Harry Potter and the Chains that Bind

Chapter 6 - The Silver Arrow

"You want...another one?" Hermione seemed incredulous. Though they'd always been sufficiently appreciative of her gifts; she knew the planners and books weren't always the most popular gifts in the pile.

"Yeah," Harry said. "The thing is; I can put my notes in and move them around easier than when I just write them."

"You're going to use them for your notes?" Hermione was quickly moving from a state of simple disbelief to one of shock.

"Er, yeah. So actually, if I could have a few more, I could use one for each subject. Do you have five extra? I could pay."

To Harry's surprise, Hermione leapt forward and captured him in a crushing embrace, spinning him around. Then she kissed him squarely on the cheek, and it felt rather good. They might have stood that way for several minutes had Ron not appeared at the top of the stairs to the boys' dormitory. When Hermione saw him, she pulled away; but Harry could see the gleam of tears in her eyes. She spun on her heels and rushed back to the girls' dormitory.

"What was that all about?" Ron asked, once again looking at Harry suspiciously.

"I don't know...I just asked her for another one of the books she gave me for my birthday."

"Well," said Ron, "I did notice she was crying, so your perfect record of making every woman who kisses you leaky stands intact. She never did that when I kissed her."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, "wait a minute...you kissed Hermione?" Ron turned a delicate shade of pink.

"You can't tell her I said that; you'll make her go from crying to spitting curses."

"But you have kissed her?"

"A few times," Ron admitted, looking at the ceiling as if it had something to say to him.

Well, then, Harry thought, I guess I know where that relationship lies. They made their way to breakfast with only a bit of awkwardness between them, and neither of them mentioned it again that morning. Ginny stopped by while they were eating breakfast to remind them that Chaser tryouts were that afternoon. Since it was Wednesday, he also had to meet with the headmaster after Muggle Studies, but he hoped to have enough time to see at least some of the prospective Quidditch players.

Harry was amazed to discover that it felt as if he was in the middle of the school year. He speculated this was because he had immersed himself so fully into his studies this year. He still wasn't used to having classes without Ron and Hermione; and by the time Muggle Studies came around, he again sat next to Parvati, since she was one of the few people in the room with whom he was comfortable.

On the way to class, he'd run into Luna, who was wearing a pendant with what appeared to be a live miniature goldfish swimming around in circles inside it. That reminded Harry of his mother's pendant, which he hadn't examined since he arrived at Hogwarts. Maybe Hermione would be able to discover what it did. If she couldn't, perhaps Professor Flitwick could; he'd been the professor who dissected Harry's Firebolt when they suspected Sirius Black had sent it to him with some sort of curse or jinx. They'd been right about its source; but, of course, had never found any type of curse whatsoever.

Harry had all these thoughts while he was taking his notes, which were surprisingly complete, though they probably weren't up to par with his others. On their way out, the Professor handed him a small, box.

"What is it?" Parvati asked, straining to catch a glimpse at what he held.

"Er, candy."

"Why would the Professor give you that?" Lavender asked.

"I dunno. Unless..."

"Unless what?" Parvati pushed.

"Nothing. Will you be trying out for the Quidditch team? We need Chasers, you know."

"Ha! Not likely! I'm happy on the ground, watching you."

"Me?"

"Well, yes. You and the whole team, silly." She flashed him a dazzling smile, and he turned in the direction of the Headmaster's office.

"Well," Harry called after her, "If you want to watch the tryouts, they're this afternoon."

"Perhaps," she called back, as she turned to the rest of the students.

Harry passed Professor Snape just outside of the Headmaster's Office. He looked as bitter as ever, and didn't even speak to Harry as he pushed by just in time for Harry to see the revolving stairway closing.

"Professor, what's the password?" Harry said, turning to Snape, only to see the Professor wave his arm in dismissal as he skulked away. He stood before the gargoyle that marked the entrance, fingering the box the Professor had given him in Muggle Studies.

"Chocolate Frog." Nothing happened.

"Cherry Chocolate Frog." The stairway rumbled to life, and Harry stepped onto it, riding it up to Professor Dumbledore's office.

"Hello, Harry."

"Hello, Professor. You wanted to see me?"

"Indeed I did. Sit, please." Dumbledore waved one arm majestically and Harry sat before him. Many of the instruments he'd broken at the end of last year were again resting in their familiar places, as good as new.

"And how were your first few classes? Enjoyable and enlightening, I hope?"

"Ah, sure," Harry said, "alright I guess. A lot of work. I meant to ask you...I don't believe I've was sent a release, and it appears I'll need one for most of my classes."

"Yes, Professor McGonagall mentioned t we hadn't received one for you; but fear not! I've already contacted the Dursleys."

"Oh really?" Harry asked, interested in their response in spite of himself.

"Indeed. I simply explained that the consent of a guardian was required for you to learn some of your subjects this year. Your uncle replied with an inquisition as to the dangerous nature of your activities, which I naturally had to answer honestly. I conveyed to him the fact that there were, indeed, dangerous subjects to be covered, and you could be seriously injured, or even killed. I added, of course, that these were subjects nearly every other witch or wizard would learn, and you would have constant supervision. To my surprise, your uncle was quite agreeable, even insisting that you practice them more than anyone here. Perhaps he truly does care about you, in some way?"

Yeah, Harry thought, I imagine he'd love it. If I could practice dying, he'd sign me up twice. "Yeah, well...I'm okay then?"

"Certainly. You may participate in any activity we offer. I didn't want to mention this before, but I had duplicates of every form you'd need through the rest of your schooling - Hogwarts and beyond - sent to Sirius last year. We have them signed and filed away, should the need arise. Of course next year will be the last year you need consent, but there are other issues."

"Will there be a problem with his...er...status?"

"Not with me, or with most others you are likely to encounter, if I have anything to say about it," Dumbledore winked good naturedly, "and I usually do!"

Harry thought about that. It was certainly a good idea. He'd been thinking he would have all sorts of questions for the headmaster; now that he was here, he couldn't think of any. He briefly considered asking about Connor, but then changed his mind at the last moment.

"No? Well then, let us get to the point, shall we? Professor Snape has agreed to tutor you privately - most graciously, I might add, after what happened last year. I would like you to work with him, Harry. I should hope there is nothing I can possibly say to convince you that would mean more than your common sense."

Harry remained silent. He'd resigned himself to the fact that he might have to spend more time with Snape than he wanted but that didn't mean he had to like it. Dumbledore seemed to pick up on his thoughts.

"I don't expect you to enjoy it, but I expect you to do it, to the best of your considerable abilities. Consider it a favor to me."

"I'll do my best," Harry said, "but I can't promise we'll get along. Sna...Professor Snape taunts me on purpose. It's like he wants me to get kicked out, or hurt."

"Perhaps. Regardless, I believe what he wants personally will always be acquiescent to what he knows he must do. I feel this based on how well I know him, which, I might add, is a good deal better than you. You have asked me to be honest with you, and for me to do that you must also trust me."

"Yes, sir."

"Now, about the D.A....I believe we would be better off leaving it as a club, rather than a school-sponsored activity. This would allow us a certain amount of, shall we say, insulation in dealing with those who wouldn't recognize the obvious merits of your activities. Do you believe you'll have enough time? Do you need to adjust your schedule?"

"No," Harry replied, "I think it's about right." The headmaster smiled crookedly.

"I've been informed of your recent interest in taking notes, and it does my heart no end of good. I was beginning to wonder if all you had inherited from Lily were her eyes...it is beyond words to see this aspect of her in you."

"Thank you, Professor."

"Thank you, Harry. Now, I do hate to continually rush things whenever we get a chance to speak, but I am a bit busy at the moment, so if there is nothing else?"

Harry ran all the way from the Headmaster's Office to the Quidditch pitch. It was obvious from the dissipating group of Gryffindors that he'd missed most of the tryouts, but there was still a core group he recognized. Ron and Ginny had hair he could see a mile away, and Connor was large enough to spot even if there were a hundred people on the pitch. Before he could get close enough to talk to them, a voice from the bleachers boomed his name.

"Harry!"

He turned to see Hagrid resting in the stands, watching the last of the Gryffindor try-outs. He didn't take Hagrid's Magical Creatures class, so this was the first time he'd run into the groundskeeper this school year.

"Hello, Hagrid!" He trotted over to the stands, looking over his shoulder at the crowd. Hagrid offered one tremendously large hand, and Harry shook it.

"How've yer classes been, Harry? Pretty busy, I bet!"

"You should see my notes. Ron thinks I've gone mad."

"Well, that's good...taking after yer mum, then. She was always handy with a quill."

"Yeah, Professor Dumbledore said something like that."

"She was a good student. I'm not saying yer not, but...well, I always thought ya had more in ya."

"Well, I'm trying this year. I'm really sorry I didn't take Magical Creatures...I..."

"It's no problem, Harry," Hagrid cut him off with a look on his face that clearly said he missed Harry in his classes. "I know yer real busy this year, what with your defense club and all. That reminds me...do ya think I could...well, no, never mind."

"What, Hagrid?"

"Naw, I couldn't. I'd make ya look silly."

"I swear that's the last thing I'm worried about."

"Well, I was sort of wondering if I could sort of...tag along...in your club, maybe once or twice?" Harry was stunned. Was Hagrid really asking if he could be involved in the D.A.? And he felt that would embarrass Harry? Hagrid caught the long pause.

"It's okay, Harry, I don't want to put ya out. I can..."

"No!" Harry interrupted, "of course you can come! I was just surprised you'd ask!" Hagrid's smile was like everything else about him: enormous. "I'll let you know when we start again."

"It'd give me the chance ta see ya once or twice. Well, once or twice a month would be nice. Oh, by the way, I have yer present, except it's not quite done. I meant to have it for you by yer birthday, but there was some sort o' weird fungus growing on the Quidditch Patch. We thought it was quite attractive, actually, until it started shooting little spore clouds at anyone who came close."

"What'd the spores do?"

"They turned ya red and made ya gassy."

Harry nodded. "It's probably a good thing you took the time to get rid of them then." Harry glanced over his shoulder, hearing shouting.

"That looks like Ginny Weasley waving for you," Hagrid said. "You'd better get onto yer team now! Make sure ya stop by and see me, sometime."

"I will," Harry promised, "and I'll let you know when the DA starts."

Hagrid nodded and waved Harry off, and he rushed back onto the pitch towards his friends.

"So what's this now?" Connor was looking curiously at the chest containing the balls.

"Quidditch," Ron answered, "you know Quidditch, right?"

"Should I?"

Ron was aghast. In his sixteen years, Harry was the only wizard he ever met who didn't know about Quidditch. He didn't even know how to go about explaining it.

"Well, there's sort of this ball, you know...er...three of them actually."

"Four," Harry said, jumping in.

"Er, yes. Four. Three kinds. And there're rings you have to put them through, three of them."

"Six," chimed in Harry.

"Well, yes, six. But three per side, you see?"

Connor took the opportunity to eye the Beater's club appreciatively. It, of course, looked familiar to him.

"D'ya like that?" Ron asked, handing it over handle first. Connor hefted it, checking its balance and weight.

"And which ball do I hit?"

"The bludger," said Harry, "but you'll want to be careful...they have a mind of their own."

"Can I try?"

"Sure," Ron said, fighting with the heavy, struggling ball. Even though he and Connor had their differences, he couldn't resist trying to pull another wizard into the world of Quidditch. Connor walked a good distance away, and then nodded at Ron, who shouted to those flying. "Bludger out! Look sharp!" He released the vicious iron ball. As if summoned by the club, it shot directly toward Connor, who stood with his feet splayed, the club cocked up like a baseball bat. He patiently awaited its arrival, and then, very quickly, stepped forward with his front foot and brought the club around in a quick inside-out swing that would have made any baseball coach proud.

"Smoked that baby like Mike Piazza!"

"Who?" Ron asked. Connor shook his head.

"You should be a Beater!" Ginny said, looking up at Connor. "Are you up for a try-out?"

"Er...well, do you have to fly the broom?" This question seemed to exasperate Ron.

"Uh...yeah?"

"Then I'm afraid you'll need a different cat. Brooms and I, uh, don't get along."

Ginny wrinkled her nose. "What do you mean, don't get along?"

"They just don't like me," Connor said, "and the feeling's mutual. I can't fly anyway."

"Well," Ginny pressed him, "you don't have to fly that well to be a Beater. You really should try it."

"I don't think that would be such a good idea."

In response, Ginny handed him her broom, the old Shooting Star, since the Twins hadn't delivered her new Cleansweep yet.

"You're not going to like it," he said, glaring at her as he handled the broom as if it was something recently deceased. She continued to stare at him, summoning every bit of her mother's Weasley Glare. Connor shrugged and delicately mounted the broomstick. Immediately, it began to shudder, growing gradually into full-blown bucking. With a gasp, the broom shot straight up into the air, leaving Connor lying flat on his back.

"Boy," Ron wheezed, in-between gales of laughter, "you weren't kidding! You're terrible!"

"Thanks," Connor replied sourly. "Who's that?" He pointed directly up at a small figure with auburn hair darting through the sky on a broom that looked as if it was going far faster than it reasonably should. As she passed above, she reached out and plucked Ginny's broom from the air.

"I dunno," Ron said, shielding his eyes from the sun.

"That's Natalie MacDonald," Ginny spoke up from behind them, "and flying like that, she's a dead lock to be one of our Chasers."

"Isn't she a fourth-year?" asked Harry.

"What's that she's riding?" asked Ron, obviously amazed.

"I don't know," Ginny said, "she told me she had her own broom, but I never asked what it was. It looks like a...a..."

"A Silver Arrow!" Ron exclaimed, obviously dumfounded the girl was getting that kind of performance out of the vintage racing broom. "That's impossible!"

"Apparently not," Ginny replied. A voice from behind them interrupted their conversation.

"Mind giving me a hand?"

Harry and Ron both reached for the fallen Connor, and he rose as gracefully as the situation would allow.

"It's a shame," Ginny said, "you'd be a natural Beater. Maybe you could take lessons."

"Yeah, um, I doubt it."ww

"Hello!"

Ron, Harry and Ginny spun to see Natalie MacDonald behind them. She was even smaller on the ground, and the word that came to Harry's mind was slinky. Her broom, which was indeed a Silver Arrow, was quite a bit taller than she. None of them had even heard MacDonald talk before; she seemed very shy.

"Hi!" said Hermione. "You looked really good out there!"

"Thanks," she said, grinning shyly. "I've always wanted to play Quidditch! I just love to fly!" Ginny smiled.

"Well, it looks like you've got your chance. Provided you can catch the Quaffle." Natalie handed Ginny's broom back.

"I don't think that will be a problem."

"You're pretty good," Harry added. "I don't think I could have done some of those moves on my Firebolt. You could probably be a Seeker, if you wanted. Er, if Ginny or I wasn't around."

"Thanks! And you could fly like that if I had a go at it."

"What do you mean, 'have a go at it?'" Ron asked, squinting slightly.

"Well," she said, raising her broomstick and looking around to ensure that no one was listening, "this is souped up!"

"Souped up?" Ron asked.

"I'm not sure I like the sound of that," Hermione said, "it sounds dangerous. And illegal! They have anti-tamper charms for a reason."

"This one doesn't have many," Natalie said, glancing at her broom. "Only what I've put on it. They made them different back then."

"I'm sorry," Hermione interrupted, "but how did you 'soup it up' without using magic?"

"Oh," said Natalie, "they aren't so rough on us at home. There's not exactly a lot of people where I'm from."

"The let you do magic there?" Ginny asked, half envious and half scandalized.

"Well...they don't let us so much as they don't stop us."

"Er...Where are you from, anyway?" Ron asked, looking at the pretty third-year.

"Guess!"

"Well, I know that's no English accent," he said.

"It's not American either," Harry added.

"Or Australian," Hermione chipped in.

"It's Canadian," supplied Connor from behind them. He stepped between Ron and Harry, and looked down and Natalie. She was absolutely tiny in front of him, yet she maintained her formidable presence.

"And you're American."

"Yep."

"Well," said the new Chaser, "nobody's perfect."

"No, but we do have Disney World."

"There is that," Natalie agreed sagely.

"That is a beautiful broom," Connor said, looking at the Silver Arrow, and he was right. The handle was silver olive, and the twigs were very carefully pruned and shaped. A small silver arrow emblem was embedded near the top, and the bands circling the brush were golden. The whole thing glowed as only something genuinely cared-for could.

"Thanks!" MacDonald said, blushing slightly, "I'd let you take it for a spin, but it's a little rough to keep hold of, if you don't know it. No offense."

"None taken," Connor replied, raising his hands. Ron and Harry both managed to tear their eyes away from the scarred wrists.

"Brooms and I don't get along so well anyhow. Not like you, anyway." He smiled again, and she blushed even more.

"Listen," Ginny said, "we should use this to our advantage. No more of that fancy flying until our first match, okay? When people hear you're flying an Arrow, they'll think you've gone nuts!"

"But my Arrow could run rings around them!"

"Oh," said Ron, "we'll be counting on it. But as long as they think you're riding a dead broom, they won't be looking for a threat from you, will they?"

"I like that," she said, looking off towards the castle. "It's time they learn what can come in small packages."

"That's right!" Ron said, "I mean, look at dung bombs! They come in..." Ron stopped when he noticed the look of abject horror and total disbelief on Hermione's face. Harry looked to be on the verge of laughter, and Connor was again shaking his head. Natalie was looking up at him as though he were speaking an entirely different language, which, no doubt, was what Ron was probably wishing.

"Er...well,you know what I mean," he said, his ears starting to match his hair. "Forget about that...er...look, d'ya suppose you could take a look at my broom?"

"Ronald!" Hermione exclaimed, sounding very much like Ron's mother. "I absolutely forbid it!"

"But..."

"No!"

"But..."

"No! And believe me, I'll know!"

Connor was chuckling quietly, and Ron mumbled something under his breath, but didn't press the issue.

"Well," Harry said, glancing nervously at his companions, "I'm getting hungry." He started back to castle, and they followed, talking excitedly about their new secret weapon.

Harry Potter and the Chains that Bind

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