Harry Potter and the Chains that Bind

Chapter 11 - The Two Triumphs

Harry awoke the next morning ready for Quidditch. Even the newly carved "Harry Potter should get stuffed" on his bureau couldn't dampen his spirits much, though it did pique his curiosity. Weeks ago, he'd asked Hermione for a spell that would repair it, since the standard "Repairo!" didn't seem to work. She'd come up with one about a week later, and it worked brilliantly. Though that didn't solve the mystery of who was behind the apparent prank, at least it was easier to fix, and hide from his dorm-mates.

"What's that?" Ron asked, leaning over Harry to get a look at where the tiny words had been gouged into the English Oak bureau. He was too late though; Harry had already cast the charm to remove the graffiti, and there was nothing to be seen but solid wood. Harry looked at Ron with what he hoped was a sufficiently surprised face.

"Oh, don't look at me as if I'm crazy! I just saw you cast something!"

"Why Ron, whatever do you mean?" Harry managed to keep a straight face, but only with the greatest of difficulty.

"You're going soft in the head, mate," his friend replied, but with the traces of a smile. The way Connor had hung back suggested to Harry that he'd noticed something as well, but for the moment, no words were exchanged. That was good, because Harry wasn't keen on arguments this early in the morning.

It was difficult for him to keep his mind on his work, and more than one professor caught him unaware. Professor Shacklebolt had to ask him a question twice that he easily should have answered the first time, and Parvati Patil had nearly broken her quill off in Harry's leg when he was daydreaming in Muggle Studies. He had to brush her hand away when she placed it on his thigh while trying to survey the damage, insisting that she hadn't done anything to him. It left him feeling sore in the leg, fluttery in the chest, and momentarily diverted his attention from Quidditch to girls - surprisingly enough - to Parvati rather than Hermione.

She was pretty, Harry thought. Dean Thomas had once called her the prettiest girl in their year, and had Dean not been dating Ginny, perhaps they'd even be involved. She was reasonably intelligent, and, when she wasn't giggling with her ever-present cohort Lavender Brown, she was quite pleasant to talk to. Then again, Harry remembered the failed Yule Ball before the Tri-Wizard Tournament, and he was quite certain she wouldn't have anything further to do with him than sitting next him in Muggle Studies. Mere seconds later, he was thinking about Quidditch again.

After class, they had the last Quidditch practice before tomorrow's match. Slytherin had the pitch booked later in the evening, so the Gryffindors wanted to get things going as soon as they could. Harry rushed straight there after class to find some of his teammates were already preparing. Ginny and Ron were standing apart, while Natalie was talking to Connor, who was leaning casually against the side of the stands. Katie Bell and Emer were both standing near Natalie, as were half a dozen other young women. It was obvious from the looks on their faces that they weren't there to talk to her. Ron had noticed this, and was preparing to launch into one of his nearly legendary rants.

"Bloody Yank and his bloody harem of women!"

"I thought you were getting along with Connor," Harry remarked, casually.

"Look at that! All those girls flocking around him like he's some kind of, some kind of hero! You're the real hero here! They should be flocking around you! And he's not much of a proper wizard, is he? Always fighting with his fists..." Ron trailed off, presumably to search his brain for a few more things to be mad about. Harry didn't mention that he would rather not have all of the women flocking around him, and that he was at least a little grateful that Connor drew their attention from him. He'd spent far too long being the center of other peoples' attention, and was happy enough to be left alone. He also didn't mention all the times that Ron himself had tried to throttle Malfoy. By then, Ron found something else that bothered him. "And another thing; he's always acting so mysterious when really he's just tetchy, isn't he?"

"I kind of like it," Harry said carefully, trying to decide which answer would cause the least conflict.

"You would," Ron replied, then imitated Connor's voice rather immaturely by saying, "Oh, look at me...I'm a tall Yank...would you like to see my scars? They go from here to here." Ron extended one arm palm up and drew a line with his thumb that stretched from his wrist to his elbow.

"You want to know what I think? I think..." Ron stopped when he noticed Ginny and Harry were no longer looking at him. They were both staring at something over his left shoulder. "...I think he's right behind me, isn't he?" Ginny managed a small nod, and a soft, deep voice spoke behind him,

"Actually they don't go quite that far."

Ron immediately went red. Connor stepped around him and into the middle of their small circle. His mouth was smiling, but his eyes seemed remarkably sad. Harry was reminded of the time that, through a carelessly worded remark, Ron had sent Hermione crying into a girl's lavatory, where she had very nearly been killed by a rampaging troll. Connor raised his left arm, palm up, mirroring Ron's posture, and slowly pulled the sleeve of his robe back. A long, thin scar ran from the underside of his wrist to halfway up his muscular forearm, where it intersected another scar in something of a "T" shape.

"So you see," said Connor quietly, "they don't quite make it all the way up my arm. While I'm exposing myself is there anything else you'd like to see? Or have you had enough of me for one day?"

"Enough!" Ron exclaimed. "We've had enough. Look, mate, I'm sor-"

"Oh no need to apologize," Connor stopped him. "I understand people are...curious. I hope this has satisfied your thirsty mind?"

Well, er, yeah.... Sorry again, mate." Ron's entire face was scarlet, and he was obviously embarrassed. Everyone there seemed to feel it. Harry now felt sorry for both Ron and Connor, because he knew that Ron, while sometimes hasty, was very rarely downright mean on purpose to anyone other than Malfoy.

The encounter put a brief dampener on their enthusiasm, but after three missed blocks and a Bludger that very nearly took his leg off at the knee, Ron seemed to shake it off. By the end of the practice they were looking very good indeed. Harry had a very good feeling about tomorrow's match.

Later that night, Harry was standing in the midst of the beginners D.A., trying to keep an eye on thirty overly anxious students. He'd originally planned to let Hermione cover it, but she really was busy. Even with all that Harry had to do, he still didn't match Hermione's schedule. Also, he figured dealing with the generally keyed-up students might take his mind of the match tomorrow. He hadn't been so excited about Quidditch in a long time.

"What's with Hagrid?" Ron whispered. Harry wasn't sure, but Hagrid was squirming and fidgeting as much as any of the students. Harry assigned them into groups and had them practice throwing off Laughing Jinxes. While the whole room was busy, he made his way over to his friend.

"Are you feeling alright?"

"Why of course I am, Harry; of course! Why do you ask?"

"You seem a little anxious, is all. Giddy, even."

"Well, maybe something good is going to happen, and there aren't enough good things in these times, are there?"

"No," Harry replied, "I don't suppose there are. I'm sorry! I just wondered if there was something on your mind."

"Oh, don't mention it Harry! Maybe you'll see, in the next few days." Hagrid winked very theatrically and Harry walked away wondering if perhaps his friend had gotten hold of another baby dragon, or if Madame Maxime was planning a trip to Hogwarts. Those were the only times he could remember his friend acting like this.

Harry awoke at six the next morning and couldn't get back to sleep. For all the work he got done, his classes may have well been canceled, and though it seemed like the longest day of the year so far, he couldn't remember a minute of it when he was finally standing in the dressing room of the Quidditch clubhouse, ready to take to the field. They had new uniforms, new pads, and their brooms were polished and ready. Harry only hoped he didn't look as nervous as he felt, but looking at the faces of the other players suggested to him that they also felt some apprehension. The girls all had their hair tightly braided in the same way, and Natalie's Silver Arrow, absent since the first practice, was gleaming in the late fall sunshine.

"Hello everybody," a smooth voice boomed over the pitch and through the boisterous crowd. "Owen Cauldwell here, replacing the fantastic Lee Jordan, and let me say what a pleasure it is to be with you today, I couldn't be happier!"

He sounded happy, too, talking so quickly some of the words seemed to slide together, and Harry strongly suspected that he'd taken lessons from Muggle sportscasters.

"Welcome again to another exciting year of Quidditch at beautiful Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. There's a light wind coming from the northwest which doesn't look to be a factor unless it picks up considerably, and it's only a bit chilly..."

"A bit chilly...you can tell he's never been on a broom up there...it's downright freezing when you really get going!"

"Be quiet, Ron," Ginny scolded. "You don't even fly up there...you just hover!"

"Just hover? I'd like to see you..." he never finished his thought though, as Ginny glared at him in the way only a daughter of Molly Weasley could.

"We're here today to watch two great teams square off in what promises to be a most interesting match! Both teams have lost significant talent to departing students...no, I shouldn't say that, it sounds as if they've gone and died...both teams have lost a good deal of talent and are now in what some would consider a rebuilding year. Slytherin lost three veterans and Gryffindor three, although only two of Gryffindor's remaining players have more than a year's experience..."

"I wish he'd shut-up," Ron muttered to Harry. "I already know we lost half the team. I already know we've got four players with a year or less experience. It's going to be hard enough already!"

"He's just doing his job!" Katie said sharply. "Leave him alone. He's there for the crowd, not us, so you just ignore him and concentrate on your job. Keep the rings safe."

Slytherin had lost their Keeper and two Chasers, and Draco was now their team captain. He tried to stare Katie down as Madame Hooch recited the rules, and Katie stared right back, refusing to release his gaze for even an instant.

"I want a good clean match," Madame Hooch stated, glaring at Goyle and Crabbe, "no funny business!" With that she threw the Quaffle into the air and the match started.

"And they're in the air, and right away Gryffindor comes up with the Quaffle. They look to have a very quick team this year. Natalie MacDonald is riding what looks like a...a...yes, it's a vintage Silver Arrow, and it's keeping up quite well with all these modern brooms. Who knew they made them so well, back then? MacDonald easily avoids a Bludger from Goyle and drops behind Bell. Bell takes the pass without looking and she's got a shot...she's got it...she's got it...she does have it as she shoots and scores for the first ten points of the match."

Harry was looking everywhere for the Snitch, but it was as if it had vanished into thin air.

"Pritchard comes up with the loose Quaffle, and he...Scores! He scores for the first time today...Weasley is doing a passable job at Keeper, despite only having one year of experience." Ron glared at Owen and nearly missed the next shot, which hit him squarely on the thigh and nearly spun him around. "Weasley again masterfully blocks the shot and then...oh, and then he kicks it directly into the beautiful and capable hands of his sister, Ginny Weasley."

Harry circled and circled. Owen kept up his continuous verbal barrage, and the game seemed to drag...never had Harry played so hard. The Snitch didn't reveal itself for almost an hour, which left things in the hands of the Chasers, Beaters and Keepers. One nice thing about their team being so fast was that the Bludgers seemed to come at Harry less frequently than they had in the past.

"And that makes it 110 to 90, Slytherin. The Slytherin chasers don't have the percentages that Gryffindors do tonight, but they've gotten nearly twice the shots off, and that's made all the difference.

"Ooh, and there's another nasty hit from Vincent Crabbe, he nearly took the little Creevey's head off with that; well, they're both little, but you know what I mean, in any event. One thing you can say for those Slytherin Beaters...they're big, and strong, and they can certainly hit.

"It looks like Katie Bell is going to call in Sloper and Kirke, probably to give the Creeveys a breather. And there's a shot, Weasley is going to block...no, no he just missed that one, and at fifty-eight minutes into the match, Gryffindor is down by three goals: 120 to 90. Beaters Kirke and Sloper are better equipped to deal with Crabbe and Goyle, but they aren't anywhere near as fast as the Creevey brothers...it looks like switching to slower Beaters may have fouled up Captain Bell's game plan...and another shot blocked! Weasley is managing to make a respectable showing, but he's taking a tremendous beating in the process...he must have really practiced over the summer...that slide would make Oliver Wood proud! I didn't know a broom could move like that!"

Flying overhead in a search pattern, Harry could see his friend's eyes bulge slightly at that last comment. 'You don't know the half of it, Owen,' Harry thought to himself. Ron also sported a scuffed cheek, torn sleeve and bleeding knuckles, souvenirs of a fantastic block where he'd followed one of the Slytherin Chasers into a dive and then pulled up at the last moment, anticipating the shot and blocking it off his hands, which were still wrapped around his broomstick.

Natalie, on the other hand, was a different story entirely. Draco Malfoy had nearly injured himself laughing when he saw her take to the pitch with a Silver Arrow. Harry was pleased to note that the smug and revolting look had quickly been replaced by one of open astonishment as she launched into a flight display that put to shame everyone else on the field. The look had continued to deteriorate, and now he managed to look both venomous and horrified every time Natalie caught the Quaffle and threaded delicately through hoards of players and Bludgers. She was an unstoppable force defensively as well; an ever-present threat to steal and disrupt plays.

Harry was very good on a broom; this he knew, but Natalie MacDonald may have been the best flier he had ever seen.

"There's another for MacDonald, and for all you people keeping track, more than half the goals so far have been scored or assisted by Natalie. Slytherin recovers and drives right down the middle...Bell steals...looks like she's going to hand it off to MacDonald...but no she keeps it! She keeps it and she's just denied by the Slytherin keeper on a fine block. I tell you, that MacDonald has been selfless all night. Just there she acted as a decoy and you can see what it did to Gregory Goyle as...oh and Slytherin scores on a nice assist from Pritchard...Gryffindor recovers, and watch MacDonald as she screams through the Slytherin defenders! She's pure Bludger-bait there folks; that's not a scoring drive! Both captains are calling plays masterfully, but Bell seems to be adapting well to Slytherin's very physical play.

"Seamus Finnigan is now coming in to give MacDonald a bit of a rest, and she needs it, I can tell you! Natalie is looking really good so far and no one on that team wants to lose her to an injury.

"Here comes the old tap and drive from Dennis Creevey, and here comes his brother to give it a bit of a push! Doesn't work all the time but it looks special when it does, that's for sure...and that one goes right through the brush on one of the Slytherin brooms. That's a real loss, there, that will hurt them later in the season. It looks like they're bringing in a reserve Comet..."

Through the ever-present commentary, Harry knew it was a war of attrition, and he also knew that if he didn't find the Snitch soon, Slytherin's faster brooms and stronger Beaters could spell doom for the Gryffindor squad.

Finally, at two hours and five minutes into the match, Harry saw the Snitch very low to the ground near the Slytherin rings, closer to Draco than him. He knew Draco's style involved following him around until he found the Snitch, and then trying to out-race him for it, and he knew that Draco's broom, while not as fast as his, was very quick. Harry shifted as if he was going to fly into a higher flight pattern to search the sky above the pitch, looping around the stadium until he was directly behind the Slytherin rings. Just as he reached the rings he angled his broom to climb quickly towards the space over the rings on the Gryffindor side of the pitch.

"Gryffindor Seeker Harry Potter looks as though he might have seen the Snitch...he's really picking it up, though I believe that Firebolt has something left in it even now..."

Harry made sure that Draco was behind him and then intentionally spun the backside of his broom, causing it to wobble and dip while he slid forward on the handle as if he was about to fall off.

"And it looks as if Potter has had a broom malfunction...he is going straight down folks! Slytherin Seeker and Captain Draco Malfoy is taking advantage of the disaster and look at him move!"

Draco rocketed over Harry, following Harry's trajectory high into the sky. Harry continued to wobble for a moment longer until he was certain that Draco was too far away to re-commit to this side of the pitch, and then pulled out of the dive just meters above the ground. Draco's broom was so fast that he was now far over Ron's head and he still hadn't looked back at Harry. Somewhere in the back of Harry's mind, he registered Owen's quick-tempo speeding up even more as the commentator nearly went ballistic with excitement, but he had no time for such things now. The Snitch had moved about half way up one of the ring masts and was hovering merely inches away. Harry heard people in the stands gasp as they saw him regain control of his broom only to see him head straight for a pole at high speed.

He dropped towards the pitch, letting his broom spin all the way down, and distinctly remembered hearing the Slytherin keeper laughing, until he held out his hand and released the Golden Snitch. The crowd went wild, and Harry touched down lightly in the center of the pitch where he was immediately mobbed by his teammates.

"Unbelievable! Unbelievable! I've never seen anything like it, and I've seen a lot of them, I can tell you! Harry Potter pulls an entirely new move out of his bag of tricks to come up with the Golden Snitch...it's...simply...un-be-lievable!"

Ron, Seamus, Sloper and Kirke roughly picked Harry up and carried him on their shoulders, as Ginny, Emer, Natalie and Katie all surrounded them, followed by hundreds of cheering students. Harry didn't know who was happier that he was back - him, or the Gryffindor fans.

In spite of all the apprehension that had led up to his return to Quidditch, Harry decided that his un-retirement had been successful. Later, they had one of the largest after-match parties that Harry could remember. The team had returned to see the common room done up as never before, with posters that had Harry's face on them along with mottos such as "The Triumphant Return of Harry Potter" and "Now You've Gone and Made Me Mad". There were wizard photographs that must have been taken during the match of Katie, Ginny, Natalie and Seamus scoring goals, and of Emer's two assists and two steals. There was one of Harry in his wobbling dive, which someone had dubbed "The Potter Crash and Burn" in the caption below. Harry figured it must have been a Muggle-born student, since most of the wizard-born students wouldn't have heard the phrase before, or known what it meant if they had. Even those who hadn't, like Ron, all agreed it sounded cool anyway. There were pictures of the Creeveys and Sloper and Kirke deflecting Bludgers, and one of the mob scene after the game, complete with Draco Malfoy arguing with the Slytherin Keeper in the background. There were roaring lions and fireworks from Zonko's and the Weasley twins, and every type of sweet under the sun. For a while the entire team was passed through the commons as if they were a new treat to be sampled, and no one was able to escape for quite some time.

Two hours into the party, Connor and Ron decided to make a trip to the Three Broomsticks for another case of butterbeer. It had been a while since Harry had done any sneaking around, and he felt rusty. There was no way the three of them would fit under the invisibility cloak, so they had Harry wear it and carry the Marauders' Map, and decided that whomever was carrying the butterbeer - probably Connor since he was the biggest - would wear it on the way back.

On the way there, Harry noticed Connor wearing a leather sash that was covered with loops, which held small bottles.

"What's that?" Harry asked.

"It's my bandolier."

"What's in it?"

"Those are my potions."

"What do they do?" Ron added.

"Well...some make me larger, some make me smaller, and some don't do anything at all. Some make me sneakier, and some make me noisier...I really have one for almost every occasion."

"That's pretty handy, there," Ron admitted. "I could use one of those." They chatted most of the way to the Three Broomsticks, using secret passages and less-traveled ways to get there and back. On their way back to the common room, Harry stopped them. He was outside the cloak, but still had the map.

"What's going on?" Connor asked. "This stuff is getting kind of heavy."

"Peeves is about to come around the corner!" Harry moaned. "Find an open door, quick! If he sees us, we're done for sure!" There were no doors in this stretch of hallway, however, and their doom seemed certain. Just as Harry was about to make a run for the far corner behind them, Connor's face appeared in the air. It was followed by his hand, which held a small grey bottle.

"One sip each!" Harry unscrewed the top and took a small sip. The potion tasted airy, as if he were drinking some very fizzy sparkling water. He passed the vial to Ron, who took a sip and gave it back to Connor, who finished it off and then threw the invisibility cloak back over his head just as Peeves bounced around the corner. He was singing a nonsense song, and as he got closer to them he slowed down and peered about, as if he knew someone was hiding but couldn't quite locate them. Harry was standing directly in front of where Peeves was floating, but to his astonishment, Peeves finally bounced right through Ron and carried on down the hallway as if they were invisible. When he'd gone, they continued back to the Gryffindor tower as quietly as they could. On their way up the stairs, Harry studied the map carefully until he was certain they'd be safe. Finally, Ron asked something Harry had been wondering about himself.

"What was that potion?"

"That was Neville's Ghost Repelling Draft," Connor answered. "I didn't really know how it would work myself. I'm glad it did."

"I'm pretty sure if we'd have had three doses instead of splitting the one, he'd have kept right on going without slowing," Harry said.

"Where did Neville get that?" Ron asked. Harry laughed.

"You won't believe this, Ron- Snape gave it to him!"

"Snape? Why on earth would he give him that?"

"Neville's sixth-year project is to make a potion has something to do with ghosts. Snape said that if he was going to try to do that, he should at least make sure that the first time he used it he was protected from them, in case it did something bad."

"Blimey," Ron said with a smirk, "what do you reckon old Snape would say if he realized that he just gave us a proper way to sneak by the ghosts at night?"

"I think he'd say 'fifty-points each, and Longbottom is out of my class'." They all jumped and Harry spun to see Professor Shacklebolt behind them. A minute ago the professor had been in his office; it was a matter of bad luck that he'd come this way to his quarters instead of the more direct route.

"I'm not going to ask you gentlemen what you're doing out this late, or what you have hidden under that invisibility cloak, just so long as you promise me one thing."

"What's that?" Ron asked.

"That you strongly reconsider before doing it again. It may not have seemed like it over the last few months, but we are at war, and your safety is paramount." Professor Shacklebolt looked at Harry as he said this, and then focused his piercing gaze on Ron, and then on the spot in between them where Connor was probably still standing. "Running around at night, for any reason, is inviting misfortune. I was under the impression that misfortune had your phone number, Harry. Inviting it to visit you...well, you should know better."

"Yes sir," Ron and Harry said. Connor remained silent, possibly hoping that he hadn't yet been suspected or discovered, even though the professor in fact knew that someone was there under the cloak. Kingsley turned to go and then paused. He looked back over his shoulder.

"And gentlemen, that was a well-played game."

"Thank you, Professor," Harry and Ron echoed in unison.

"Yes, well, move along now, and mind the false steps." Harry found that last bit of advice particularly relevant, since it was a false step that had nearly gotten him caught out after hours during his forth year. Only Barty Crouch Junior, who was at the time using the Polyjuice Potion to impersonate Mad-Eye Moody, kept him from Snape and Mrs. Norris, the Caretaker's cat.

"Phone number?" Ron whispered, once they were a safe distance away. Connor laughed from beneath the cloak.

When they stepped back into the Gryffindor common room, the party was still going, although things had died down a little. It appeared that many of the students had used up some of their excess energy and were now engaged in slightly less boisterous activities.

"Not bad, Ron," Katie shouted across the room. "Thirty-two out of fifty-two blocked. Not quite up to Wood's standards, but it kept us going."

"Better than them, anyway," Ron replied. "We only got what...thirty shots or so, and we made half of them."

"And we had Harry!" Emer added, batting her eyes in his direction. Harry smiled at her, and she blushed madly, turning away. Dean took that moment to saunter down the stairs from the sixth-year boys' dormitories, carrying something large and gleaming.

"Ah," Connor said, "and so it arrives!"

"What is that?" Hermione said, looking at the fantastically shiny hunk of metal.

"This," Dean announced loudly, so that everyone paused and looked at him, "is the 'Most Valuable Player' award."

"We don't have a Most Valuable Player award," Hermione said. "Quidditch is a team sport."

"It's up to the team captain, Miss Know-it-all." Dean looked to Katie, who had a surprised look on her face. The case of butterbeer had hit the students, and they were starting to come around again, although not as raucously as before. With sparkling eyes and pink lips, Katie grinned and nodded at Dean.

"Listen up! Seamus, put her down! Emer, quit flirting with Harry. And quit flirting with Ron, too. And Katie as well. Thank you! We have an announcement here! And just so you know," Dean said, looking at the sea of faces shining back at him, "all I did was make the award, and vote of course. The winner of this award was selected by a vote. Yes, thank you Ronald, we all know you suffered for your team." Ron had gone directly to Neville upon their return from the butterbeer run and was now nearly covered in the Murtlap bandages to the point that he looked like a red-haired mummy.

"So let's get the team up here. Everyone!" Dean was a master at playing to the crowd, and the Quidditch team was lining up in front of the entire house. Harry, the Creeveys and Emer wore embarrassed looks, while Ron, Katie and Ginny seemed to be taking it well. Seamus, Jack Sloper and Andrew Kirke were all flexing proudly to a cacophony of catcalls from the girls of the house.

"Drum-roll, if you please!" Most of the students started tapping out rolls on whatever was near them. "On the one hand, we have our four beaters, Colin, Dennis, Andy and Jack, who permanently damaged a Slytherin Nimbus 2001. It's as if Christmas has come early when you see a thing like that! Let's have a hand for them!" The students clapped loudly and Dean cleared his voice, quieting them again.

"Then we have our Captain, Katie Bell, who scored five goals and had four assists! Yes thanks, she's as talented as she is beautiful! Ow!" Dean cringed as Ginny kicked him in the shin.

"Our Chaser reserves, Seamus Finnigan and Emer Rath, combined for a goal, three assists and three steals, which wasn't bad considering the talent and brooms the Slytherin team has, and that it was their first game. Give them a hand!" The students clapped and cheered loudly and Emer blushed even more. She was starting to look like a Weasley.

"Ginny Weasley had three goals and three assists, and a steal! Yes, yes, she's as talented as she is beautiful! Ow!" This time, it was Ron who'd kicked him.

"That brings us to our illustrious Keeper, Mister Ronald Weasley!" There was a larger cheer now, and Ron blushed as he raised his hands over his head in a gesture of acknowledgement. Harry could see him wince beneath his bandages. "Ron blocked better than three of five today. I think he also deserves some recognition for voluntarily choosing to cover himself, which, I might add, is a tremendous improvement. Two more of Neville's bandages and we could take care of the last glaring eyesore- his face." Everyone laughed and Dean continued while he had the crowd under control.

"Mister Harry Potter..." he started, and then had to stop while everyone cheered. "Mister Harry Potter risked his life to fool Malfoy. Now granted..." Dean paused again while everyone cheered. "Granted, that's not tough to do! But it takes something to get a maneuver named after you! Quidditch has been around a long time, but Harry continues to show us new things. The Potter Crash and Burn!" Everyone whistled and clapped, and Harry blushed a bit under the scrutiny of Gryffindor house.

"Ah, and now we come to the lady of the hour, Natalie MacDonald. Natalie had six goals, five assists and twelve steals, not to mention she did it all while dazzling everyone who's ever flown a broom. When she took to the pitch today, everyone laughed at her. Well, they're not laughing now, are they? And that's why she is the 'Most Valuable Player' for tonight's game." The applause was deafening, and Natalie smiled impishly. By now it was getting quite late, and Harry expected a visit from Professor McGonagall any minute. When he'd been using the Marauders' Map earlier, she had been with Professor Walken in his office. He hadn't checked since they'd gotten back, but as he gazed out towards the lake he was hardly surprised to see two figures standing near the shore. One was obviously a witch with long, black hair, and the other a taller man. Whatever Walken had been doing with McGonagall earlier in the evening, he was with the mystery witch now. Harry was too tired to bother with going back up to the dorm for the Marauders' Map tonight; he'd figure it out eventually.

Instead, he turned back to study the trophy. It was a large shield on a large wooden base, and one small plaque was placed at the top left of the base, leaving room for a few dozen more. Natalie's name, position and team were engraved on the small bit of silver, along with "Slytherin V. Gryffindor." Touching her name caused the "Most Valuable Player" on the shield to be replaced with her statistics for the game and her portrait, which Dean must have drawn, since it was very good. Touching "Slytherin V. Gryffindor" prompted the game statistics. Harry was quite impressed, and was surprised at the quality of the work. Hermione even commented that it was a nice bit of enchanting, which was saying something.

At about midnight, Professor McGonagall stopped in to tell them to wind it up. She saw the trophy, and examined it for nearly two minutes before pronouncing it acceptable.

"I assume it was intended to travel between houses?"

"That's what we were intending," Dean said. "If that's allowed?"

"I think it's a tremendous idea, Mister Thomas, and a fine trophy. I will speak with the other House Heads. Do try to keep it here as much as possible?"

"Oh, we certainly will, professor."

"Very well. I shouldn't have to remind you that tomorrow is a school day. I trust that is all that needs saying?"

"Yes, Professor," Hermione replied wearily. She'd been saying the same exact thing for the past two hours. By one o'clock the common room was nearly empty, save for Connor, Natalie, Neville, Lavenderand Vicky. Harry had to take a calming draught to sleep, but fortunately Neville had become quite good at them.

The day after the Quidditch match, Hagrid pulled Harry aside during breakfast in the Great Hall.

"If ya wouldn't mind stoppin' by me cottage, I've got somethin' fer ya, n' it's late for sure, but better late than never, I always say. Just stop on by after yer classes today."

"Sure, Hagrid, but you really don't have to..."

"I know," Hagrid said, "but I want to, an' that should be enough." Hagrid slapped Harry on the back, which almost knocked him over. Harry, who'd just had the wind knocked out of him and couldn't speak, smiled, nodded, and turned to go, but Hagrid called out to him. "Oh, and bring Hermione, Dean Thomas and that American bloke with ya, too!"

"I'll do that, Hagrid," Harry managed to wheeze.

After yesterday's Quidditch match and today's invitation from Hagrid, Harry couldn't concentrate on his classes the rest of the day, and took what were probably his shoddiest notes all year. It was a good thing that Hermione was in Temporalism, that he didn't have Potions, and that his last class of the day was Muggle Studies. Even then, Hermione scolded him for not paying more attention and Parvati Patil jabbed him twice when the professor caught him daydreaming.

Harry meant what he'd said; Hagrid didn't have to give him anything, as much as he'd already done. That didn't mean Harry wasn't very curious - as excited as Hagrid was and as long as he'd been working on it, Harry couldn't help but be cautiously eager to see what his friend had. As soon as his last class was over, he sprinted back to the Gryffindor common room, which was still covered in scarlet and gold banners. He dashed up to his dormitory and threw his books on his bed. He still had to wait for Hermione, Dean, and Connor, and the suspense was killing him, so, purely for something to do, he changed into his casual robes.

"Grab your boots, Harry!" Harry looked up to see Connor standing before his bed. He nudged Harry's dragon-hide boots with his own, which were a similar style, but in plain leather. Harry sighed and pulled them on. Although he'd had them since his birthday, he'd never actually tried them on until today. Harry had imagined when he had got them that they'd be stiff and hard to walk in, hot and uncomfortable. He couldn't have been more wrong. When he stood up, he found that they automatically fit themselves to his feet without him having to buckle either of the two buckles. They were pleasantly light, and not in the least bit clumsy. The heels would take some getting used to, though.

"Hey! Are we going, or what?" Dean sounded downright impatient, and they sped down the stairs, through the commons, through the painting and through the halls of Hogwarts. They were puffing when they arrived at Hagrid's hut, and on top of that Hermione was already waiting for them.

"Hello, Harry!" Hagrid boomed. "I'm glad ya made it!"

"I wouldn't miss it for the world, Hagrid."

"Now, Harry," Hermione started, before Dean shushed her.

"Stop it Hermione! Can't you let things be for ten minutes? Lecture him later!" This only made Harry more anxious. Hagrid placed a hand the size of a ham on his shoulder and guided him around the corner of the hut.

"Well then, no reason to put it off, is there?" They shuffled into the yard behind the cottage, where something stood covered with a drop cloth. The sheet was oil-stained and filthy; it looked like it had spent some quality time with Connor's robes. Dean, Hermione, Harryand Hagrid stood before the delayed birthday present, until finally Hagrid took a handful of greasy material and gave it a yank.

What Harry saw took his breath away. The late fall sun glinted from the polished chrome and glossy shine of the Gryffindor scarlet tank on the motorcycle that stood before him. The sweeping straight exhaust pipes twinkled in the sunlight, and the spotless leather seat had been deeply polished. "TRIUMPH!" - the chrome badge on the petrol tank proudly proclaimed. "Bonneville" was on another, smaller, black tank under the seat. The frame was black, and the straight handlebars made it look sporty and aggressive. It practically dared him to hop on and go for a ride, even though he knew absolutely nothing about motorcycles, and very likely would have ended up crashing into something, had he tried.

"Is that...?"

"Go ahead then," Hagrid said, nodding happily and gesturing at the motorcycle. Harry hesitantly straddled the seat and sat gingerly, pushing it up from the kickstand and attempting to balance it upright. It was heavy, and he could feel the muscles on the insides of his thighs straining to keep it in position. He had some vague ideas of what to do from watching Muggle television; he knew that twisting the right hand grip would make it go, and he'd used handbrakes during his brief rides on Dudley's racing bike, but other than that he was pretty much lost. He wasn't even sure how to turn it on.

"I meant ta' get it to ya sooner, but it wasn't runnin' all that well, and, well, my hands aren't made ta' handle such little bits!" Hagrid held out his gigantic paws. "I did my best, but if Connor wouldn't have seen me working on it one morning, you might have had to wait another six months! Him and Dean did the mechanical things, and Hermione cleaned n' polished everything until it was as good as new...better, maybe, with the permanent lubrication charms and so forth!"

"Does it run? Can we drive it?" he said, looking at Connor and Dean.

"Oh, it runs like a top," Connor said. "We made sure of that." He glanced at Dean, who waved him forward.

"You did most of the work, mate. Pleasure's yours. If you call it a pleasure! For all you know, Harry could run you both straight into the lake! Oh, and Harry, you don't drive a motorcycle, you ride it. Just don't ride it into the Whomping Willow!"

"Yes, well, we'll hope that doesn't happen," Connor said dryly, stepping forward. "What do you say, Harry? Want to ride behind or steer?"

"Ride," Harry said immediately, letting the bike sit back on its kickstand and stepping awkwardly off. "I...I don't really know what to do."

"Now, Harry," Hermione started, "there really aren't any rules about flying motorbikes, but I can't imagine it's allowed, strictly speaking! I mean - you don't even have your operator's license, do you?"

"Bah!" Hagrid exclaimed. "A little fun now and again won't kill 'im! Then again, it wouldn't do much for anyone if it did. So maybe ye want ter be a bit careful?"

"But what about the rules-" Hermione protested.

"Hermione," Harry said, "I've said it before and I'll say it again - To hell with the rules."

"Now that's the Harry we know and love," Dean quipped.

"I'll take good care of him," Connor said, patiently. "We can't have him living in fear of getting a little scratch, he'll go neurotic."

"That doesn't make me feel any better about it, and it's not a 'little scratch' we're talking about," Hermione pouted. Dean posed a question.

"Think of it this way, have you ever been able to keep him from breaking the rules before?"

"Well, no, but I could get it taken away..."

"You wouldn't!" Dean said. "Not after you just spent two months helping to get it running and cleaned up. You had to know he'd want to ride it! Did you think he'd just sit and look at it being sparkly?"

"Well, I'd hoped-"

"Hoped but not expected! Right?"

"Well...right," Hermione was forced to admit, "but you had better be very, very careful. If something happens, I'll hold you personally responsible...and that thing is a rolling accident just waiting to happen!"

"So?" Dean continued. "If he'll do it anyway, then the best possible situation would be that he'd do it under your supervision, right?"

"That is just not fair, Dean."

"Relax already! I'll take you out on it, once I get the hang of it!"

"I would like to see you try to get me on that...on that deathtrap!" Even though she sounded serious, Harry thought he could see the tiniest of smiles.

"Right then," Harry said, turning back to Connor.

"Oh, are we done discussing?" Connor feigned ignorance.

"Don't be a brat," Hermione chided. Harry looked to Connor.

"So, let's go, shall we?"

"Certainly, only you'd better lose the robe. Long clothes, moving wheels and chains don't mix, mate."

The word 'mate' coming from Connor was amusing, and Harry laughed as he stripped off his robe. He had a long-sleeved shirt on under it, fortunately, because the warm day wasn't exactly shirtsleeves and shorts weather.

"Alright then. There's not much to it," Connor said, straddling the bike easily. He reached under the seat and toyed with something. "You turn on the gas. Then you 'tickle' it..." He tapped tiny levers on either side of the bike. "Then you give it a kick." He flipped the kick-starter peg out and jammed it down, and the Triumph snarled to life. The feelings flooding through Harry as his Godfather's bike sat tamely beneath him, waiting to be unleashed, were indescribable; riding a broom didn't feel a thing like this!

"Hold on!" Connor shouted over the engine. "Just watch what I do! Clutch..." he squeezed his left hand. "Then kick it into gear!" He tapped the shifter with his right foot. "Shift on the right." Connor waggled his right leg, and then his left. "Here's the break, and here's the throttle!" He twisted the grip in his right hand slightly, and the engine revved. "Let off the clutch slowly." Connor relaxed his left hand, and the bike started to roll forward. Harry lifted his feet, and Connor looked back as he felt Harry shift his weight. "Those pegs are for your feet. Kick them down, because the pipes get hot. Better hold on, too!" Harry gingerly knocked the foot pegs down and grabbed Connor's shirt. Connor leaned back slightly. "You'll want to hold on tight. Better a joke or two than a serious headache, which is what you'll get if we hit a good bump and you're not hanging on to anything but my stylish threads!" Harry leaned forward, wrapping his arms around Connor. His un-ease vanished almost immediately as he realized that even though it was slightly awkward, it gave him a better view of what Connor was doing to run the motorbike. Also, they were going a good deal faster now, and he wanted to be holding onto something a little more substantial. The wind was starting to whip around them, and Connor's hair was blowing straight back into Harry's face. He hunched down a little, and held on tighter. Although it made him slightly uncomfortable to think about it, he realized that the American was probably even stronger than he'd previously guessed. Harry could feel the muscles in Connor's stomach and chest flex beneath his arms as he guided the bike and leaned forward. They had shifted gears at least once, and now they were really moving along the dirt path. The occasional student would gape at them as they rocketed by; undoubtedly a sight few wizards or witches had ever seen.

Harry was reminded of a dream he'd once had of a flying motorcycle...could this have actually been it? His uncle had nearly beaten him at the very mention of the dream, and Harry could imagine the exchange between him and his uncle if he asked to test for his operator's license. Perhaps the motorcycle was best left a secret. Maybe Mister Weasley could help him put an invisibility booster on it, like the one that had been on the old car that he and Ron had taken to Hogwarts in his second year. Then he could fly it without being bothered by anyone.

"I don't dare go much faster," Connor shouted, for now the wind was so loud that Harry wouldn't be able to hear anything else. "Just a little bump or rock could be pretty nasty at this speed! We should really have helmets, or a helmet charm, or something!"

"Does it fly?" Harry shouted back.

"Sure, but are you ready for that?" Harry considered it. He loved flying a broom, but this was nothing like that. His Firebolt was fine and precise - almost delicate in comparison to the Triumph, which had a thrill to it that suggested it was decidedly less than safe. However, Harry had ridden two racing brooms that were capable of absolutely ridiculous speeds, a hippogriff, a thestral and even a Ford Anglia into the skies, and he couldn't imagine this being too much worse.

"Take it up!" Connor nodded without looking back and nudged something with his right toe. Suddenly, the bike was airborne, rising above the Hogwarts grounds. The sensation didn't change much; they still felt as if they were on a relatively smooth road, but Connor shifted it one last time, and they accelerated even more.

"How fast will it go?" Harry shouted.

"On the ground? A good hundred and ten. In the air, maybe hundred and fifteen. I wouldn't try for more than that, even though you might get it."

If they hadn't been doing seventy miles per hour by then, Harry might have whistled. The Dursleys had never shown any kind of interest in letting Harry learn about driving, but he knew enough to know that was faster than he'd ever need to go on the ground. He also knew that he was old enough to get a Muggle Driver's license, and he'd just gotten one very good reason to do it.

They circled the grounds a few times and Harry caught sight of several people he knew. Parvati and Lavender peered up at him as he shot by the grounds outside the Gryffindor tower, and Susan Bones and Neville Longbottom were both standing by the greenhouses as they flew over. Connor slowed down gradually until he touched down smoothly right in front of Hagrid's hut. They dismounted, and Hagrid easily wheeled the bike around behind his hut.

"Are you sure you want to give me this, Hagrid? I mean, Sirius gave it to you!"

"He mostly gave it ta me for safe keepin' and ta get me where I had ta go...I'm sure he'd have wanted you ta end up with it."

"But won't you miss it?"

"Oh, I will at times...but I think yer Sirius mostly had it for the girls, and no ladies I know would be impressed by a flying motorbike...leastwise none that I'm worried about." Hagrid's ruddy cheeks darkened noticeably beneath his grizzly beard.

"I think it's dreadful!" Hermione added, unnecessarily.

"Of course you would," Dean sniped. "It might be fun."

After another few hours at Hagrid's, Harry and his friends started to make their way back to the castle. Hermione was going on to Dean about all of the safety issues involved, and Dean was wisely remaining respectfully silent. Connor sidled next to Harry as they walked, answering the never-ending stream of questions. During a lull, the American took a deep breath, as if he was getting ready to say something he didn't really want to say.

"I meant to ask you for a favor."

"After this, anything!"

"Well, you see, there's another bike, not as good as this one, but your Godfather used it for parts. It's mostly there, and after we - that is - after Dean and Hermione and I repaired this, we looked to that. I was wondering if you would allow me and Dean to fix it up and ride it around a little?" Connor shifted nervously from foot to foot, and Harry later remembered that had been the first time he'd ever seen the tall American look nervous. "If you'd rather not that's-"

"There was another one?" Harry said, still in a daze.

"Well, yeah. Your Godfather was decent enough with a wrench, but it looks like he had to swap some of the parts out that he couldn't fix. I managed to rebuild the original carburetors for your bike and repair most of the rest of the parts that had been exchanged. The bike he used for parts is still a way from running...it needs the carbs rebuilt and re-synced and a new head gasket, maybe a new head. The fuel line's got to be re-run all the way from the tank to the carbs. It needs a new battery, new plugs, new plug wires, the varnish cleaned out of it and maybe some other stuff that I don't know about..." Harry cut Connor off with a feeble wave and a nod.

"Of course you can, uh, do whatever you want to it. Perhaps if you get it going, we can ride together, since no self-respecting broom will let you near it." Connor smiled and looked visibly relieved. A day ago, Harry had forgotten all about Sirius's motorcycle, and now it had been given to him in better-than-new condition, along with two people to teach him how to ride it. There was no reason for him to deny something he'd never even miss to the friends who had made it all possible.