book, leaving the other wizard to struggle with it for several seconds before slamming it shut with a huge BANG! and shooting a look of pure hatred at Lockhart. Harry shuddered at the look, but Lockhart didn't even flinch. The former Dark Arts teacher threw a companionable arm over Harry's shoulders and guided him to a table set apart from the chaos.

"We may have had something of a breakthrough in our search," Lockhart said. "Too soon to say for sure, but everyone's dashing about. All highly exciting, of course. Good job I've got the Sound Stone. I'll be able to speak to Minister Fudge as soon as we can confirm anything."

"Oh, yes, thank you for lending me the Sound Stone that time," Harry said, slightly embarrassed at not saying anything before now."

"My absolute pleasure, young Harry," Lockhart beamed, his pearly white teeth beaming in the gloomy library. "Anything I can do to repay the great debt that I owe you."

Harry shifted, uncomfortably. "You don't owe me anything," he muttered.

"You're a very noble young man," Lockhart pronounced. "Still, if ever you need my help, I shall always be happy to offer it."

"Er, thanks," Harry said, wondering what sort of situation he'd find himself in that he'd be asking for help from an amnesiac ex-confidence trickster.

Lockhart bustled off to supervise his staff, leaving Harry to work on Professor Flitwick's latest essay, Compare and contrast the blessings and curses of the three main gravity-negation spells. Harry sighed. He hated 'Compare and contrast' essays.

Still, it's not like I've got much else to do today.

An hour later Harry, rather to his surprise, had finished the essay. He rolled up the parchment, and looked for something else to do. He was further surprised to discover that he didn't have any more homework left. Going over the rolls of parchment on which he'd almost absentmindedly written five essays in the last week, his eyes grew steadily wider.

These are... okay, he realised. I wrote these after the study sessions that I did this week. I was half-asleep. But they're not bad. This Transfiguration one almost looks like something Hermione would hand in.

Harry reread the title of the Transfiguration essay: Your own private library; How to turn that unwanted Christmas present into the book you really want. Harry remembered Hermione becoming extremely excited at the idea of conjuring any book she wanted, although McGonagall had warned that there were two limitations. The first was that the wizard had to know the book they wanted well enough for the spell to work. "You must know it word for word," she had said. The second limitation was that the spell was incredibly complex, with most wizards not possessing the skill to successfully perform the spell.

Harry looked around and quietly drew his wand. Students weren't supposed to use magic in the library, because the books themselves were so magical. Even a well cast spell could cause unforeseen reactions.

Looking around one last time, Harry looked down at his Transfiguration textbook, took a deep breath and, concentrating hard on his copy of Flying with the Cannons, flicked his wand.

"Pongus Multiplex!"

There was a great roar of shouting voices, and for the briefest of moments, Harry thought that they were cheering him for successfully casting the spell. Then he looked down at the textbook, which hadn't changed except where a few sparks had landed on the cover and were smoldering gently. Slapping at the burns, Harry looked around to see what the shouting was about, and was only mildly surprised to see Lockhart having a huge row with the ponytailed wizard, while the other Ministry researchers looked on sullenly. Harry noticed that these other wizards, who he'd never really looked at before, didn't look particularly intelligent. One or two of them rather reminded Harry of Crabbe and Goyle.

"Isn't it bad enough that that stupid so-called Seer is about as useful as a broken wand? I've got to interview her every week in case she remembers anything new, and it's not fun, I assure you! And now you rise to even greater heights of stupidity! Are you doing it deliberately? Where on earth did you get the idea," the ponytailed wizard yelled, "that Le Fay could possibly have died in America!"

"Well, you know, the word did rather look like Georgia," Lockhart said.

The ponytailed wizard went through a pantomime that clearly showed exactly what he thought of this idea. He then stormed off, the other researchers following him down an aisle, leaving Lockhart looking very abandoned.

Harry smothered the last smoldering sparks on his Transfiguration book, and collected all his work together. It didn't seem like he'd be able to work on Morgan Le Fay today after all.

Just as he was fastening his bag, the library door opened again, and Hermione came in, several heavy books in her arms.

"More of our books?" Lockhart snapped, rounding on her and snatching them from her hands. "Honestly, Miss Granger, I expected better of you. We needed these books this morning. Try thinking of others next time, you insufferable know-it-all."

And with that, he hurried down the same aisle that the other wizards had taken, Hermione's books under one arm.

Hermione glared after him, cold fury radiating from her almost visibly. Harry hesitated for a second, before approaching.

You don't need to say much. Just a few words.

"Hermione?"

"What?" she snapped, turning around to glare. Her expression softened slightly as she realised who she was taking to.

"He didn't mean it, Lockhart, I mean. He's just under a lot of stress at the moment to deliver something on Le Fay."

"Oh, right," Hermione said, looking thoroughly nonplussed.

"Well, see you."

Harry left Hermione in the library, and climbed back up to Gryffindor Tower. Even as he climbed, he felt another of the, now thankfully infrequent, waves of sleepiness hit, and he was thankful to fall, exhausted, onto his bed. His last conscious thought was to realise that none of the other boys had even got up yet.

*

That evening, Hermione sat staring across the Common Room. A very formal and sincere note of apology from Lockhart lay on the table before her, and the fingers of one hand drummed absently upon it. Her gaze was fixed intently on Harry, who in turn was focused on the Arithmancy OWL level textbook which he had open before him.

"I suppose you're going to go and try to talk to him again," Ron said, without looking up from his Charms essay.

"No," Hermione said as she stood up. "I'm going to talk to him."

She crossed the Common Room and sat down on a stool next to Harry.

"So, do you have any suggestions for when I take my Arithmancy NEWT next year?"

"Yeah, don't," he replied, without looking up.

"Harry?"

He looked up.

"I got a note from Lockhart, apologising for this morning."

"Good," he said, and looked back down.

"Harry!" Hermione snapped. He looked up again, a mild expression of annoyance fleeting across his features before they settled into a blank politeness.

"I don't understand you, Harry," Hermione frowned. "How can you be so nice to so many people, but abandon your friends?"

"Hermione, I-"

"No, Harry. Let me finish. You've been great these last few weeks. Everyone knows that. You've been a friend to everyone. You've made sure that anyone can come to you, and that's amazing. But who do you go to, Harry? Where do you turn for help?"

"I don't need help," Harry said quietly. "I'm Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. I do what I do because I have to, and there's no point in whining about it."

Harry's voice was getting louder, and one or two people were looking at him and Hermione.

"You think I'm great, Hermione? That's nice, but I don't care. Friends are a luxury I can't afford. I can't be worrying about people, I need to stay focused. When the time comes that I stand in front of Voldemort," Harry yelled, "I don't need to be distracted by my friends!"

"What about when you faced the Boggart?" Hermione asked quietly. "You were all alone there, and you failed."

Harry's shoulders sagged, and he looked as though he'd been punched in the stomach.

"That's where you're wrong," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "I had all my friends in that room. The Boggart just showed me the truth, and why I just can't afford to have any friends if I'm going to face Voldemort and have any chance of winning."

With that, he returned to his book, leaving Hermione feeling very confused.

To be continued...