The Boy Who Lived I -- The Alchemist's Prize

Chapter Five: Storm Front

"I still can't believe it," Ron said over breakfast the next day. "We all thought you were done for."

"Yeah, Draco even took bets on what animal McGonagall would transfigure you into," Seamus added.

"Only as a joke, if course," Draco interjected, wearing an "innocent" smile that reminded Harry of the Weasley twins.

As if this thought had called them, Fred and George appeared and simultaneously gave Harry friendly cuffs on the shoulder. "Congratulations, Harry!" one of them said, "Wood just told us."

"We're on the team, too," the other added, "Beaters. We'll try to make sure you don't get bloodied up too badly."

"'Too' badly?" Harry asked weakly.

"No need to worry," the first twin said, "Every guy needs a few scars to show the ladies..." Then they were gone, leaving Harry feeling more than a little nervous.

"How do you tell them apart?" Draco asked as Harry turned his attention back to his dorm-mates.

"George has a freckle at the corner of his left eye," Ron replied, then took a big gulp of pumpkin juice.

"That's the only difference?" Dean asked.

Ron blushed slightly, the tips of his ears going pink. "Er," he said, "there is another way, but I'm hoping none of you get the opportunity." He gulped down another mouthful of juice, looking rather nervous.

"Oh, now you have to tell us," Seamus said, grinning.

"I'd rather not..." Ron protested in a small voice, his face now almost as red as his hair.

"It's not like we'd spread it around the school," Draco said, the expression on his face indicating otherwise.

"Oh, that's not it at all," Ron replied, some of the color in his face fading, "George mentions it all the time, just to get under Fred's skin. It's just that..." Ron trailed off, then glanced shyly at Harry before continuing, "It's just a bit embarrassing that I know."

Harry immediately understood what Ron was implying about the location of this identifying characteristic. He grinned nervously, then looked down at his toast before anyone could notice that he was starting to blush too.

"Come on," Dean wheedled, "We all know you want to tell us."

"Oh, all right," Ron huffed. "If you must know, Fred has a... a birthmark."

"And just where is this birthmark?" Draco asked, grinning hugely.

Ron took a deep breath and said, "Onispenis." He then turned almost purple with embarrassment. It took Harry a moment to figure out what Ron meant, and then he blushed too.

"Really?" Seamus asked, "Right on the old trouser snake?"

Ron nodded slightly and sipped at his pumpkin juice again.

"What's it shaped like?" Draco asked, causing Ron to spit some of the juice right back out.

"It's not like I studied it!" Ron replied. "I've only seen it in passing, taking baths and the like."

"Well, you might have asked him," Draco said, sipping at his own juice.

"Oh, that would be famous, now wouldn't it?" Ron asked. "'Excuse me, dear brother, but the other morning in the bath my gaze was lingering on your privates and I couldn't help but notice the most intriguing birthmark right at the base of your willy. What shape would you say it has?'" He paused, then asked, "Why d'you care, anyway?"

Draco shrugged. "Just thought it might be interesting to know," he said airily.

"Well if you find out, don't tell me," Ron said. He wolfed down his last bit of toast, then added, "And especially don't tell me how you found out."

"Found what out?" a new voice asked, and Harry glanced up to see Oliver Wood standing at his shoulder.

"Oh... nothing," Ron replied, turning his attention back to his plate. His ears looked hot enough to set his hair on fire.

Oliver shrugged, then looked down at Harry. "I thought we might get a little bit of practice in this evening after dinner," he said. "I just want to feel out your strengths."

"All right," Harry said. "I'd be glad to."

Oliver nodded and started to walk off, but stopped and turned back. "You should eat a little more protein," he suggested, "to build up some meat on those bones. Have a few sausages or something." He then continued up the table.

"After that conversation," Harry replied quietly, eyeing a dish of links, "I don't think I could."

It was Draco's turn to spit out his pumpkin juice.

When the boys returned to the Gryffindor common room, Harry saw Hermione already surrounded by open books, toiling away at her homework. The second week of classes had seen a veritable explosion of assignments from all their teachers, especially Snape, who had decided to take out his frustration at the failure of nearly all the potions on Friday by demanding they write a two-foot scroll about blemish-removing concoctions. From the look of things, Hermione had already finished hers and moved on to the hundred or so pages of reading McGonagall had decided to require of them.

Much as he would have liked to devote the morning to Exploding Snap, as Seamus had planned, Harry felt a stab of guilt the moment he saw Hermione amidst the pile of schoolbooks. Mother had always been so insistent that he concentrate on his studies. Despite her absences, she always monitored his progress carefully, and he dreaded nothing more than her learning he had fallen behind. Mother had never resorted to actual punishment on the few occasions when he had lagged in his lessons, but the severe disappointment in her expression was discipline enough for Harry. So when Seamus pulled out a deck of cards, Harry ruefully excused himself and headed up to the dorm and his books.

Harry decided to start with his Potions homework, determined to get the essay exactly right. He scanned through the Potions text, taking copious notes about all the recipes for blemish-removing pastes and tonics. Then he opened up 1000 Magical Herbs and Fungi and set to reading about the ingredients. By the time he'd gotten through them he'd covered another piece of parchment in notes. More importantly, Harry thought he'd figured out a common thread. He jotted down the gist of his idea, then decided to head for the library.

When Harry got to the common room, however, a new thought hit him. Fighting to ignore the raucous game of Exploding Snap going on in front of the fireplace, he walked over to Hermione and tapped her on the shoulder. She looked up, her eyes sharp and glittering despite the reading she'd been doing.

"Er," he said, "Would you happen to have a book on the magical properties of... dirt-loving animals with you?"

Hermione cocked her head slightly, then said, "I do, actually. I was planning on returning it to the library in a few minutes. You can check it back out then."

"Well, why can't you let me have it now?" Harry asked. "I'll take it back for you this afternoon, and save us both an extra trip."

"The rules are specific," Hermione replied. "The sign at the Library desk plainly states: 'A student who checks a book out of the library must keep it in his possession unless he leaves school grounds.'"

Harry frowned at her. "Well, then I'll bring some parchment down and take notes here," he said, shrugging.

"But I'm going to the library in a few minutes anyway," Hermione said as Harry's dorm-mates started laughing loudly at some joke. "It's getting too noisy in here for proper studying."

"Oh, for..." Harry started, but bit his tongue before he could swear at the girl. Hermione struck him as the sort of person who'd run to Percy right away if he used any sort of foul language on her. Instead he settled for stalking over to a chair, throwing himself into it, and scowling at the bushy-haired girl until she finished gathering her things together and headed off to the Library. He followed a few paces behind her, trying to keep himself from stomping all the way.

The Library was immense, a vast chamber with thousands upon thousands of books, stocked on hundreds of shelves. Large tables were placed in the aisles, and more private study cubbies were located along the walls. The Assistant Librarian, Mr. Nez, patrolled these constantly to ensure that studying was indeed what took place in them. The forbidding main desk of the library was served by the Chief Librarian, Madam Pince, a thin-faced, withered woman who seemed to enjoy the fact that the only way she could see students from her high perch was by staring down her long, pointed nose at them.

Hermione dutifully returned her books to the stern-faced librarian, then vanished into the stacks as Harry stepped forward. "Madam Pince," he asked, "might I check out Magical Properties of Burrowing Animals? Hermione just returned it."

Pince gave a sharp nod and retrieved the book from the "To be reshelved" cart. "House?" she asked, producing a small piece of cardstock from under the counter.

"Gryffindor," Harry replied.

Madam Pince frowned as she scribbled something onto the card. As she tucked the card someplace under the counter she asked, "Why didn't you just borrow the book from Miss Granger before she returned it?"

Harry blinked at her for a moment, then said, "Hermione said that was against the rules."

"Technically, yes," Pince replied, "but as long as I was informed who had the book, it would be fine. Doing things this way just gives me more paperwork."

"I'll keep that in mind," Harry said, rolling his eyes in aggravation as the librarian shoved the book across the desk. He ducked into the stacks for a moment to grab a book on medical magic, heading for his dorm as soon as he checked it out.

"You were right," Harry told Ron as soon as he made it back to the Gryffindor common room. "Girls are a pain."

"What, did Hermione deny you a kiss?" Draco asked, leaning back against the side of a chair. He batted his eyes at Harry and puckered up his lips. Ron made a gagging noise.

"A kiss?" Harry replied incredulously, "She wouldn't even lend me a book!"

"Well, you never know," Seamus said. "She's such a know-it-all, she's probably stingier with her books than her lips."

"Who wants anything to do with her lips?" Harry asked. "I was only interested in the earthworms!"

"I don't even want to know," Dean commented, shuffling the deck.

Harry decided that lunch would be just the thing to calm his nerves before he finished researching his Potions essay, so he went down to the Great Hall and wolfed down three massive sandwiches before heading back to read up on the potion ingredients that came from animals. He was both pleased and a little embarrassed that his dorm-mates came up to join him shortly afterward.

"Can't have you getting too far ahead of us, now can we?" Draco said by way of explanation. "Besides, Septimius will have my hide if I don't get top grades in Potions."

"I thought you said he didn't like Professor Snape," Ron said, pretending to read his Potions text.

"They hate each other," Draco admitted. "That's exactly why he'd be so mad if I failed his brother's class. If I do badly, then he looks incompetent in front of his brother—he'll look like he's not as good as the Professor. If I do well, though, he gains face."

"If that's so, then why does Professor Snape treat you so nicely?" Dean asked. "Seems like he'd want to take as many points from you as he does from Harry."

Draco grinned slyly. "I think the Professor is lots smarter than Septimius," he replied. "He's giving me all those points now so when Septimius tries to lord my success over him, he can say I only did well because he favored me."

There was a brief silence. "Damn," Seamus finally said, "That Snape is one devious bastard."

"You've never seen Fred and George at full tilt," Ron replied. After a moment, he asked Draco, "So why are you bothering to work at all? Professor Snape's just going to give you a good grade anyway."

"Because I like Potions," Draco said. "If you haven't noticed, it's the only class where we learn magic that doesn't involve the danger of my wand burning all of us to a crisp." And with that, he buried his face in the Potions text.

When dinnertime came around, Harry had a serviceable draft of his essay ready. With that worry gone, he remembered about the upcoming practice with Wood. The prospect of flying again and the promise of learning his position excited him so much that he barely noticed the food he was wolfing down. He finished in just a few minutes, washed down his dinner with a giant swig of pumpkin juice, and then ran outside to the Quidditch pitch.

Oliver was already there, holding two brooms. "Here," he said, tossing one of the brooms to Harry. "It's a school broom—Cleansweep Four—but good enough for what we're doing this evening."

Harry nodded absently, inspecting the worn handle and somewhat frayed twigs. "So," he asked when he'd satisfied himself that the broom wouldn't give out in mid-flight, "what are we doing this evening?"

Oliver glanced towards the horizon, where the sun was just a few degrees away from setting. "We've only got an hour or so," he replied, "so I thought I'd set you to chasing golf balls. No point letting the Snitch out... we might lose it in the twilight."

"Golf balls?" Harry asked, somewhat curious how chasing those could resemble going after the snitch.

"Well, not Muggle ones, of course," Oliver replied. "I borrowed some of my Dad's old Wizard Flight balls. They've got a bit of a slice to them, but they should be lively enough."

The two boys elevated on their brooms in the middle of the pitch, and Oliver pulled a small bag out from under his robes. He removed a ball and tossed it into the air. Harry shot forward and reached for it, but as his hand came near the ball it jumped about a foot to the right. Surprised, Harry was unable to recover and the ball hit the ground before he could catch up to it again.

"They have an avoidance charm on them," Oliver explained when Harry had returned to his altitude. "Once they're in flight, they'll try to get out of the way of any obstacle." Harry nodded, and Oliver tossed another ball across the pitch.

This time, Harry was ready. When the ball jumped about a foot up at his first attempted grab, he quickly responded and caught it. He managed to repeat the trick five more times, Oliver grinning more and more with each successful catch.

"Well," Oliver said, once he'd gone through the entire bag, "it seems McGonagall was right. You've definitely got the makings of a top-notch Seeker."

"You think?" Harry asked.

"Definitely," Oliver replied. "We'll win back the Quidditch Cup this year for sure..."

Harry felt light and happy as he made his way back up to the dorm, his head still buzzing with the practice schedule Oliver had laid out, and pride at inspiring such optimism in the older boy. The feeling came crashing down when he came to his desk. The potions essay was still a sloppy mess badly in need of recopying, and he'd not yet started on the assignments in A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration, The Standard Book of Spells, Grade One, or Elementary Magical Theory. Shaking his head, Harry sat down at his desk and started to read.

Studying became easier the next day, if only because of the weather. Sometime during the night, low-hanging gray clouds had rolled in, and the first kiss of sunlight convinced them to let some of the rain they were carrying fall on the school. This put an end to any enthusiasm for outdoor activities, and Dean's attempt to play with the football indoors was quickly ended by Percy. All other fun involving the common room was squelched by the prefect's decision to spend the rest of the day sitting in front of the fire and scowling at anyone who made a noise louder than a whisper.

The boys all grumbled. Hermione, on the other hand, smiled like her birthday had come early.

Thus it was that Harry and his dorm-mates spent the entire day studying. Once again, Harry devoted the morning to his Potions essay, carefully transcribing his final draft onto the parchment, double-checking every difficult word and tricky sentence against his dictionary and composition book. He was determined to make absolutely no mistakes, to do nothing that could justify a low grade from Snape. Once he was satisfied that the essay was perfect, Harry moved on to the Theory homework, which was much more interesting than Potions, though nearly impossible to understand. Hopefully Dapnid's lecture on Monday would clear things up.

After lunch, Harry moved on to the homework, forcing himself to focus on the text even though the subject reminded him of a brick wall: hard and dry. Just after teatime, a large hand grasped Harry's shoulder and gave it a gentle shake. Harry raised his eyes from the final page of McGonagall's assigned reading and blinked at Ron, who had interrupted him. "I need a break," Ron said, grinning sheepishly. "Would you like to play some chess or something?"

"Chess sounds great," Harry replied honestly. In truth, even an extra class session with Snape had started to look better than reading one more word out of a textbook. He followed Ron down to the common room, relaxing into one of the plush chairs as Ron placed some old, worn chessmen on a weathered wooden board. "Do be kind," Harry said as Ron made his first move, "I'm terrible at chess."

"Really?" Ron asked as Harry instructed a pawn to move forward. "It's the only thing I'm good at."

"You've probably had a lot of practice," Harry replied. "What with all your brothers."

"Actually," Ron replied, "I learned from my mum. We used to play in the evenings before Dad got home from work."

"I've mostly played against myself," Harry admitted, moving a pawn before he realized it would be instantly taken. He watched as Ron's own pawn beat it over the head with its sword, breaking the piece into dusty little stone shards. Ron swept them over to the side of the board, where they mostly reformed—a little dust remained behind on the table. "Your mum doesn't work?" Harry asked, coaxing a knight out of its cozy spot next to a rook.

"Not with all of us around," Ron replied, countering by bringing out a bishop. "She stayed home and taught us our letters."

"Oh," Harry said, making a noncommittal move with a pawn. "I had to learn on my own."

"That must have been bloody hard," Ron said, then paused to command a knight forward. "I'd never have learned division without Mum's help. I'm hopeless with mathematics, really."

Harry shrugged as he ordered a bishop out. "I learned maths and writing quite well," he said as Ron made his own orders. "It's just when it comes to things I can't learn from books that I have trouble. Mother and Father never really have time to... explain things to me."

"What do they do, anyway? I've heard mention of them once or twice, but only in connection with... You-Know-Who... dying."

"They're Aurors," Harry answered. "Have been since I was about five. They're away a lot, and we have to move around all the time."

"What did they do before then?" Ron asked.

"I don't remember," Harry said, "I think they worked for the Ministry, though. They had a lot of Auror friends who would come visit."

"Maybe those Aurors weren't visiting your parents," Ron said as his bishop crushed Harry's knight with his staff. "Maybe they were there to see The Boy Who Lived."

Harry felt like his ribs had just decided to squeeze in on his lungs. "I hate that name," he said quietly as one of his pawns moved forward. "I don't even remember that night, and it's all anyone knows about me."

"You don't remember anything?" Ron asked, then hastily added, "Sorry, I don't mean to pry..."

"It's okay," Harry said. "I don't blame you. All I remember is some green smoke and a splitting headache... and that's only in nightmares."

"Sorry," Ron said. "I s'pose I'd have nightmares too, if I met... You-Know-Who."

"It's all right," Harry said, "I don't often have them." Silently, he added, At least, I don't often have nightmares about Voldemort.

The game only lasted another ten minutes—Ron obviously had far more talent than Harry. "Told you I wasn't very good," Harry said as Ron swept the pieces off the board.

"You were... well, you could get better," Ron replied diplomatically. "You just need more practice."

"I get plenty of that," Harry said, "I play against myself all the time."

"Only you're no good," Ron responded, his brief fit of tact now behind him. "You can't improve unless you practice with someone who has real skill."

"Well, maybe I should play against you some more," Harry said.

Ron froze for a moment, then smiled shyly and said, "I think I could live with that." After another pause, he added, "Just as long as you help me out with my homework—I'm a mess with Potions."

"Have you even started your essay?" Harry asked, leaning back in his chair.

"Haven't dipped my quill," Ron replied, looking almost smug about it. "It's not due 'till Friday."

"Honestly, Ron, you ought to at least read up a bit," Harry said.

"I've been reading up!" Ron said, his slight increase in volume earning him scowls from Percy and Hermione. "I've spent the whole bloody day with my nose in a book, not that it's done me any good."

"Language, Ron," Percy warned from his perch on the couch. Ron made a face at him.

"I'm fine when I'm learning spells," Ron continued. "It's all this theory we have to learn for Dapnid and McGonagall that drives me up the wall."

"I rather like Theory, I think," Harry said. "I suppose I'd know better if I understood more of it."

"Well, at least Dapnid's a good lecturer," Ron admitted. "Better than Binns with his incessant droning. I swear that ghost could put a herd of raging dragons to sleep."

"Maybe we should send him to your brother Charlie," Harry suggested.

"Nah," Ron replied, laughing. "Charlie likes his dragons raging."

"Can't you two quiet down?" Hermione said crossly from her pile of books. "Some people down here are trying to study!"

Ron blew her a raspberry, then took off up the stairs, Harry half a step behind, before Percy could scold him.

The rain continued on Monday, and not even a particularly exciting Charms lesson could dispel the dreariness it brought. The Gryffindor boys trudged into the Great Hall after class slowly, not speaking until they sat down at the table for lunch.

"Are you sure your wand hasn't got a grudge against you?" Ron asked as he started to assemble a sandwich. "I mean, I heard you say the words exactly right!"

Draco shook his head slowly, causing a light shower of ash onto the table. "It's the oak," he groaned. "I tried to make it twitch, honestly I did, but the blasted thing kept waving around like a parade marshal's baton!"

"It was an impressive fireball, though," Seamus said around a mouthful of ham.

"I thought the Gryffindor colors in it were a nice touch, too," Dean added. Draco only rolled his eyes.

"I'm sure you'll get the hang of it," Hermione interjected from a few seats down the table. "The Pushing charm really is quite simple. All you've got to do..."

"We know, we know," Seamus said. "We were in class, too."

"How is it," Ron asked, "that she can be an irritating know-it-all even when she's trying to be helpful?"

Harry shrugged as the familiar flapping of wings overhead heralded the arrival of the mail. He didn't even bother to look for Hedwig as letters dropped all along the table—after all, he'd sent his owl off to find Sirius. Harry perked up only when Draco deftly caught a thick, rolled-up piece of parchment. The blonde boy untied the string that had been wound around it, unrolling what looked like a newspaper.

"What's that?" Dean asked.

"Daily Prophet," Draco replied, idly scanning the front page. "Septimius thinks I should stay informed about world events while I'm here."

"Nice of him to buy you a subscription," Harry commented.

"Not that nice," Draco said. "It wasn't his money after all."

"Whose money was it, then?"

"Mine... well, my parents', really, but it rightly belongs to me. Septimius controls the purse-strings until I'm eighteen, though. He's not one for giving me a large allowance, but he makes sure I'm always in the finest clothes and such—after all, there's a Malfoy reputation to maintain." Draco made a face, then returned his attention to the newspaper.

A few minutes passed in relative silence, and then Draco folded the paper and tossed it on the table. "Anything interesting?" Harry asked, toying with his last sandwich crust.

"Only this," Draco said, tapping a headline on the front page. Harry leaned over to read:

Scandal at Gringott's!

By Rita Skeeter, Special to The Daily Prophet

London— Officials at Gringott's Bank are scrambling to respond to
questions about the security of its vaults. The Daily Prophet has
learned that the self-proclaimed "Safest Bank in the World" was
broken into on the evening of August 7 of this year, and one of its
vaults plundered. Rather than alert authorities, the goblins of Grin-
gott's have engaged in a lengthy cover-up, which came to an end only
yesterday when this reporter confronted them with the evidence. Grin-
gott's goblins acknowledged the break-in but claimed that nothing of
any significance was taken. Neither Gringott's nor the depositor, one
Nicolas Flamel, would give any indication as to the contents of the
vault in question.

In light of this news, one must wonder just how safe deposits at Grin-
gott's really are. If Dark Wizards can break in and pilfer goods from
one of the most secure vaults in the bank, how protected are anyone's
savings? Gringott's goblins gave no answers to repeated inquiries about
their response to the break-in, but anonymous sources in the bank rep-
ort a flurry of activity...

"How bizarre," Harry said. "I was there that very same day."

"Really?" Draco asked.

"Yeah. Mother and Father were busy, so Hagrid took me to Diagon Alley to buy my school things. We went by Gringott's so I could get some money out of the family vault, and he checked on something in another one—Hogwarts business, he said."

"The culprit might have been there at the same time, then!" Draco said.

"Not that I saw. Almost nobody was out."

"I wonder what was in that vault," Draco said. "I don't believe that 'nothing of value' story for a second."

"Yeah," Harry said, "You'd have to be mad to break into Gringott's at all, never mind the profit. Whoever did it must have been desperate to get at whatever that Nicolas Flamel was keeping."

"It's a bit worrisome, though," Seamus said, glancing over the article. "I mean, whoever did it could come back!"

"Wouldn't matter much to my family," Ron said, frowning. "Our vault has more cobwebs than coins."

Harry winced at the casual reminder of his friend's poverty. He'd always lived with the comfort of knowing that if he really wanted something he could afford to buy it. He couldn't imagine how it would feel not to have that assurance, and wondered how many times Ron had gone without something because it was just too expensive. He wished the redhead wouldn't be so stubborn about "charity", and tried to puzzle out a way he could slip Ron some money so that the redhead wouldn't notice. He didn't even come close to a satisfactory solution before the bell rang and the Gryffindors shuffled out to Transfiguration.

The clouds did not disperse on Tuesday; instead they hung stubbornly over the school and its grounds, occasionally rumbling with ominous thunder, but never unleashing the promised storm. Rather, they let fall a constant drizzle that was gentle enough to make students think they could go out and play in it without getting soaked, but just heavy enough that they couldn't.

Hogwarts seemed pale and sickly beneath the thick blanket that hid the sun without entirely blocking out the light. The grass seemed somehow less green, the sandstone walls less brown; the figures in the paintings slumbered or stared blankly into space as if lost in contemplation. The school only seemed to come alive at night, when the light blazed fiercely from the windows and only the absent moon reminded the students of the clouds outside.

Wednesday morning brought more of the same dreary weather, and the Gryffindor students shuffled lethargically through their first two classes of the day, despite Flitwick's obvious enthusiasm about Pushing charms. Even Hermione looked like she might fall asleep halfway through Theory, but she perked up when Dapnid mentioned a book she hadn't read before. The excitement seemed to carry her through Charms, after which she spared only a few moments to wolf down a sandwich in the Great Hall before she disappeared.

"Where d'you suppose she's gone?" Dean asked as the sound of flapping wings began to fill the hall.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" Ron said, "She's off to the Library to read Magical Fields and Phenomena. She's off her nut, if you ask me."

Harry's attention was drawn by a familiar hoot, and he looked up to see Hedwig gliding down towards him. Her wings were spread to their fullest span, which was nearly as wide as Harry was tall. She looked magnificent, like an angel descending from the cloudy heavens, but Harry only noticed this in passing. His eyes had instead focused immediately on her claws, one of which held a letter, and the other of which held a large, oblong package wrapped in slightly damp brown paper. Hedwig dropped the note precisely so it fell next to Harry's plate, then released the package where Harry could easily catch it. Harry gave his owl a whole piece of ham, which she started tearing into while Harry opened and read the letter.

Harry—

As it happens, I was in London when I got your note. It seems some congratulations are in order! I didn't tell you earlier because I didn't want you to feel any pressure, but Gryffindor was our house when Remus, your parents and I were in school. I can't tell you how pleased I am that you got Sorted there.

And now you're a Seeker! Your dad will be thrilled when he finds out about that! Since I'm in London, I can't send you your old broom. That's a bit lucky, though, because a Cleansweep Three is no broom for a Seeker. The package Hedwig is bringing you holds a brand-new Nimbus 2000—a top-of-the-line broom worthy of my favorite godson. Consider it an early Christmas gift. Leave it wrapped until you get up to your dorm—I got a note from Minerva granting you leave to have a broom, but I think she might get a little peeved if you went around showing it off during lunch hour.

I hope you're enjoying your lessons and having fun with your friends. Hopefully I'll get to see you over Christmas break—Remus and I were planning on being in England to visit my parents. Take care, Harry, and fly safely!

Love,

Sirius

PS: Sorry I didn't mention about not changing in front of girls. I thought your dad would have told you about that. Not to worry, though... Ron's brother is right—you'll soon become quite fond of girls, I'm sure. And you won’t mind changing in front of them at all.

"Wow," Ron sighed after Harry had read his friends the relevant parts of the letter. "A Nimbus 2000... it's the fastest model ever!"

"We've got half an hour 'til Transfiguration," Draco said, "Let's go up to the tower and take a look at it."

The boys hastily bolted the last of their sandwiches and then hurried out of the Great Hall, their morning lethargy forgotten. Their high spirits faltered, however, when Aidan MacNair and his sidekicks appeared and snatched the brown paper package out of Harry's hands.

"A broom, Potter?" MacNair said, hefting the package and then tossing it carelessly back to Harry. "And here I thought they weren't allowed... Professor Flitwick!"

The tiny man, who had just come out of the Hall, looked up and smiled. "Oh, hello children. Is anything the matter?"

"Potter has a broom, Professor," Aidan said.

"Oh yes, the Headmaster told us about the special circumstances yesterday," Flitwick said, smiling and nodding. Aidan looked stricken as the wild-haired man continued, "What model is it, Mr. Potter?"

"A Nimbus 2000, sir," Harry replied, grinning as Aidan's face twisted into an ill-concealed scowl.

"Oh, an excellent broom," Flitwick commented. "I'll have to look into getting one for Ravenclaw... can't have my house falling behind, now can I?"

"I suppose not, sir."

"Well, run along now, children," Flitwick said as he continued towards the Charms corridor in his odd, rolling gait. The Gryffindors gladly heeded his advice, running up to the tower to inspect the broom while Aidan MacNair spluttered angrily at their backs.

Once they reached the dorm, the paper came off and the boys crowded around to take a look at the broom. Harry could barely bring himself to pry his fingers loose from the smooth, shiny handle—the Nimbus 2000 was like a dream come true. He couldn't help but spot a wistful look in Ron's eyes, though. Remembering that Ron had only the old Shooting Star, Harry insisted that Ron hold the Nimbus for the last few minutes before they had to leave. The blissful look Ron got just grasping the broom doubled Harry's resolve to find a way to improve the redhead's finances.

Harry had hoped to take his new broom out for a test run that evening before Astronomy, but halfway through Transfiguration the clouds decided to make good on their threat and produce a real storm. Driving rain and frequent lightning meant that flying was out of the question. Fortunately, they also meant that Astronomy had to be canceled, which gave Harry time to help Ron with his as-yet-unstarted Potions essay. The redhead kept sneaking glances at the Nimbus 2000, though, and would only focus on his work after Harry had promised him the second ride on the broom.

Harry had initially offered Ron first crack at it, but after a moment of looking really pleased the redhead had said, "It's your broom. You should be the first to ride it." Sensing the beginning of another statement about charity, Harry let the matter drop and started talking Ron through the ingredients of acne-fighting potions.

Thursday dawned bright and sunny, the clouds having finally rained themselves into oblivion. Having been cooped up inside the castle since the weekend, Harry and his dorm-mates decided to spend their free morning session outdoors. It seemed the perfect time to try out Harry's new broom, but McGonagall warned him at breakfast that until the first game of Quidditch season made such precautions meaningless, he was only to fly during practice, or in the evenings when he wouldn't cause such a stir.

Accordingly, the Gryffindor boys decided to try their feet at football again. They quickly found they had gotten no better at the game, and the condition of the grounds didn't help at all. The grass was still soaked from the previous night's storm, and the boys kept slipping and falling as they chased the muggle-made ball. The football itself quickly became dripping wet, and so difficult to control that even some of Dean's kicks went spiraling off in unexpected directions. The unpredictability of the ball only added to the hilarity as all the boys kept taking spills as they chased it down.

Near the end of the period, Dean demonstrated "heading" the ball again, and insisted they all try it. Draco was the first to go, but something about his slicked-back hair made the dripping football spin around on top of his head before simply falling dead into the slippery grass. Draco shook his head and kicked the ball towards Harry, who gathered himself to try and head it towards Seamus. Draco's bad luck continued, however, and halfway to Harry the football corkscrewed off to the right and dropped to the ground. Harry ran over to get it to Seamus, but Ron got there first, giving the ball a mighty kick.

A loud 'crack' cut through the air, and Ron fell to the ground, clutching at his ankle. The other boys ran over as the redhead rolled around in obvious agony, his face twisted in pain. "Broke my bloody foot," he groaned through gritted teeth, his eyes shut tight as he struggled to keep himself from crying with the pain.

Harry blinked—surely the light football couldn't have done that! He reached over to try and pick the ball up and found to his surprise that he couldn't. He tried to push it, but failed at that, too. The football felt like it was made of stone. Obviously someone had cast a spell on it, but nobody else was out on the lawn, and he couldn't see anyone at the castle windows, either.

Another groan from Ron refocused Harry's attention. The redhead was in obvious agony, and the unwanted tears were starting to ooze out of his eyes. Harry felt an uncomfortable twisting sensation in his chest at the sight. "I'll go get somebody from the Hospital Wing," he volunteered, then stood and sprinted for the nearest door at top speed. He ran down an empty hallway as quickly as he could, thinking of nothing other than the quickest way to get through the castle to the infirmary. His mind thus occupied, Harry took a sharp turn around a corner, barely noticing a few people standing off to his left.

Harry felt a dull impact on his face, and a curious sensation of weightlessness. He faintly heard a sharp cracking noise, as if from very far away, and had only a brief moment to wonder who else had broken a foot before his world was plunged into darkness.