Harry Potter and the Prophecy of the Strinx

Harry Potter and the Prophecy of the Strinx

By Moon Weasley

Chapter Twenty-Eight:

Tension

The next couple of days were quite trying, or so Harry thought anyway. OWL revisions had reached its exhausting peak, which meant that Hermione was an absolute nightmare reciting potion recipes, practising wand movements, deciphering runes and preaching about Grindylows and whatnot for what felt like every minute of every hour of every day.

And in the precious few moments when she wasn't droning on and on and on about all things OWL she was doing her darnedest to make sure that The List was on its way to epic proportions. Harry swore it had quadrupled in length since Hermione's return, a notion he didn't much like. More loose ends and clues didn't necessary mean they were any closer to a solution to this whole prophecy mess.

Tossing and turning in his bed as was his normal routine before falling asleep, Harry couldn't help but wonder where Hermione got her energy from. The girl hardly ate and somehow he doubted she was getting the recommended full eight hours of sleep a night, far from it.

She was hardly taking care of herself, that much was certain and judging by Ron's worried glances Harry wasn't the only one who'd noticed this. But though she obviously was neglecting her own health, she sure as hell was coming through on all other accounts, The List being just one of many proofs of that.

A mere twenty-four hours after she'd blurted out that she thought Ginny was the Strinx and thus consequently also Harry's One True Love (a fact which Ron was taking enormous pleasure in torturing Harry with at every opportunity, the git), she'd intercepted them on their way back from a particularly fierce Quidditch practise.

All protests and pleas for showers and rest had been blatantly ignored as she'd resolutely frogmarched them into Hagrid's still depressingly empty hut. After conjuring up a plate of assorted tropical fruits to stop Ron from dying of hunger (his own words), she'd whipped out the by now familiar parchment.

Ignoring both Ron and Harry's loud groans and protests, she'd produced a quill from somewhere inside her bushy hair and begun adding to the list as she spoke. Three days later and Harry still remembered the conversation vividly...

Hermione was sitting by Hagrid's oversized table her face radiating eagerness.

"Okay, I've mulled things over once more and have a few additions to make," she said breathlessly as she dipped her fancy eagle-feather quill into her ink bottle with practised ease.

"Big surprise there," Ron whispered sarcastically as he squirmed out of his sweaty Quidditch robes. He dumped them unceremoniously on the floor. Harry snorted. Hermione gagged when she caught a whiff of the stinking garment and quickly banished it to the other side of the room.

"A little tip, Mione," said Ron wrinkling his nose at the elaborate fruit bowl in front of him. "When I ask for food I mean real food. Like meat and preferably lots of it."

Hermione harrumphed and threw him a withering glare.

"You're just lucky you have good metabolism, Ron otherwise I'm sure you'd been waddling around like a semi-sized hippopotamus. Honestly, you keep stuffing your face with vast amounts of unhealthy food and I hate to think about what your arteries might look like."

Ron's cheeks turned pink and he crossed his arms defensively.

"I have no idea what you said to me but I'm positive it wasn't very flattering. Metabo-what? Are you taking the mickey?"

"Me-ta-bo-lism," Hermione enunciated impatiently with a roll of her eyes that clearly conveyed exactly what she thought of Ron's lacking knowledge on the potential danger of lifestyle illnesses. Ron stretched his mouth into what Harry was sure had to be the world's largest fake-yawn ever. Clearly recognising a lost case when she saw one, Hermione turned her focus back to The List. She was doing an admirable job of purposefully ignoring Ron's grumbling complaints about the "rabbit-food" she'd supplied, though Harry was sure he saw her smile somewhat triumphantly when predictably Ron's willpower shattered and he helped himself to a kiwi.

"Can we please get to the point and soon?" asked Harry tiredly. He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. "I'm exhausted, sweaty, and hungry, on top of which I also have about a ton of Charms notes to get through so speed would be greatly appreciated."

"You're right of course," said Hermione with a pointed look at Ron. Clearly she thought he was at fault for getting her off track. Ron however was busily eating himself through the bowl of fruit and just waved her off indifferently.

Hermione cleared her throat importantly. "After last night's little discussion of the Strinx and who we think that is (Harry blushed), we were all so preoccupied that we never really continued looking at other options or suspects."

"Yeah," said Ron between mouthfuls of mango. "Learning that your best mate is about to become your brother-in-law kind of does that to you I guess."

He smirked cheekily at Harry whose face now greatly resembled that of a mortified Weasley.

"Stop teasing poor Harry, Ronald," Hermione chided. Ron shrugged and helped himself to a generous slice of watermelon. Harry snickered when a river of juice dripped down Ron's chin and down onto his faded and thin-worn Chudley Cannons tee. His grin vanished however when Hermione conjured a napkin and began wiping it off with surprising gentleness. Ron's ears turned magenta. Harry suddenly didn't know where to look or what to do with himself.

"Let's get back into it then," he said a bit too loudly and grabbed a slice of pineapple of the tray to avoid looking at his best friends. He felt strangely out of place; like he shouldn't even be there and was giving serious consideration to leaving when Hermione turned to look at him. She blinked owlishly at him a few times, the napkin still resting on Ron's chin.

"Right," she said in a slightly panicked and too loud voice. She jerked her hand away as if burned. The napkin fell to the floor. Ron's expression was frozen in a goofy sort of half-grin. Harry suppressed the urge to kick his leg and instead watched half amused as Hermione flipped frantically through her notes.

"First off: Max Strober," she declared in a somewhat shrill voice. This instantly unfroze Ron.

"Hell yeah!" the boys exclaimed in unison. Hermione sighed heavily and wiped a lump of half-chewed watermelon of her jumper.

"Tone it down boys, I'm trying to be constructive here. What I'm saying is that we should probably do a little research into him and his background. It is somewhat suspicious that Hogwarts suddenly decides to accept exchange students after having had a no-foreign-students policy for centuries. Now, I've owled Viktor -"

Ron gagged on his fourth kiwi.

"You've what!?"

"Oh stop with the grouching about Viktor, it's quite annoying really."

Hermione shot Ron a searing glare. He on the other hand kept coughing and spluttering, partly Harry suspected because of the mention of Viktor Krum but also because the aforementioned kiwi appeared to have gone down the wrong pipe. The sight was quite spectacular yet still Hermione looked remarkably unimpressed and equally unconcerned.

"When you're quite done," she said condescendingly clucking her tongue as Ron bent down and deposited the half-chewed fruit on Hagrid's wooded floor. Ron's coughing fit eventually died down and looking highly irritated Hermione cleaned up the mess with a prompt "Scourgify".

"Seeing as Max is from Germany I think it's most likely that he's attended Durmstrang and I've asked Viktor to discreetly make some inquires and hopefully dig up a bit of background information about him."

"I thought you'd stopped writing to him by now," Ron cried in outrage clearly not having heard a single word of what Hermione had just said.

"Why would you assume something like that?" snapped Hermione.

"I just thought, you know, considering..." Ron performed a rather wild arm gesture that he by the look of things expected Hermione to understand the meaning of. Hermione pursed her lips and shook her head.

"Well, I'm not in the habit of giving up my pen-pals just because of this," she said waspishly copying Ron's earlier arm gestures. Harry felt like he'd just missed something important but his questions were lost in another of Hermione's famous monologues.

"I'm rather perplexed about the level of secrecy in which the European Wizarding schools operates under, actually. What is the point I ask? It's next to impossible to work out where they're located and which nations they serve, but from what I've managed to piece together from the rather limited information I've found Germany most likely falls under Durmstrang or at least one of their smaller regional schools that supposedly is administered from Durmstrang. If this turns out to be another dead end then I suggest you get in touch with Bill or ask Charlie for some help, Ron. They've been around Europe and might know something or at least someone to ask."

At this Ron and Harry just nodded their agreement.

"Marvellous," said Hermione and ticked off a point on her own smaller list.

"Next is the question about how Voldemort managed to remove the artefacts from the Longbottoms before the Order. As you've already pointed out Snape being a double agent could be one solution."

Harry and Ron high fived. "However," Hermione interrupted snootily, "I believe there are other more plausible possibilities." Ron grimaced. "How come I knew you were gonna say that?"

"Remember they came looking for Neville specifically that time in Hogsmeade when Gladrags was attacked?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "What about it?"

"Well, obviously they knew even back then that Neville was the key to this mess. It's likely that they've had him under surveillance ever since. I wouldn't be surprised if they either have someone working for them at St. Mungo's or they've found another way of monitoring him."

"That makes sense I suppose," said Harry with a nod. "They probably had him bugged and heard the entire conversation between him and Snape."

"Oh no!" Hermione suddenly cried banging her small fist on the table upturning her ink bottle. "That lying conniving bitch!"

"Hermione!" yelled Ron looking absolutely floored. "You just swore!"

"Well, it's for a good cause!" cried Hermione looking remarkably like Mrs. Weasley when enraged." It's probably Rita Skeeter! Remember she's an unregistered beetle animagus."

"Bloody hell!" said Ron.

"Shite," said Harry.

"Well this time I'm reporting her. Remind me to stop by professor McGonagall afterwards."

It took Hermione a couple of minutes to calm her breathing but eventually she was back in business mode.

"So, the point I was trying to make earlier was that Voldemort clearly learned about Neville possibly having knowledge of these artefacts sometime during the school year. Otherwise I'm sure he would've taken him during the summer. I mean it's a huge risk trying to kidnap a Hogwarts student with all the security surrounding the castle and with Dumbledore as Headmaster."

"Yeah and?" Harry rubbed his eyes. He felt a headache coming and he was also rather hungry. Ron had cleared the fruit bowl and had begun riffling through Hagrid's kitchen cabinets presumably looking for something edible. It was a mark of how desperately hungry Ron was when he returned to his seat with a handful of rock cakes and actually tried to eat them.

"Well, I suppose that in itself isn't terribly important," said Hermione musingly. "But get this: Why did they continue searching the castle even after Neville had been transferred to St. Mungo's? They didn't really know what to look for and instead of having this betrayer walking around here at great risk why didn't they try to snatch Neville from St. Mungo's and force his memory on their own?"

"Don't know?" said Ron dully staring forlornly out the window up towards the castle having give up on the rock cakes. "Maybe because they hoped to find these items without having to bother with Neville?"

"Maybe," Hermione answered, "but I doubt it somehow. I think they had other business here besides looking for the artefacts. I mean how else do you explain Wormtail's presence? I'm willing to bet Hogwarts: A history that he's been around a lot this year and not for the reason we've assumed thus far."

"What then?" asked Harry. Hermione shrugged and leaned heavily back in her chair. "I have no idea."

"There's a first," muttered Ron.

" I've been wondering who broke into Dumbledore's office," said Harry suddenly. He sat up straighter and shrugged out of his Quidditch robes.

"Remember right after I woke up in the infirmary after being knocked silly by that Hufflepuff under Imperius? Some strange looking artefact went all crazy in Dumbledore's pocket and with a glance at it he concludes that someone's inside his office."

"Yeah," said Ron eagerly. "We never heard anything more about that. Wonder who it was and if anything was taken."

"I'd completely forgotten about that," wailed Hermione. "How could I forget? It might be terribly important. I'm definitely adding it to the list!"

"I've got something I'd like to add too." Ron stood up yawned and stretched his arms out. "Why did the stunning Ronald Weasley have to die of hunger in the gamekeeper's hut when he could be up in the castle feasting on this evening's culinary masterpiece?

"It's always about food, isn't it?" asked Hermione wearily. Ron grinned but shook his head. "Not always," he said cheekily. "I also enjoy putting other things besides food in my mouth."

Harry watched in confusion as Hermione blushed furiously and all but sprinted out the door.

After this incident Hermione went back to her OWL-revising frenzy and when she wasn't attending classes or eating in the Great Hall she could be found in the library buried under a sea of notes and books. Harry and Ron joined her for a couple of hours every evening after dinner but though they too had begun to show signs of exam jitters (Harry once caught Ron reading his History of Magic book in the loo), their stamina for studying was not even close to that of their bookish friend. In result they didn't spend much time with her, something that Ron especially seemed to find somewhat frustrating.

And if something frustrated Ron then it automatically frustrated Harry by proxy. Ron was just that kind of person whose state of mind tended to affect those around him. Why he was so grumpy Harry had no idea, and when he tried to broach the subject Ron would either snap at him or skulk off to Merlin knew where and not resurface until bedtime.

The only bright spot these days was the upcoming Quidditch game against Slytherin. This was the game that would decide the Quidditch Cup and Harry was literary aching to bring it home to Gryffindor.

It also seemed that Ron was taking out all his frustrations during practise these days because never before had Harry seen his mate so aggressive and vigorous. He'd been flying around on his old Cleansweep barking orders left and right, and when Katie had failed to perform his newest Chaser formation on the first attempt he'd given her such a scolding that it had reduced the normally cool and collected girl to a mass of sobbing limbs.

One apology and several gruelling practise sessions later and things were definitely looking bright. Harry had never seen the team in better shape something which bode well.

The day of the game finally dawned bright and sunny and it was as if the entire castle was alive with anticipation. Most students had taken advantage of the warm weather and were breakfasting outside on the lawns or down by the lake.

Half an hour before game start Ron however was still up in his dormitory pacing back and forth while staring nervously at a clipboard containing a large amount of game plans and chaser formations.

Muttering to himself Ron barely noticed the knock at the door. "Yeah?" he called absentmindedly and flipped to the next parchment racing his fingers along the arrows that indicated Quaffle-moves zigzagging the page.

The door creaked open and someone stepped inside and shut the door with a gentle thud. Ron resumed his pacing, muttering and shaking his head.

"Er, Ron?"

Ron whirled around with such speed that his gangly body failed to keep up. With a bang he fell to the floor nose first. The clipboard landed on his head a split second later, bounced off and crashed to the floor scattering parchments in every direction.

"Oh my wand Ron! Are you alright?"

Ron glanced up through a mountain of Quidditch notes and saw a very worried-looking Hermione rushing to his side.

"Hermione?" Ron croaked as he more than a little self-consciously struggled to regain his footing. They hadn't been alone just the two of them since before Hermione went to St. Mungo's and somehow Ron felt like they were right back to square one in that sense. He certainly didn't know how to act now and had after careful consideration decided to wait for Hermione to make the first move. She was usually loads better at these kinds of things anyway.

"Er, hi," said Hermione softly. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"S'alright," Ron mumbled busying himself with picking up the clipboard. With a lazy flick of his hand the parchments zoomed into his hands. He was awarded with a conflicted look from Hermione, part impressed and part accusing. He still hadn't told Harry about the wandless thought-controlled magic and his guilty conscious had been gnawing at him.

Hermione however didn't comment and for that Ron was thankful. He couldn't deal with an argument about that right now, not with the Quidditch game just half an hour away.

"Colin Creevey told me you were still up here. I just wanted to ask if I could borrow your Omnioculars. I lent mine to Neville," Hermione explains as if she needed to justify her presence. Ron's heart pummelled. A few weeks ago and Hermione would've barged in here just because she felt like it without stupid excuses falling out of her mouth.

Hermione's hardly that interested in the game anyway, he thought bitterly. Why she would need Omnioculars was beyond him as she hardly knew the difference between a Quaffle and a pumpkin. Wonky Faints I tell you! Ron scoffed mentally and felt an overwhelming urge lash out at the girl in front of him.

Hermione for her part was staring at her shoes and looked uncharacteristically nervous. Ron bit down the nasty comment threatening to spill from his most-times blunt lips. Yelling at her wouldn't bring them back to where they'd been before the attack on her parents. They just need to talk. Ron knew this but plucking up the courage to do just that was hard. But no matter, this was not the time. Somehow it never seemed to be.

"Shouldn't you be down there by now?" Hermione asks a minute later after Ron has wordlessly fetched the requested Omnioculars and handed them to her with a very forlorn look on his face. She was looking anywhere but at him.

"Preferably," Ron finally muttered. "I just need a few extra minutes to go over the strategy. You know, just to make sure."

Hermione then did something totally unexpected. With his eyes once again forcefully glued to his clipboard Ron didn't notice her squaring her shoulders, taking a deep breath before purposefully walking towards him. Ron did however notice when her arms suddenly snaked around his waist and then his gaping mouth was filled with huge quantities of frizzy hair.

Hermione was hugging him.

"Oh Ron," she sighed into his robes reducing Ron's overworked brain from a zillion notions to one vital fact: Hermione was back in his arms!

"Your Quidditch strategies are always brilliant. There's no need to be nervous or doubt yourself. I mean Gryffindor hasn't lost a game after you sort of took over the show?"

Ron shrugged.

"You know I'm right," said Hermione softly into his shoulder. "You really should head down there, the team could probably use a bit of a pep talk, and in Fred and George's case a bit of a calm down. Slytherin versus Gryffindor do tend to bring out the worst in all of us, but they become downright evil."

Ron chuckled reluctantly. "I suppose you're right."
"I'm always right," Hermione retorted looking up at him with a silly grin. She looked breathtaking and Ron just wanted to cancel all things Quidditch and simply snog her senseless.

"Cheeky witch," he said affectionately.

"You just watch who you call cheeky, mister," Hermione bit back playfully, "or I might stick you in detention for your effrontery."

Chuckling softly Ron reluctantly withdrew from the hug and took a step back. "I really should get a move on."

Hermione glanced out the window down at the pitch. "Yes, it looks to be starting soon. Madam Hooch's just levitated out the trunk with the Quidditch balls."

Ron yelped in panic and began whizzing around the room looking for his sneakers, clipboard (he'd dropped it in shock when Hermione hugged him) and whatnot. Hermione watched him amusedly.

She stole another glance out the window to make sure the players hadn't appeared yet.

"Oh dear, it's quite windy today," she noted with concern looking down on her pale pink cardigan. "I'd better dash back to get my robes. I can't possibly risk getting a cold or worse with the OWLs just days away."

Ron froze in mid-movement. "But Mione!" he exclaimed horrified. "You'll miss the start of the game!"

"I think I'll live," Hermione quipped dryly over her shoulder already halfway to the door.

"No stop, you can just borrow a jumper from me," said Ron matter-of-factly. He leapt to his trunk and began rummaging around inside. A split second later he emerged with a woolly and unmistakably maroon Weasley jumper in his hands.

"Here take this," he said and crammed it into Hermione's hands. "In fact you can just keep it. I outgrew it last year and I've no idea why mum's even bothered packing it."

Hermione just stared at the jumper with wide eyes.

"Oh don't be so picky," said Ron irritably. "I know it's hideous but at least it's warm. You can throw it away afterwards if you want to."

"I don't want to throw it away," whispered Hermione her cheeks curiously pink. She stuffed the jumper awkwardly into her book bag. "Thank you," she said shyly.

"Don't mention it," said Ron indifferently tugging on her hand. "Now let's go!"

* * *

When Ron burst through the doors to the Gryffindor changing rooms five minutes later, he was met with pandemonium and that with a capital P to boot!

Everyone was talking - no scratch that, everyone was yelling and waving their arms around angrily. That is everyone save one.

"What the fuck happened?" cried Ron as he caught sight of the unmistakably unconscious form of Alicia Spinnet. He was answered by six furious Quidditch players all screaming out enraged explanations. Ron thought Alicia had to be pretty far out of it not to be awoken by this racket, a notion not particularly uplifting.

The door to the changing room burst open once again admitting an extraordinarily intimidating McGonagall. A flick of her wand and the screaming players were effectively muted.

"What is the meaning of this?" she inquired her stern eyes blazing behind her squared spectacles. Harry, Katie, Angelina, Max, Fred and George all began mouthing soundlessly and waving their arms around in a fruitless attempt to explain things. Professor McGonagall ignored them and turned her attention to Ron.

"Mr. Weasley, you seem to be the only one with your wits about you, surprisingly enough. What is going on in here? It sounds eerily like a Banshee convention to be honest and need I remind you that the game is about to begin?"

Ron gave her his most clueless look (a look he'd perfected years ago). "I don't really know," he began, "all I know is that when I arrived about a minute ago everyone was dead mad and Alicia out cold." He gestured to Alicia's still form. McGonagall gasped and rushed over to examine the petite seventh year.

"Oh dear me, this looks like hex marks," she cried in pure horror.

"She's been hexed?" Ron was by her side in two long strides. "Bloody hell!"

"Language, Mr. Weasley," chided his professor as she undid the muting charm on Harry. "Please explain this, Mr. Potter."

"It was Zabini and that other stringy looking Slytherin in our year. What's his name again?"
"Nott," said Ron murderously. "Bloody bastards! They're deliberately trying to sabotage the game by hexing one of our Chasers!"

"This is a disgrace," wheezed McGonagall her lips pursed tighter than ever before. "I'll be having words with Albus about this, mark my words."

For the third time in less than ten minutes the door to the changing room burst open and this time it was a very annoyed looking Madam Hooch who scrambled through.

"What's the hold-up?" she asked angrily. "Slytherin is ready to play and we're already five minutes behind sched- What the

Holy Grail happened here!" Madam Hooch's yellow eyes bulged out as she caught sight of the knocked-out Chaser.

"She's been severely hexed by a pair of fifth year Slytherins," informed McGonagall tersely "so forgive me if I don't much care if they have to wait a bit for this game to start."

"Holy mother of Merlin," said Hooch looking positively scandalized. "I'll fetch someone to take her to the Infirmary, shall I?"

"Please do, and I suggest you go get your reserve Chaser, Mr. Weasley. It's quite clear that Ms. Spinnet won't be able to participate today."

Ron was halfway out the door before she'd even finished the sentence.

* * *

Usually whenever Harry was flying he was in heaven. It was the one thing that always and effectively made him forget all about looming enemies and deranged Dark Lords. Today unfortunately was the exception.

The flying conditions were superb, the spectators as enthusiastic looking as always and his broom in excellent shape. The team was as prepared as it could get and Ron's formations were drilled to perfection. Still Harry had a very queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

It could very well be a result of the far from ideal start to the game, or simply a bad case of nerves because let's face it playing for the cup against Slytherin was always a nerve-wrecking experience. Worse yet it could also be a forewarning that something Voldemort related was brewing, because in Harry's experience funny gut-churning feelings seldom meant happy things were coming.

Circling Slytherin's hoops for the umpteenth time, Harry stole a look towards the other end of the pitch where the Gryffindor Chasers were going through a series of warm up exercises. This sight proved so distracting that he nearly crashed nose first into the topmost hoop and only dumb luck and a near neck-breaking dive saved him from a rather humiliating injury.

Effective though it was, this manoeuvre was far from graceful and Harry felt his cheeks redden in a mixture of anger and embarrassment as the Slytherin supporters all laughed evilly, pointed gleefully and then begun chanting "Plummeting Potter!" in shrill voices accompanied by what sounded frighteningly like African drums.

Harry's eyes bugged out as he caught sight of Crabbe and Goyle hammering away in the back flanked by Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode, both abusing castanets. Shaking his head he flew to the other end of the pitch trying desperately to block out the sound of the newly formed Slytherin House Band. What next he thought wearily: The Slytherin Ballet perhaps? He could just imagine Crabbe and Goyle in tights. Or not Harry decided with a grimace. That was not a mental image he wanted with him!

All things Slytherin was however soon forgotten as he again caught sight of the very distracting member of Gryffindor's Chaser line-up. Zooming expertly through the air in perfect sync with the other two Chasers, Ginny Weasley really was a sight to behold.

"There's what's upsetting your stomach, idiot," Harry muttered to himself. "Imagine, loosing concentration over a girl!"

Feeling pretty pathetic Harry shook his head and turned his attention away from the Chasers. It really was best not to make matters worse.

Soon a blue blurb caught his attention. Harry grinned widely as he watched a pink-cheeked Eloise Midgen jumping up and down in the Ravenclaw stands, a huge poster with the wording "Potter's the best!" charmed to hover above her head. Harry did a few elaborate loops in her honour and was awarded with a few kisses blown his way.

Eloise really was a great girl, thought Harry giddily. They'd spent a fair amount of time together the last weeks and not all of it had been snogging. She was a really good listener and Harry had found himself telling her more about his childhood than Ron and Hermione had ever known. It felt almost therapeutic, being with Eloise he'd concluded. But the fact still remained that she didn't make his heart go haywire, or his body grow hot like Ginny did. Harry just didn't know how to explain this fact to her without hurting her feelings.

Feeling that this certainly wasn't the sort of things he should be mulling over during Quidditch, Harry focused his attention back to his flying.

A few more minutes of lazily circling the pitch while waiting for Madam Hooch to chase down one of the Bludgers that had managed to break loose from its restrains and Harry had noticed something - well odd.

Doing everything in his power to avoid looking at Ginny Harry begun watching Max instead, thinking that it couldn't harm keeping him under tight observation. And that's when he'd noticed it. Every now and then Max's demeanour would change dramatically only to be gone a second later. It looked almost like he was on the brink of hurling, because he'd suddenly crouch together on his broom with his face looking all greenish and contorted. The next moment he'd look fine again.

It was the weirdest thing Harry had seen in a long time but he didn't have much time to dwell on the peculiar condition Max was in. Madam Hooch had apparently retrieved the stray bludger and was signalling for the players to take their positions. The last coherent thought Harry had before the whistle sounded was that he dearly hoped whatever was plaguing Max wouldn't affect the game.

Sadly for Gryffindor his prayers were not to be heard.

*

"The balls have been released and the game is on!" bellowed Lee Jordan through the magical megaphone startling several first years into shrieks of surprise and one poor boy even toppled out of his seat landing awkwardly on top of Crookshanks.

"Shanks!" wailed Hermione and quickly untangled the cat from a mass of robes and shooting both Lee and the first year deadly glares. The cat meowed sorrowfully and curled up in her lap. Patting his head absentmindedly Hermione turned her attention back to the game.

Scanning the pitch to get an overview of the situation she found Harry circling high above the action in his usual manner. Gryffindor was in possession of the Quaffle and Ginny, Katie and Angelina were gliding effortlessly through the air easily outsmarting the Slytherin trio. Soon they had weaved their way to the Slytherin side (though Katie was nearly decapitated by a furious bludger). Angelina feigned passing the ball to Katie only to throw it to Ginny instead. The redhead dived, rolled and zoomed easily passed the confused Keeper.

"GINNY WEASLEY SCORES! Oh man, how that chick can fly!"

"Mr. Jordan!" screeched professor McGonagall furiously but her scolding was met by deaf ears. Lee was practically hanging over the rail, megaphone gripped so tightly his knuckles had gone white, all the while his feet were doing a silly looking tap dance. It really was an impressive performance - in fact Hermione felt it almost matched that of Ginny's goal. Almost.

Half an hour later and the Gryffindor side were beside itself with joy. They were leading a whooping hundred and ten to twenty and the way this was going only Malfoy catching the Snitch could turn this game around. Somehow Hermione didn't see that happening. Because let's face it: the guy was all talk and no talent.

Ginny had so far performed superbly. Alicia Spinnet was an excellent Quidditch player (Ron must have told her so about a billion times!) but Ginny had filled her space effortlessly.

In fact the entire team had been in top form today. On second thought that was a truth with some modifications. All but one had been excellent, a fact that Ron seemed to have picked up on as well.

Hermione pointed the borrowed Omnioculars at the bobbing redhead down on the sideline. Though she was quite a long way up in the stands she had no trouble hearing Ron's voice as it shouted out orders left and right. It was therefore no secret to anyone that he was far from satisfied with Max Strober's performance in front of the hoops.

Frowning Hermione turned the Onmioculars to the Keeper. After studying him intently for a few minutes it seemed obvious that there was something wrong with him. He appeared to be sick because he kept clutching his stomach and for Ron's sake (and the others too of course) she prayed that he'd stick the game out without making to many mistakes.

Fred and George were doing a bang up job of keeping the Slytherins from getting to close to the hoops, but Merlin knew if that would be enough. All in all the best thing would be if Harry just caught that Snitch already so that this blasted game would be over soon.

Hermione was literally itching to get back to revising for the OWLs. Time was running out and she was still hopelessly behind. She stole a glance at the book bag by her feet and silently debated whether or not she should fish out a book. In this ruckus surely no one would notice?

In the end she decided against it. It just didn't feel right knowing how much this game meant to her friends. She could just imagine the hurt and disappointed look on Ron's face if he ever found out she'd studied Strengthening Elixirs instead of cheering for Gryffindor.

Forcing her attention back on the game she was horrified to see that Slytherin were catching up. One look at Max and Hermione knew the reason. He looked positively green and was signalling madly to Ron for a time out. Ron waved down Madam Hooch who promptly blew her whistle.

Eager to take advantage of the break Hermione lunged for her book bag. Opening it her eyes fell on Ron's maroon Weasley jumper and her heart skipped three beats if not more. Ron might not think much of the garment but to Hermione it was special beyond words.

Gingerly she pulled it out and buried her face in the well-worn wool. It smelled like Ron. Hermione blushed. It smelled like love...

Though she felt far from cold at the moment she had to wear it. She carefully unfolded it and was about to pull it over her head when something fell out and down by her feet.

With shaking fingers Hermione bent down and picked up half a dozen letters held together by a piece of string. What were they doing inside his jumper? Who were they from? Was he trying to hide them?

Hermione was starting to sweat, all kinds of awful scenarios playing out in her overactive mind. Because honestly if a bloke was hiding letters inside an old, too-small and much hated jumper then surely the contents had to be - well sensitive? For some unknown reason a vision of Fleur in her Yule Ball robes came flitting into Hermione's mind and she didn't much like the implications. He wouldn't? Would he?

Her hands trembling Hermione slowly extracted a letter from the pile in her lap. As her eyes fell on the addressee she let out a startled gasp. Because in emerald green ink and Ron's telltale messy scrawl were written the most beautiful words Hermione had ever read:

To

Hermione Granger

The Spell Damage Ward

St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries

London

Biting painfully into her lower lip not to scream with joy Hermione carefully charmed the envelope open and removed the parchment inside. Soon she was engrossed in a world of her own where only she and Ron existed and where Quidditch was the last thing on her mind...

* * *

The game was turning out one big headache - literary.

An hour into the game and Harry was still circling high above the pitch, Draco Malfoy (the incompetent tosser) tight on his tail, searching idly for the elusive Snitch. So far he hadn't seen hind or hair of the blasted ball and if it didn't appear soon Harry feared the outcome might not be as favourable as they'd been hoping for.

Slytherin was now only a measly ten points behind, something which Malfoy was taking extra special pleasure in reminding Harry about every time he was within hearing range. And in Harry's opinion it was all bloody Max's fault.

He'd never seen more abysmal Keeper-work in his entire Quidditch career, and that was really saying something considering the hopeless dunderhead that had been guarding Hufflepuff's hoops two years ago. They'd been lucky to have Cedric on the team to make up for her considerable un-talent.

But there was really nothing they could do about today's situation. They didn't have a reserve Keeper, at least not on paper as George had never bothered to list Ron as a reserve after the tryouts. Max had blocked a few attempts so he was still better than nothing Harry presumed. Still he couldn't help but wonder if the German really was as sick as he appeared to be or if he was just sabotaging their game on purpose...

The next moment a searing pain shot through Harry's scar making him cry out and clutch one hand to his forehead. He swayed dangerously and almost lost control of the Firebolt but quickly gained his balance.

This had been happening a lot throughout the game, and being hit with waves of intense, bone-crushing pain hadn't exactly helped to heighten his concentration. It really was lucky Malfoy was such a shitty Seeker Harry thought with a half grin, otherwise he would be really worried by now what with Max playing about as well as a back-bound and crippled Doxy.

Yet this one had been the worst one so far. He did a few loop-the-loops to clear his head and finally the ache subsided. Looking at the scoreboard Harry cringed and resumed searching for the Snitch with renewed determination. Slytherin had just tied.

A few minutes later however his scar exploded again. Gasping for air Harry closed his eyes willing the hurt to go away but to his chagrin it just got worse. Black spots started to dance before his eyes and his surroundings were getting progressively blurrier.

Please don't pass out! he pleaded silently fighting furiously to remain conscious. Next he knew everything became black yet still Harry could hear the roar of hundreds of spectators down below.

At least I haven't fainted, Harry noted imagining with dread what a sixty feet drop would do to his health. But without eyesight he wasn't much use up in the air and he was starting to wonder how on earth he was going to land without being able to see.

Suddenly however images began swimming before his eyes. Odd images, not even remotely related to Quidditch. Harry saw a robed wizard, his hood hiding his face from sight. The hooded betrayer...

Next came a vision of trees. Hundreds of towering trees so tightly intertwined that hardly any light was breaking through. The trees quickly faded and Ginny's face came into view. Her eyes was closed and her face deathly pale. The image zoomed out and Harry could see that she was lying on a grass-clad ground, her body very rigid-looking and arms crossed on her chest. The image shifted again and this time it was Ron he saw. The image of his best friend was however in no way any more reassuring as he was covered in blood, his face screwed up in pain or possibly rage. Harry couldn't tell which because once again the vision was changing this time giving him a short glimpse of what looked like a hawk. The bird was in a steep dive, weaving in and out between what looked scarily like curse beams.

Then just as suddenly as it began the visions stopped. The sudden roar from the spectators assaulted him and for a moment he felt totally out of control. Everything was a blur and Harry navigated his broom purely on instinct. Stopping completely would be a mistake he knew. It would take the Slytherin Beaters close to no time to spot him and send the mad balls in his direction. A loud whooshing sound told him that he'd just narrowly escaped one of the Bludgers and be picked up speed while rising a few feet.

"You alright there, Harry?" one of the twins yelled. Harry heard the sharp sound of bat on Bludger and drew a breath of relief.

"No," he yelled back. "Could you please signal for a time out? My eyesight's gone all wonky and I can't see shit at the moment."

"Blimey, Harry!" Fred or George exclaimed. "Malfoy's terrible but I think he could beat a blind man. I'll be right back!"

While he waited for the much needed break Harry contended himself with flying in lazy circles listening carefully for any stray balls. Little by little the heavy fog on his eyes began lifting and soon he could make out the contours of the pitch.

Relieved beyond words he did a few easy loops before he resumed the appointed task of looking for the Snitch. Everything was not back in colour yet, but at least he could make out the players again!

After Harry had signalled that the time-out wasn't needed anymore, his eyesight was almost back to normal with only a few black spots appearing at odd intervals.

Draco Malfoy had been uncharacteristically silent, not even attempting to jeer about Harry's obvious trouble. Somehow Harry found this deviance rather foreboding. Glancing over his shoulder he spotted the aforementioned Seeker trailing his broom path with an almost neutral facial expression. Harry shuddered and his gut churned uncomfortably. Something wicked was coming, it was coming fast and if he wasn't much mistaken Draco Malfoy knew perfectly well what it was.

Just then a flash of gold streaked past him making Harry's fringe flutter in its after wave. A nanosecond later he was in a steep dive hot in pursuit of the slippery ball. The Snitch broke left and Harry had to roll sideways to stay on its tail without ramming into several Chasers. He heard the collected gasp of the spectators and his heartbeat quickened with adrenalin.

The Snitch once again abruptly changed direction but having anticipated its move Harry streaked above Fred, weaved passed the Slytherin Beater Daphne Greengrass, ducked a Bludger and gained several feet on the minute ball. Flattening himself on his Firebolt he urged the broom ahead faster and faster. Little by little the gap closed and soon Harry could hear the sound of the silver wings flapping a mile a minute.

He reached out his hand, willed the Firebolt the last needed inches and finally clasped his hand around the Golden Snitch. Harry heard the pitch explode in sound and saw what looked like a thousand Gryffindor banners wave manically down below.

Next his scar exploded in pain beyond pain. Then everything went black and Harry remembered no more.

* * *

When Harry's eyes eventually fluttered open dusk was creeping up the castle walls. The first thing he took notice of was a scull-breaking headache. He instantly shut his eyes again and the pain lessened somewhat now that the intense light of the hospital wing was blocked out. Still he was unable to suppress a groan.

"Harry? Are you awake?"

That voice could soothe angels Harry thought groggily and squinted throw a half-opened eyelid. He didn't have his glasses on, yet it was no mistaking that radiant red mane.

"Ginny?" he croaked and promptly broke out in a series of very nasty sounding coughs. A few seconds of that and Madam Promfey was at his bedside with what looked like an arsenal of potions, elixirs and ointments. Fifteen minutes later she hobbled off with a considerably lighter medicine tray but not without giving Ginny firm instructions not to overexert or stress her "fragile" patient. Harry was bristling. He was most definitely not fragile! The nerve of the woman!

"Your glasses," said Ginny with a tentative smile. She laid the battered spectacles in front of him on the bedspread. Harry quickly donned them with practised ease and felt thankful when his head pain lessened considerably as a result.

"Where are Ron and Hermione?" With his glasses back on he finally realized that Ginny in fact was his only visitor. Ginny shrugged nervously.

"They were both here earlier right after you were brought in. That was quite a nasty fall you took there, Harry," she added quietly. "If Dumbledore hadn't been there to slow your fall..." She made a chocked half-sob and quickly looked away.

Harry didn't rightfully know what to say or do but felt that it somehow was expected of him. "Er," he began awkwardly. He'd never been any good with crying girls.

"It's no use thinking about what-ifs," he finally croaked out intensely proud that he'd managed to string together something that good. "I'll be fine."

"Oh I know you will," said Ginny hoarsely. "Madam Pomfrey's already worked her magic and said you were free to leave as soon as you felt up to it. But still, you shouldn't have fallen in the first place. If only... I'm so stupid... If only I hadn't kept questioning things and trusted myself then this wouldn't have happened at all."

Harry stared at Ginny's tearstained face for a few baffled seconds. "You knew didn't you?" he asked silently. "You had one of your vision-things again?"

Harry waited for her to do as she'd done on multiple occasions throughout the year; lie, run or change the subject. He certainly wasn't expecting the truth and therefore almost choked on his own tongue when Ginny whispered "Yes."

"Oh," he replied lamely at a total loss for words. With that little word Ginny had confirmed once and for all what he'd suspected for a while now: She really was his Strinx.

Something the size of a small zeppelin was swelling inside his chest. He had about a million questions he burned to ask her, but most burning of all was the urge to simply lean over and kiss her. Slowly he began leaning towards her, his blood boiling and something that sounded eerily like Phoenix song was ringing in his ears. Harry closed his eyes instinctively and at once caught a whiff of her flowery shampoo.

"Potter, thank goodness you're awake!"

Harry jerked back so abruptly it felt like he'd sustained a self-inflicted whiplash. Feeling his cheeks heat with embarrassment and humiliation he reluctantly turned to look at his Head of House. If professor McGonagall had any notion of what she'd just walked in on she was hiding it well.

"I've just come from the Headmaster's office," she informed him with a cool nod in Ginny's direction. "This has indeed been a black day all around and professor Snape's been sent down to the dungeons to reprimand the students of his house and invoke punishment on those that participated in the hexing of Ms. Spinnet."

McGonagall nodded in the direction of a bed at the other end of the infirmary where Harry could see Katie, Angelina and Fred sitting, while a very white-faced George was pacing fretfully nearby.

"I just wanted to make sure that you at least had not suffered a serious injury."

Harry smiled weakly. "I'm fine. Madam Pompfrey says I'm free to leave whenever I want."

"Excellent," said McGonagall businesslike. "It would be most unfortunate if you should lose precious revision time. I daresay you need it if you want to scrape and E in Transfiguration. Oh and by the way: Great catch!"

And with that she swept out of the infirmary in a swish of tartan.

The mood was broken. Being given a very unwelcome reminder of his shortcomings in Transfiguration on top off ruining the most important moment of his life, Harry felt that McGonagall almost rivalled Snape in the contest for least-favourable-teacher-of-the-year award. Almost.

Having no idea whatsoever how to re-introduce the topic of Strinx, One True Love or potential kisses Harry grasped around for something to end the awkward silence. Ginny was pretending to find the bed linens interesting and failing miserably and so he asked the first thing that popped into his mind.

"So where exactly are Ron and Hermione?"

Harry had thought this a harmless question but as soon as the words were out of his mouth he realized his mistake. All colour drained from Ginny's face and she began stuttering. He felt alarm-bells go off inside his head and deep inside his gut was telling him nothing good would come for pursuing the matter. Yet Harry was unable to stop himself. What if they were in trouble or something?

"Is there something wrong? Has something happened to them?" he asked sounding half-panicked. Ginny shook her head.

"Then why are you looking like that?" he demanded impatiently.

"Like what exactly?" asked Ginny her voice trembling slightly.

"Honestly, you're as white as a ghost. Clearly there's something wrong! Now why won't you tell me?"

"I haven't refused to tell you!" she cried heatedly, "it's just rather embarrassing to tell the truth."

Harry threw his hands up in frustration and slumped back on his pillows. "Okay, you've lost me. Please explain or I'll just get out and look for them myself."

"Oh, alright," Ginny finally conceded, sounding thoroughly deflated. She wrung her hands together nervously her eyes looking anywhere but at him. She muttered something into the hem of her robes but all Harry could make out was the words "half-arsed prat" and "Max". For a split second his heart almost burst with happiness at the notion that she'd finally come to the same conclusion about Max as he and Ron had hailed as absolute truth the entire year. The next moment it hit him painfully that she was most likely talking about Ron.

"Sorry," said Harry trying to hide his growing impatience, "but I didn't hear a word of that."

"I said I believe Ron's stormed off to beat my ex-boyfriend to a bloody pulp, the great prat," she spat out in a shrill voice. "As if he's got any right to do any such thing!"

"Ex-boyfriend?" squeaked Harry unmanly and immediately felt his face flush scarlet. Ginny still wouldn't meet his eyes but she nodded her head in an unmistakable confirmation. It cost him his last shred of willpower not to whoop with joy.

"What did he do?" he instead asked his anger growing. "Did he try to force you into something, or cheat on you or...?" Ginny shook her head vehemently. "No, Max's been a perfect gentleman."

"Then why's Ron off trying to kill or maim the guy?" Clearly he was missing something.

"Because as I just said, Ron's and half-arsed prat!" exclaimed Ginny hotly. "He misunderstood something I said as we were sitting here waiting for you to wake up and as the hot-headed idiot he's always been he wouldn't let me elaborate before he stormed out of here cursing like a sailor."

"I gather Hermione went after him?" Harry asked hopefully. It wouldn't do to have a murderous Ron Weasley running about without someone there to calm him down.

"I sincerely hope so," said Ginny sorrowfully. "He might be a git, but I'd hate for him to be expelled."

"Sounds to me that you must have worded yourself pretty badly for him to storm off all half-cocked like that," said Harry conversationally hoping to coax her into elaborating further on the break-up from Max.

Ginny snorted. "If he'd just let me finish talking then there wouldn't have been any need to run off to defend my honour or whatever he think he's doing. It all started because Hermione began questioning me about what was wrong with Max. She'd noticed him looking slightly under the weather during the game and was concerned that he wasn't up here being treated too."

"Yeah, I noticed that," said Harry with a frown. "One minute he was fine and then the next second he'd look like he was about to hurl something wicked."

Ginny overlooked his comment and continued to recapture the conversation that ensued. "I then told her that it wasn't my concern whether he sought medical attention or not seeing as we'd broken up. This bit of news seemed to elate Ron because he did this crazy sort of, I guess you could call it a dance and singing "Max got the boot" on top of his lungs. Pomfrey nearly chucked him out he was so loud."

Harry guffawed loudly but quickly stopped when Ginny glared at him icily. "Go on," he urged adopting his most neutral facial expression.

"Hermione then asked me why we'd broken up and I'd already resolved to tell you guys the absolute truth from now on and so I calmly told them that we'd ended it because I made Max sick..."

"Excuse me!" roared Harry sounding scarily like an enraged Hungarian Horntail. "He actually told you that? That you make him sick? No wonder Ron stormed off!" Harry was already scrambling for his clothes. "In fact I think I'll assist him!"

"You will do no such thing," said Ginny calmly though there was an underlying threat to her voice. The fact that she was holding Harry at wandpoint was certainly helping her get her point across. "Now sit still and let me explain," she said pleadingly. "Please?"

Harry found that he could deny Ginny Weasley nothing when she looked at him like that.

"Okay," he relented swinging his legs back into the bed. "I'll listen."

"In order to explain this properly I have to start at the beginning and I ask you please to not interrupt me." She gave him a weak half-smile and Harry could see that her lower lip was quivering ever so slightly. "This is hard for me to talk about and I might lose my nerve if you..." she trailed off and Harry could little do but nod.

Ginny took a deep breath and fixing her stare at her hands she prepared herself to tell Harry Potter her tale.