Harry Potter and the Remnants of the Soul

Chapter Eleven: The Beautiful Game

"WHAT IS YOU DOING IN HARRY POTTER'S KITCHEN!?" Dobby brandished a cast iron skillet, stalking toward the unfamiliar figure dicing potatoes by the stove.

The interloper whirled, his black robe billowing. "Cooking," he sneered. Pale yellow eyes peered down a long nose. "You must be Dobby."

Dobby paused mid-step, the skillet still cocked for an attack. "Who is you?"

"I am Salty... Master Potter's new servant."

Dobby advanced another step. "You is lying! Harry Potter is the bestest wizard ever! Get out of Harry Potter's house!"

Salty smiled malevolently. "I cannot leave. I have to make my master's supper."

"YOU IS LYING!" Dobby screamed. He brought the heavy skillet crashing down like a troll's club toward the other elf's head.

Salty ducked, allowing the skillet a clear path directly into the stove top. With an earsplitting bang, the kitchen began raining potatoes.

Dobby lifted the skillet once more, but his opponent was already airborne.

Executing a textbook flying tackle, Salty drove his shoulder deep into Dobby's stomach. The skillet launched across the kitchen, banging into a collection of pots and pans.

The two house-elves rolled across the floor punching, pinching, pulling, and scratching each other. For a brief moment, Dobby pinned Salty, but Salty managed to drive an elbow into Dobby's larynx.

"STOP!" Harry shouted, bursting through the door with his wand drawn.

Salty immediately released Dobby and was rewarded with a sucker punch.

"Dobby, stop!" Harry roughly pulled the two elves apart. "What the hell is going on here?"

"I was cooking," Salty snapped. "This shit attacked me."

"Is that true?"

Dobby could not answer. He was doubled over, clutching his throat and wheezing with every breath.

"Salty, give us a moment," Harry said, conjuring a bag of ice. "You should put this on your eye before it gets any worse."

With a pop, Harry was alone with Dobby.

"You alright, Dobby?"

Dobby didn't answer, but he accepted a second conjured ice-pack. After a few minutes, the house-elf managed to squeak, "Is it true?"

"Is what true?"

"Salty gets to be Harry Potter, sir's house-elf?"

"I hired him this afternoon," Harry confirmed. "He's specially trained to manage a household."

Dobby peered up at Harry, tears streaming from his tennis ball sized eyes. "Dobby has training, too," he whimpered. "Dobby could serve Harry Potter, sir."

Harry placed a hand on the house-elf's trembling shoulder. "You're my friend. I won't let you be my servant."

Dobby sorrowfully hung his head. "Dobby has to leave, then."

"No, you can..."

With a brave smile and a soft pop, Dobby disappeared.

"Wait!" Harry Apparated to the small third-floor bedroom where Dobby had been staying, but the elf and his few belongings were already gone. Harry sank down onto the bed in defeat, "Damn!"

The bedroom door swung open after a few seconds and Salty stepped into the room, an ice pack covering his right eye. "He's left the premises."

"You saw him?"

"House-elves can sense each other," Salty replied.

"Right," Harry murmured. "You alright then?"

"I'll be fine."

"Did he really attack you?"

"Yes."

Harry studied the house-elf carefully. "Did you provoke him?"

Salty began to say 'no,' but he could not form the word. "I may have taunted him... slightly."

Harry frowned. "He's my friend. Don't bait him again. Understood?"

"Yes, Master Potter," Salty responded, properly chastised. "With your permission, I shall return to the kitchen, now."

"No, I'll get something at the diner. Take the night off and get settled in. Did you pick a room yet?"

"I'm next door," Salty replied with a bow, silently retreating to his room.

Retrieving a quill and parchment in his room, Harry penned a quick note. "Hedwig," he called. "Please, take this to Dobby."

---888---

The following evening, Harry emerged from the floo, his black cap pulled tightly over his distinctive scar. With a little practice, floo travel was becoming much easier, but he still detested traveling from hearth to hearth. Glancing around, he found the Apparation point below a large blue and gold sign welcoming fans to the 'Pavilion at Exmoor.' Next time, he could skip the Floo Powder and Apparate directly.

Approaching the main gates, he was surprised to see only a few dozen fans waiting in line. They were significantly outnumbered by the concession vendors busily milling about. He checked his ticket again; the gates, which opened ninety minutes before game time, were set to admit fans in three minutes.

A pimply-faced wizard dressed in an ill-fitting blue robe scurried past him. "Excuse me!" Harry held out his pass. "Where do I go?"

The usher hurriedly glanced at the ticket. "Gate D," he huffed, pointing in the direction he had just come from.

"Thanks," Harry muttered as the usher sprinted on toward his destination.

Making his way through a nearly empty Gate D, Harry showed his ticket to another usher and punched the lift button for level eight. The door opened onto a carpeted concourse lined with aged pictures of former Quidditch players.

"Swanky!" Harry grinned, as he found the door marked '818.' Oliver hadn't just sent him some spare tickets; this was the luxury box level! It was bloody fantastic!

The private box was divided into a small kitchen and a seating area. Platters of finger sandwiches, vegetables, and meat offered mouth-watering aromas from their perches on the counter. Beyond the kitchen, matching leather sofas formed an open square, completed by a gigantic sliding glass door that opened over the Quidditch pitch.

Harry ignored the food, walked past the sofas, and opened the glass door. The box was level with the top goal, giving him a magnificent view of the black and scarlet clad Ballycastle Bats as they practiced. Below him, the seats were dotted with small clumps of early arriving fans eager to watch the teams warm up. On the pitch, small dots dressed in Puddlemere blue and gold stretched muscles and tossed a Quaffle around.

Grabbing a warm Butterbeer from the pantry, Harry plopped down on the sofa, propping his feet up on the coffee table in front of him. It was early evening and the stadium lights already shone, but they weren't needed just yet. The scoreboard clock slowly ticked down from ninety minutes.

Harry recognized most of the Bats' warm-up exercises from his practices with Gryffindor. Chasers weaved in and out of the hoops, working on sharp, crisp turns. The Beaters batted Bludgers at the goal posts, continually honing their accuracy and 'punishment' (as the Weasley twins liked to call it).

Harry searched for the Bats' Seeker, hoping to glean some insight from a professional. There he was, diving toward the ground, a perfectly executed Wronski feint. "It's Viktor!" Harry shouted to the empty box. For the next fifteen minutes, the Bulgarian Seeker shot across the pitch practicing dives and turns, running through preset plays with the Chasers, and chatting with the Bats' attractive reserve Keeper.

Harry was green with envy. He hadn't been on his broom since... Since, the day before...

Like a nightmare, the Battle of the Burrow flashed before his eyes. His stomach clenched painfully. Sweat dampened the back of his knees. He could hear his heart racing as blood pounded in his ears. The room became hazy; colors muted. His lungs screamed for oxygen.

Harry gasped. His breathing was shallow and rushed. Damp palms wiped the sweat from his brow, cradling his head in his hands. He focused on deep breaths, inhaling until his chest expanded and exhaling until his lungs forced him to breathe in again. Eventually, his heartbeat slowed, and his breathing returned to normal.

"Bloody hell," he murmured, staggering to his feet where he paused, allowing the world to stop spinning around him. He washed his face in the kitchen sink, drank a tall glass of water, and then collapsed back into the sofa.

Looking for some sort of distraction, he found a souvenir program on the end table. But, the glossy photographs and player biographies couldn't hold his attention... 'Ron would have been so excited to be here,' he thought. 'Ron would have loved the food. Ron wouldn't have let me forget my Omnioculars...'

"Hey, Harry." Susan's casual greeting nearly caused him to jump clear of the sofa. "I didn't know we had a box today."

"Neither did I," he responded with a forced smile. "It was really generous of Oliver."

"Uh huh," Susan agreed, expertly retrieving two Butterbeers from a chill box below the kitchen counter. "Thirsty?"

"I take it you've been up here before?" Harry asked, accepting the drink.

"My uncle's cousin, Elliot Cunningham, owns the Tornadoes." She sat on the sofa across from Harry. "I've been to hundreds of games."

"You're a Tornadoes fan, then?"

"Not especially." She fell silent, staring out at the now vacant pitch. "Auntie was a big Puddlemere supporter. We used to come here a lot."

"Oh," Harry mumbled, absently dog-earing Oliver Wood's page in the program. A comfortable yet sad silence settled between the two as Puddlemere took to the air for their warm-ups.

"So, how are you doing?" Susan asked after a few minutes.

Harry continued watching Puddlemere's Seeker fly sprints across the pitch. "I don't know... Some days I don't want to do anything... then sometimes I'll get wrapped up in what I'm doing, and I won't even think about it for a few hours..."

"...And then you feel guilty for allowing yourself to forget," Susan suggested knowingly. "I don't think the guilt ever goes away. It's just that you forget about it for longer periods of time."

"How often do you think about your aunt?" Harry wondered.

"Auntie's death has been worse than Father's," Susan replied hollowly. "With him, I knew it was coming... I got to say goodbye. But Auntie was such a shock. And last year... every time someone died from the war, it all came back again."

Harry shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. "I didn't know your father died."

Oddly enough, Susan seemed to relax at the question. "When I was eight, he got sick one day. Six months later, he died from late onset Maeve's disease." She glanced at Harry, unsurprised that he'd never heard of the disease.

"Unfortunately, Maeve's isn't that uncommon," she explained ruefully. "It cannibalizes your magical core. Sometimes you die, and sometimes you turn into a squib. It's genetic and runs in a lot of the old families, but people don't like to talk about it."

"You seem eager enough," Harry offered.

She blushed slightly. "I want to get rid of the stigma," Susan declared. "There's nothing shameful about Maeve's. It's a disease, and the more people know, the easier it is to spot. My Dad just thought he wasn't a very powerful wizard. If he'd known about the disease, they probably would have spotted it before he went to Hogwarts. If you catch it early enough, there are potions and other ways to treat it."

Padma and Anthony entered the box and claimed a sofa. "Susan, you're on about Maeve's disease again?" Padma rolled her eyes. "You should let the boy enjoy the match instead of talking his ear off," she chided.

Anger flashed momentary in Susan's eyes. She looked about ready to yank a fistful of Padma's long black hair out by the roots, but Anthony was already gushing over the box. "Bloody marvelous seats, Harry! This match is going to be wicked! Ballycastle just got Krum from Heidelberg, and Painter's on top of her game again. Best Seeker match up of the year!"

Harry shot an apologetic smile at Susan who decided a fresh round of Butterbeers was in order. "When did Ballycastle get Viktor?" Harry asked.

"Last week," Anthony replied, accepting a drink from Susan. "It took two million Galleons to pry Krum from Heidelberg. It's the largest transfer fee ever."

"My Grandpapa said Elliot and the rest of the owners are about ready to lynch Sheldon Bromfield," Susan volunteered.

Anthony nodded in agreement. "Krum could have nixed it, but Ballycastle's owner gave him a new contract. He's banking half a million a year for the next five years... guaranteed."

"A half million Galleons!" Padma exclaimed. "Anthony, have you been practicing your Quidditch? Father would be impressed with that salary."

Anthony laughed nervously. "Probably should have learned to fly by now then, you think? I'll be lucky to make five thousand Galleons a year, right out of school. I'd need Harry's talent on a broom to make enough to impress your father."

Padma's jaw raised and lowered half a dozen times as she stammered for something to say. The idea of living off of only five thousand Galleons a year was a foreign concept to the well-bred daughter of privilege.

"You think I could play Quidditch professionally?" Harry asked.

"Absolutely!" Anthony exclaimed. "You completely out flew Krum against those dragons."

"But, Krum didn't fly against the dragon!" Padma objected.

"I meant that when Harry flew against the dragon, he was better than Krum."

Susan smiled patiently. "Anthony, have you ever seen Viktor Krum fly in a match?"

Anthony paused to think for a moment. "No, but I've seen photos."

"Harry's good," Susan answered with a smirk, "but Viktor Krum is the best Seeker in the world."

Harry's heart put a little something extra into its next few beats. For some reason, he was really glad that she thought he was good. "So, what do you think, Susan? Could I make it into the league?"

Her grey-blue eyes, clear and alert, evaluated his figure. "I don't know, maybe as a reserve," she admitted honestly. "You fly pretty well, but most of the Seekers in the league are big burly guys or really light and fast. You're kind of in the middle."

Harry shrugged nonchalantly, hoping his disappointment wasn't evident.

"But don't listen to me," Susan backtracked. "You should ask someone who knows what they're talking about. I could get Elliot to give you a tryout."

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!" the Quidditch announcer's voice boomed. "MAY I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION? TONIGHT'S MATCH FEATURES THE BALLYCASTLE BATS VISITING PUDDLEMERE UNITED!" The mostly filled stadium erupted in applause.

"AT KEEPER, THE BATS ARE STARTING DEREK SHELLER. AT BEATER, FRANZ CLUNK AND..."

"Dobby!" Harry spotted his friend timidly entering the box. "Thanks for coming. Did you get my letter?"

"AT SEEKER, VIKTOR KRUM!" Anthony leaned dangerously far out of the box to cheer for the Bulgarian. "AND NOW... YOUR KEEPER! OLIVER WOOD!"

Dobby frowned, handing Harry a familiar Beaters Bat with a faded orange 'F' painted on the knob. "Dobby got Harry Potter, sir's note." The house-elf's quiet reply was barely discernible above the cheers for Puddlemere's starting lineup. "But, Dobby is only here because of Master Weasley. Dobby must deliver this bat to Harry Potter and then bring it back after the match."

"Well, I'm glad you're here." Harry grinned; Fred was a genius. "You want something to eat?"

Dobby sullenly shook his head before sitting on the floor in the corner.

Harry sighed at the house-elf's stubbornness. "Alright then, Dobby. Help yourself if you change your mind."

He returned to his spot on the sofa, ignoring Padma's inquisitive glance over the top of her Witch Weekly.

"Not again," Harry complained as he spotted a small picture of himself on the cover, repeatedly casting a Werewolf Patronus. "I wish they'd just give it a rest already."

Padma offered an evil smile before flipping back a few pages. "The Boy Who Lost Everything," she announced saucily. "Despite the heartache of burying his closest friends, Harry Potter managed to conjure up enough happy thoughts to cast a marvelously luminescent Patronus at Monday's..."

"Padma!" Susan scolded.

Scowling at the magazine, Harry walked over to Anthony at the front of the box so he could see the entire pitch.

"They're about to start," Anthony commented as the referee opened the ball box in the middle of the pitch. The Snitch, unlatched, rose slowly before disappearing in the blink of an eye. The Bludgers followed suit a few seconds later, and then the Quaffle was tossed high into the air.

Like a shot, fifteen brooms launched as one. The Keepers streaked to their hoops as the Chasers jockeyed for position. Ballycastle's Beaters each chose a Bludger and followed it around the pitch, smacking the jet black ball in the direction of Puddlemere's Seeker whenever they could.

Puddlemere's Seeker, Jen Painter, was small enough to be a third year student at Hogwarts. "You reckon she's what? Six, seven stone at the most?" Harry asked Anthony.

"She's damn fast," Anthony replied. "I think my Arithmancy book is heavier than she is."

Harry laughed as he watched one of Puddlemere's Beaters swat another Bludger toward a Ballycastle Chaser.

Padma was watching the match now, her magazine tucked into her handbag. "That one guy, all he's doing is chasing her around the pitch," she said, pointing at a Puddlemere Beater.

"It's a disadvantage to have a small Seeker," Harry answered. "The Beaters have to spend most of their time protecting the Seeker."

The Beater assigned to Painter's protection detail launched another Bludger toward a Ballycastle Chaser. His aim was off, and the Bludger glanced off the broom handle of a Puddlemere Chaser. It was the only opening the Bat's Chaser needed: She slipped through the Puddlemere defense, feigning a shot at the uppermost goal.

"Come on, Oliver!" Harry shouted as the crowd roared to life. After another pump-fake, the Chaser flung the Quaffle toward the middle hoop, but Oliver had anticipated the shot. He easily caught the Quaffle before gunning it half-way across the pitch to an open Chaser.

The crowd, which had risen to their feet to cheer on Oliver, exploded in anticipation. Puddlemere had a two-on-one advantage as the Chasers streaked across the pitch. The lone Bat in position to defend the attack desperately tried to eliminate the passing lanes between Puddlemere's Chasers, but he was successful only in slowing Puddlemere's charge. As soon as she entered the scoring area, Puddlemere's Chaser gunned the Quaffle toward the left-most ring, well out of reach of Ballycastle's overmatched Keeper.

In one moment, Harry's perception of the Seeker position changed completely. From his hunt for the Snitch, Viktor swooped down directly into the path of the Quaffle, trapping the reddish brown ball between his chest and the broom. Shifting the Quaffle into the crook of his arm, he rocketed upfield like an experienced Chaser. A few meters ahead of him, Ballycastle's Chasers formed a wedge, ploughing through the Puddlemere defense.

To counter the attack, Puddlemere's Beater, who had been shadowing Jen Painter, shot upwards trying to cut off Viktor's angle toward the far right goal. Simultaneously, Painter darted toward the center of the pitch, apparently hot on the trail of the Snitch.

Viktor ignored Painter's feint. Five meters from the scoring area, he caught up with his Chasers, expertly handing off the Quaffle as he proceeded into the scoring area, flying straight at Oliver.

Nearly to the center hoop, Viktor stopped abruptly about three meters short of Wood, screening the Keeper's vision. The Bats' Chaser had followed Viktor into the scoring area, taking careful aim right at Viktor's back.

Unable to see the developing shot, Wood lunged toward the left hoop just as Viktor dove to the turf allowing the Quaffle to pass through the space he had vacated only a moment before.

"Damn!" Anthony yelled as the scoreboard gave Ballycastle ten points. "Is that even legal?"

Harry looked to the referee, expecting some sort of foul, even as he realized the entire play was legal. "Anyone can handle the Quaffle," Harry muttered, "and stooging only applies to Chasers."

"Stooging?" Padma asked.

"Only one Chaser is allowed to enter the scoring area," Susan answered. "But Viktor's a Seeker."

"That's gotta be blagging, though," Anthony objected.

"Blagging?" Harry scoffed, turning toward Anthony. "Refs only call that if there's a hard collision. Viktor pulled up well short of him."

Harry smiled broadly. Dobby was standing near the opening to the field, excitedly watching the match. Grabbing a Butterbeer for his friend, Harry sat on the floor next to Dobby. "Have a drink," Harry said. "Sorry for hurting your feelings yesterday."

Dobby accepted the Butterbeer, but didn't acknowledge Harry. Silently, they watched as Oliver blocked another shot and fed it to his Chasers; Puddlemere notched their first ten points of the match.

"How's your job going?" Harry asked, trying to start a conversation.

"Dobby is happy," the house-elf finally answered. "Masters' Weasley need a lot of help. The storeroom is being very disgusting..."

Harry chuckled. "Did I tell you how I got them to hire you?"

---888---

The match lived up to its billing as the most exciting Seeker match up of the season. Puddlemere's Chasers clearly outclassed the Ballycastle line, but every time that it seemed like Puddlemere gained the momentum, Viktor would sweep down from above, neglecting his Seeker duties to help keep the score close.

With the scoreboard displaying a one hundred fifty point Puddlemere lead, Viktor stepped in on another scoring run. As in the past, Painter dove to the pitch, but Harry could see she had spotted the Snitch this time. The entire stadium roared in anticipation of a Puddlemere victory, but Ballycastle's Beater knocked a Bludger that caught her in the ribs. A heavier Seeker may have been able to absorb the shot and tally the snatch, but Painter was too light, and the impact sent her several meters wide of the Snitch, which disappeared before she could recover.

"That's gonna leave a mark," Anthony commented as Painter signaled for a time out. Puddlemere's lead was down to one hundred forty.

"Viktor's really dominating the match," Harry mused as he went back into the small kitchen area for a sandwich. He brushed by Susan, who was munching on a carrot from the vegetable platter. His nose twitched as he absently scratched an irritating itch on his chest. "Something smells really good. Is that..." He froze mid-sentence as he placed the scent. It was the unmistakable aroma of Augurey perfume.

Susan blushed, crimson cheeks offsetting her pale complexion. "Um... it's chicken," she answered hoarsely, handing Harry the plate of meat he had not requested.

"Er... thanks," Harry mumbled awkwardly, trying to figure out what to do with the plate. He settled for putting it down as Susan returned to the seating area.

Immediately following the timeout, it became evident that both sides had chosen adjustments in their strategy. Ballycastle tasked both Beaters to relentlessly attack Painter, while Viktor devoted most of his time to serving as a fourth Chaser. Puddlemere countered by placing both of its Beaters on Seeker protection duty, leaving their side short handed on the Chaser line.

With constant three on four disadvantages, Oliver's impressive saves ratio fell, and Puddlemere's lead dwindled. After the gap closed to seventy, Viktor abandoned his Quaffle efforts and began searching for the Snitch again.

"I can't believe Painter hasn't found the Snitch yet!" Susan seethed. "You have to make them pay for pulling their Seeker!"

"That Bludger did a number on her," Harry answered. "She's spending more time watching their Beaters than looking for the Snitch."

Without Viktor's presence, Puddlemere's Chaser line seized the momentum again, quickly racking up another fifty points.

"Looks like Krum's gonna chase again," Anthony observed as Viktor descended, signaling for the Quaffle.

Harry bolted to his feet. "No, he's seen the Snitch!"

A split-second later, Painter rocketed toward Viktor's position, signaling the end of Viktor's stealth pursuit of the Snitch. It was in this split-second that Harry truly understood Jen Painter's strength as a Seeker. Although she had been thirty meters from Viktor's position when she had spotted the Snitch, she had halved that distance by the time he'd noticed her movement.

With the experience of a Seeker long accustomed to competing against faster opponents, Viktor accelerated not toward the Snitch, but to the point directly between Painter and her quarry. Arriving moments before Painter reached the spot, Viktor negated her advantage, an obstacle three times her weight blocking her path. The positioning battle won, Viktor turned upfield and ended the match after a brief chase.

Cheers erupted from the Ballycastle fans as most of the stadium fell silent in stunned disbelief. Puddlemere had dominated most of the match, but Viktor's heroics kept the score close enough for a thirty point Ballycastle victory.

"Spackle me brown!" Susan muttered in disappointment. "We really gave that one away."

"Yeah, but Krum was amazing!" Anthony exclaimed a little too loudly. "Helluva match, Harry!"

Padma stood her handbag at the ready. "Anthony, dear, you're shouting."

Anthony apologized with an embarrassed smile. "Thanks for the invite, Harry. I had a blast."

Grinning from ear-to-ear, Harry shook hands with Anthony and Padma as they wandered out of the box.

"You're going too, Dobby?" Harry asked as the house-elf donned one of Hermione's knit caps.

"Dobby had a great time, Harry Potter, sir!"

"Brilliant!" Harry answered, bending down to shake Dobby's hand. "Do you want to come over for supper tomorrow?"

Dobby's eyes went wide with pleasure, and he seemed about ready to wrap himself around Harry's leg in excitement. But then he stopped, his eyes narrowing in thought. After a moment of consideration, he asked, "Would Harry Potter, sir, like Dobby to bring something?"

"If you want."

Delighted at the prospect, Dobby began skipping out of the box. "Er, Dobby... don't forget Fred's bat."

Susan had collected her belongings and watched in amusement as Dobby skipped out into the concourse with the battered club. "What's that about?" she asked as Harry retrieved his cap.

"It's complicated," Harry explained. "We had a little spat yesterday."

She arched an eyebrow, but didn't press. "Well, thanks for the ticket, Harry."

"I'm glad you guys came," Harry replied, smiling brightly as they stepped into the concourse together. "I had a great time..."

A camera flash momentarily blinded him. "Who's your friend, Harry?" demanded an unfamiliar woman, holding a notepad. A lime green quick quotes quill dancing across the paper in anticipation.

_____

Author's Note A: One Galleon is equivalent to five pounds (U.K. money), which is roughly $10 USD (U.S. Dollars). A stone is approximately 14 pounds (U.S. weight). Augurey perfume was mentioned in chapter eight.

Author's Recognition: I want to thank the AFC crew for their help on this chapter. (JBern, Nukular Winter, and Japanese Jew). I also owe a huge thank you to my Beta, Lisa, for helping me clean up some confusing spots.

Initial Post: 17 January 2007

Last Updated: 26 June 2007