Harry Potter and the Year of Living Stupidly

Chapter Three

Quidditch, Anyone?

Saturday dawned bright and clear, with just a whiff of a crisp autumn breeze blowing -- the perfect weather for a Quidditch game. At the Gryffindor table, Harry contentedly ate ham. Draco Malfoy was curiously absent from the Slytherin table, and many of his housemates were looking around in confusion, wondering where he had gotten himself to. Draco rarely missed an opportunity to heckle Potter before a game. Pansy was worried he'd decided to go ahead with the skrewt idea after all.

"But then he's been acting funny recently," she mentioned to Millicent Bulstrode. "Jumping at shadows, always nervous. Never seen him like this before."

Crabbe and Goyle grunted in agreement. Draco's new paranoia had penetrated even their tiny, difficult-to-locate brains. (Common opinion among Slytherins held that Goyle's was housed in the big toe of his left foot.)

Millicent shook her head. "I can't believe he'd be so worked up over a Quidditch game," she said. "I mean, we all know Potter's going to catch the snitch. All Draco can do is try his best -- and maybe think up a few amusing ways to foul him while he's at it."

"I don't think it's just the Quidditch," said Pansy glumly, but when pressed, she couldn't express herself any better. All she knew was that it wasn't like Draco -- strange bean though he was -- to skulk around the corridors in a hooded cloak, wand at the ready, looking like he wished he had a spare pair of eyes to cover his back.

"Well, don't worry about it, Pansy," Millicent consoled her. "After the game he'll probably sulk for a while and then go back to normal. Let's think of some good 'Why Harry Potter Sucks' jokes. That'll cheer him up."

"Maybe," agreed Pansy morosely. She just couldn't bring herself to believe it.

Had they only known. At this point, it was looking as if the Quidditch match might not go on at all. The Slytherin Seeker, dressed in his robes of green and silver, was standing in an office in the dungeons, adamantly shaking his head.

"I'm not going out there," he was saying, "it's too dangerous."

Severus Snape counted to a sufficiently high number before attempting reason once more. "You'll be perfectly safe, Malfoy," he insisted. "Potter's not going to try anything during the match -- it would jeopardize his chance to win more glory."

"Listen to your professor, Kreckor," said Lucius, who was spraying furniture polish on Snape's desk and rubbing briskly. Draco was so nervous he didn't even bother correcting his father.

"You just go out there and play a normal game, try a few dirty tricks just to make it seem more deserved when Potter catches the snitch, and everything will be all right," Snape lectured. "Remember, we can't let him know we're on to him. That will only make him more cautious, and therefore more dangerous."

"But if Potter's willing to kill one of his own friends with a lawnmower, what might he be willing to do to me?" wailed Draco.

"Show a little backbone, Malfoy!" snapped Snape, losing patience.

"With all due respect sir, I'm a coward. If I wasn't, I might have been put in Gryffindor."

"God forbid," muttered Lucius, wrinkling his nose. "You're enough of a disgrace to the family as it is."

Snape regarded the blonde youth a moment. "Very well then, Malfoy, let your cowardly mind consider this: if you don't go out there and play, the match will be canceled. Potter will lose an opportunity to catch the snitch, win the game, receive lots of house points, and be a hero in everyone's eyes. And believe me, Malfoy, if my theory is correct, Potter is spoiling for a chance to play the hero. What do you think he will do if you take that chance away from him?"

It took Draco less than a second to think of several possibilities, all more unpleasant than the last. "I'll play sir," he said resignedly.

"Good. Don't fret so much. Your father and I will both be on alert for curses and other tricks, should Potter attempt such a thing."

Draco relaxed slightly. "Thank you, sir."

"But I truly don't believe he will. After all, if you fall off your broom and plummet screaming to your death several hundred feet below, it will only take attention away from him."

"That didn't help, sir," said Draco tightly.

The pre-Quidditch festivities commenced without a hitch. Harry rose from the Gryffindor table, comfortably stuffed and belching ham, and donned his robes of red and gold. Ron and Ginny -- who played Keeper and Chaser respectively -- were already dressed and ready. Students painted their faces red and yellow or green and gray, depending on where their loyalties lay, but most of them went for red and yellow, as it was no secret that Gryffindor was favored to win. Pansy had to speak sharply to Goyle to change his face colors. The big lout refused until she threatened to step on his big toe, and then he switched to green and gray with the greatest reluctance. He was tired of backing the losing team.

"C'mon, get a move on, Remus!" Sirius demanded at the high table. Lupin raised an eyebrow and slowly drank down the rest of his hot chocolate. Sirius paced back and forth. "C'mon, what are you waiting for? Your funeral? Hey, you never held a funeral for me, did you?"

Lupin set down his cup and wiped his mouth. "No. We didn't have a body, so we weren't sure how to go about it. And then, just when we'd decided on a simple memorial service, you returned and it seemed rather pointless."

"Oh." Sirius's face turned wistful. "Pity. Maybe I should have waited a little longer. I would have liked to hear what you'd say about me."

"Nothing good, naturally," said Tonks.

"Nymphadora was going to sing," said Lupin, gesturing at the witch.

"Don't call me Nymphadora, Remus," she replied, shuddering. "Yeah, I'd planned on 'Sonny Boy.'"

Now it was Sirius's turn to shudder. "Perhaps I came back at the right moment, after all."

"Oh?" asked Tonks, challengingly.

"Yeah. I've heard you sing." Sirius checked his watch again. "Remus, come on!"

Lupin sighed and stood. "It's not like we're not going to miss anything. Harry will just catch the snitch again. Hardly worth bothering about, really."

Tonks waggled her head from side to side, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. "I always find Quidditch more fun to play than to watch," she said.

"I like watching Quidditch," said Sirius. "It reminds me of old times back at Hogwarts, cheering on James." Sirius's face turned reminiscent. "The good old days."

"Why didn't you play at school, cousin?" asked Tonks as they strolled out towards the field. "You're a good flier."

Lupin laughed before Sirius could reply. "He tried out for the team, all right! And they took him on as a Beater. He played exactly one game, during which he attempted to take his flying motorbike onto the pitch, charmed the bludgers to sing 'Hit Me With Your Best Shot,' and then spent ten minutes arguing with the referee over some Slytherin he backhanded with his club. Slytherin got about sixty penalties out of all of this, and won the game by three hundred and ten points. James was furious! Didn't talk to Sirius for a full week, which for James was something of a record."

"That ref was an idiot," muttered Sirius, with all the ugly bitterness that only a long-held Quidditch grudge could afford. "Anyone could see I didn't mean to backhand that Slytherin with my club."

"Even though you yelled 'take this, you slimy cheat' right before you did it?" Lupin asked wryly.

"It was 'stop pulling on my goddamn feet'!" Sirius protested.

Lupin raised an eyebrow. "I thought he accused you of pulling on his feet."

"Are you taking the word of a Slytherin over mine? Because if you are -- " Sirius began heatedly, but Tonks interrupted, holding up her hands in the shape of a T.

"Ding! Ding! Back to your corners, boys. Let's just enjoy watching the game and being out of that stinky great hall. Phew! If you'd told me it was going to smell like that, I might not have accepted the position, Remus."

"That's why I didn't tell you," Lupin replied practically. "Anyway, it couldn't smell worse than Hagrid's hut."

She shuddered. "Oh, that thing? It's been condemned. I've got a bunch of fellows from the Magical Wrecking Crew come to raze it Thursday. Nice of you to offer me a place to kip until then, Remus."

"Remus offers his bed to a lot of people," Sirius growled, still put out. Lupin scowled at him over Tonks's head.

"What are you implying, Padfoot?" he asked coolly.

"Oh, nothing. Nothing that I haven't said a thousand times already. Don't know why I thought you might have changed, Remus. Don't know how I could have imagined that my death might change you."

"Well, it's not much of a death now, is it?" retorted Lupin.

They came to a stop before the entrance to the Quidditch field. Lupin stared levelly at Sirius, who glared angrily back. Tonks looked from one man to the other. "What's going on here, guys?" she asked.

Sirius let out his short bark of a laugh. "Haven't you figured it out yet, cousin? Moony's up to his old tricks again."

"I'm twelve years younger than either of you," she reminded him somewhat testily. "I don't remember any old tricks."

"This is not the place for this, Sirius," said Lupin, but Sirius paid no attention.

"So who else is on your 'to do' list, Moony? You're not going to have a crack at Snape again, I hope."

"For goodness sake, Sirius. . ." Lupin shook his head and turned on his heel. "Sorry; I'm not in the mood for this. Enjoy the Quidditch game. I'm going to the library." He walked off across the grounds, passing right through the ghostly Hagrid, who stopped and scratched his head in bewilderment -- he apparently still hadn't figured out he was dead. Sirius and a very frustrated Tonks were left behind.

"Remus? What's this all about? Come back here!" She started to go after him, but Sirius caught her arm.

"Let him go," he said, his anger ebbing. "I shouldn't have said that Snape thing. I'll apologize later." He sighed. "Let's just go watch the game."

Tonks stood her ground. "What's going on here?" she demanded.

Sirius grinned wearily. "You're sleeping with him, aren't you?" he asked.

Her face turned red -- literally, being a metamorphmagus, but she held her ground. "If you're referring to Remus and not Snape. . . yeah. What of it?"

"So am I."

She shrugged. "I know."

"Did you know there are probably half a dozen others as well? Rosmerta. Kingsley, I bet. Probably Molly, possibly Bill and Charlie -- "

Tonks's eyes were bugging. "Is this a joke, Sirius?"

"A joke?" Sirius shook his head. "Maybe a slight exaggeration, but a joke -- nah. If James were still here, he'd tell you to. Remus nailed him too, before he married Lily. Come to think of it, maybe he got her as well," added Sirius thoughtfully. "Anyway, I'm just warning you that that werewolf will take a shag at virtually anything that walks and a few that don't. He's always been this way -- I don't even know why I blew up at him like that."

Tonks shook her head. "I thought there were weird vibes getting passed around whenever Remus entered a room," she said. "Y'know, at Order meetings and the like. But I'd never have guessed that he was, well. . . "

"A slut?" Sirius finished for her.

"Yeah. I mean, he looks so pale and thin and shabby." She shrugged. "I don't know; he looked like he needed a little love and attention." She paused and thought it over. "Which I guess is the point."

Sirius bark-laughed again. "Exactly! The secret of Remus's success. That and the blasted werewolf business. Animal attraction, or something."

"I thought wolves mated for life."

"Tell that to Remus. He seems more bent on inseminating the entire pack." Sirius jerked his head towards the stadium. "Let's go take our seats."

She paused. "Are you sure we shouldn't go round up Remus?"

"Nah, he's probably just as glad for an excuse to skip the game. He's never been as keen on it as the rest of us."

"All right." She followed him in, blinking in the sun, instinctively cupping her hands over her ears to muffle the sound of hundreds of shrill little voices cheering. She wrinkled her nose. "God, they're still farting. Don't they ever stop?"

"Probably won't so long as Dumbledore keeps them on an all-meat diet." They began climbing the steps to the spectators' box.

"Sirius?"

"Mmm-hmm?"

"What was that about Remus and Snape?"

Sirius sighed. "I'll tell you later. It's along story, and frankly, a disturbing one." He brightened. "I could tell you the one about Remus and your mother, however."

"Sirius?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

The players emerged onto the field just as they were taking their seats. Tonks stood and called: "Wotcher, Harry!" as he flew past, and the little hypocrite had the audacity to smile and wave at her. Tonks hadn't yet noticed the fishy looks several of the students were giving her, and even if she had noticed, she would have failed to connect Harry Potter with their sudden mistrust of her. "Think Gryffindor will win?" she asked as she sat down.

"Yes," said Sirius, taking an ice-cold jug of pumpkin juice from out of nowhere and balancing it precariously on the back of the seat in front of him. When he had it placed just so, he sat back with a smile. Tonks eyed the jug quizzically.

"Refreshments?" she asked.

"Sure," replied Sirius innocently, "help yourself."

"Maybe later," decided Tonks, shielding her eyes with her hands. "They're about to start."

Madame Hooch blew the whistle. Harry barely bothered to register the sound. He was high up in the air above everyone else, the better to get a view of bludgers at work. Glancing idly about, his gaze was caught by a small flash of gold. Harry toyed with the idea of how evil it might be to catch the snitch twelve seconds into the game, before most people had even settled properly into their seats, but decided against it. Not dramatic enough. Deliberately he turned his eyes away and looked for his competition instead, chuckling lightly as a bludger smashed a Slytherin's arm off at the elbow. Ah, well, these things happened during Quidditch. Madame Pomfrey could probably glue it back on anyway.

Draco Malfoy was keeping his distance. Despite all of Snape's reassurances, nothing short of physical force would induce him to go near Harry Potter. He kept one eye on Harry, one eye alert for the snitch, and as a result, had no eyes left to watch out for bludgers. Therefore, it really shouldn't have been a surprise that he was in the air barely five minutes before one smashed right into his Nimbus Two-Thousand-and-One and broke the tip clean off. Without its front end, the broom didn't steer properly, and Draco immediately panicked, clinging to the shaft for dear life. He rolled over at least twice before he hit the ground, Harry's goat-like laugh ringing in his ears all the way down.

Harry was vastly amused by Draco's misfortune, although his adversary did not hit the ground quite hard enough to satisfy him. He circled above, watching the commotion fifty feet below him and wondering what to do. If Draco were too badly injured to continue, they'd have to bring on a relief player, and none of the other Slytherins were interesting enough to keep Harry amused for four minutes. But if Draco were injured and kept playing anyway -- Harry frowned. That would mean oodles of sympathy for Draco, and none for him. That wouldn't do. Well, if Draco played hurt, Harry would just have to find a way to get himself injured even worse so everyone would know who the brave and special one was. No sacrifice was too great for the altar of Harry's ego.

"I say, that was a nasty fall," commented Sirius, frowning. Tonks had, no doubt as Sirius had intended, spilled cold pumpkin juice all over the people in the row in front of them when she'd leapt to her feet for a better look. She'd also spattered the seats to either side -- Tonks's clumsiness was rightfully legendary. Sirius had, of course, been prepared with a repelling charm and wasn't so much as damp.

"Is he all right, do you think?"

Sirius squinted, stared hard, and finally shrugged. "I can't see what's going on down there, exactly," he said. "Snape's with him, and one of the custodians -- his father, I believe. Play's still going on; it could all be over in a moment if Harry catches the snitch."

As one, they turned to regard the Boy Who Lived, flying high above them. He hiked himself an inch or two off his broom to fart, and then settled back again more comfortably. Sirius sighed.

"Doesn't look like he's in anything of a hurry, does it?" remarked Tonks.

"Maybe he intends to catch it just as Draco's remounting," said Sirius, "or something sadistic like that."

"But Draco's broom is broken, look!" she said, pointing. "What can they do now?"

"Lend him a school broom -- and those things are ancient." Sirius shook his head. "I almost feel sorry for Slytherin. They don't have a chance now."

"No," said Tonks, "so why is Draco looking so happy?"

Sirius frowned and looked again. Sure enough, there was a wide smile on Draco's face.

"Gee, I tried my best," the blonde boy was saying. "Too bad it didn't work out."

"That was pathetic," Lucius moaned, hiding his face in his hands. "I am utterly humiliated. Once again you've brought shame on your family, Kreckor!"

"Draco. And shut up, Pop. You hate brooms. Always talking about how they mash your nuts."

"That's true," agreed his father, grimacing. "Stupid form of transportation, really -- it's a wonder all wizards aren't sterile. Maybe that's why so many of them breed with muggles."

"Never mind that now," broke in Snape impatiently. "You have to get back out there Draco, before Potter becomes dangerously bored. Go choose a school broom."

Draco's face fell. "But I did my best already!" he whined.

"Nonsense! You weren't out there above five minutes." Snape turned on his heel and was about to go fetch a broom himself, but was spared the effort by Pansy, who came panting up, an anxious look in her eye.

"The school brooms have all disappeared!" she cried.

"What?" demanded Snape, eyes flashing.

"They're gone! No one knows what happened to them."

None of them was ever to discover what had happened to the school brooms, but the truth was very simple. Harry had awakened in the middle of the previous night with a sudden craving for a wiener -- the kind you eat on a bun with mustard and sauerkraut, not the kind you find in dirty, slash-ridden stories, so don't go there. Although he could have snuck down to the kitchen and had the house elves prepare him a dozen, he got the idea that it would be much more fun to cook them himself. So he'd awakened Ron, Dean, Seamus, and Neville, and the five of them had had a little pre-game celebration out on Hogwarts' grounds. The old brooms had burned nicely and imparted a tasty smoky flavor to the wieners. Curiously enough, Tonks had never shown up with questions -- she seemed to be somewhere else entirely. Lockhart, on the other hand, had swiftly arrived on the scene. And joined in with the festivities just as promptly.

"Well, I guess that's that." Draco's jaw ached from holding back a grin. "I can't fly if there aren't any brooms."

Snape whirled around and scanned the sky. Harry was performing lazy loop-the-loops on his broom, much to the appreciation of the crowd, but that wouldn't keep him entertained for long. "You have to get airborne!" Snape hissed. "The game won't end until the snitch is caught and Potter's not trying."

"Kind of a stupid loophole, isn't it?" drawled Lucius.

"I'd love to go back out there, Professor," Draco lied earnestly, "but there aren't any brooms, so I can't."

Snape glanced about frantically, seeking a means out of the predicament. His eyes settled on the mop Lucius was still leaning on.

"Aha!" he crowed, snatching it from the blonde man's grasp. Lucius let out a cry of dismay, but Snape ignored him. "We'll enchant this to fly," he said, "it's the same shape."

Draco's face collapsed again. "But. . . that's illegal!"

"This is an emergency, Malfoy. Now come over here and help me charm this thing. Both of you!"

Slowly, reluctantly, the Malfoys gathered around, Lucius fearing for his mop's safety, Draco worried that the spell might actually work. Pansy hovered in the background, watching wide-eyed. A couple minutes passed.

"I say, what's going on here?"

All three of those gathered around the mop jumped at the sound of Professor Flitwick's voice. He'd come wandering over to see what was holding them up, and they'd been concentrating so hard they hadn't heard him approach. Snape recovered first.

"All the school brooms have vanished, so we're trying to enchant this mop to fly so Draco can at least continue the game," he explained, after the brief, necessary search to locate the little man. Lucius immediately began giggling helplessly. Lucius had a thing about midgets -- he found them hilarious. Whenever he felt he needed cheering up, he popped in a copy of The Wizard of Oz and laughed at all the Munchkins. Just more proof that insanity ran deep in the Malfoy gene pool.

"Ah? Oooh. . . Oh!" Flitwick's eyes brightened with delight. "That sounds like an interesting challenge. Allow me to aid you."

"Please do," said Snape, moving aside to give Flitwick room. Unfortunately, this put him next to Lucius, whose eyes began watering with mirth. Flitwick had taught Lucius while he was at Hogwarts and, as Lucius had giggled through all his classes, was convinced he was simple-minded. He patted the blonde man soothingly on the kneecap, causing him to nearly collapse with laughter, and said: "Shall we have a go, then? I don't think it'll prove too difficult."

"Thank you, Professor," said Draco between clenched teeth, sweating with terror.

His fears proved to be well-founded. With Flitwick's expert assistance, the broom began to hover almost instantly. A couple minutes later, and it was humming softly to itself, as if raring to go. Lucius stopped giggling long enough to stare at his mop as if he couldn't quite believe it.

"Well, I think that's done it," said Flitwick cheerfully, mopping sweat off his brow. "Go ahead, Draco, give it a go."

Reluctantly, feeling a complete ass, Draco swung a leg over the handle of the mop and took a grip on the end. Experimentally, he lifted his feet, and then, when the mop didn't instantly collapse beneath him, kicked off the ground.

He rose like a bubble. Swift, effortless, and utterly gentle. Amazed, he urged a little speed out of the mop and it responded like a peregrine falcon.

It was the best mount he'd ever been on. Could wizards have been using the wrong means of transportation all these years? Or was it merely all the lemon-scented polish his father had rubbed into the handle?

Whatever the reason, he zoomed easily past Harry Potter; saw The Boy Who Lived's mouth fall open. He tried braking, and the mop stopped as if on a dime, but without any nasty sudden jerking. The watching crowed 'oohed' in amazement.

I could win the game with this, he thought, astounded -- but quickly put the thought out of his head. If Harry Potter was beaten by a Slytherin on a mop, there was no telling how dreadful his wrath might be.

Remembering his precarious position, Draco glanced behind in time to see Harry racing towards him, his body bent low over his Firebolt and his face a determined mask of vengeance.

Draco panicked. Suddenly all he wanted was to get as far away from Harry as possible. He urged the mop forward, and it shot ahead so fast it looked as if Harry had backed away. Before he quite knew what was happening, Draco found himself on the other end of the field with Harry's enraged 'bah!' ringing in his ears.

All I have to do is keep away from him until he catches the snitch, thought Draco to himself, trying to steady the wild pulse of his heart. My mount's faster than his, so if he wins the game, he should be satisfied and not try to get me. All I have to do is keep away from him.

But that was not going to be that easy.

Harry had been prepared to cackle gleefully at a clumsy Draco Malfoy, lurching through the air like a drunken buzzard of the back of the old mop. He was therefore thoroughly caught out when the mop proceeded to outperform Harry's own special Firebolt, the gift from his dear, not-entirely-departed godfather, Sirius Black.

If Draco beats me on that thing, I'm going to yell at Sirius for not giving me a mop, thought Harry furiously. Once again, life was not going according to the script in Harry's mind.

But there was still time. He could catch the snitch and win before Draco completely got the hang of the mop. Green eyes narrowing, Harry scanned the sky for a glimpse of the snitch. But it was nowhere in sight. Which meant it could be --

On the other side of the field. Muttering imprecations under his breath, he launched himself forward with a show of acceleration that would have impressed the audience had they not seen Malfoy's mop in action.

Damn Malfoy and his sneaky underhanded tricks. Probably broke his broom on purpose so he'd have an excuse to charm the mop. The big cheater. Harry would show him. Oh, yes; Harry would show him good.

"I say, is that a mop Malfoy's riding?" asked Gilderoy Lockhart, who had been attracted by all the screaming and nearly wandered onto the pitch until Professor Sprout guided him away. Sirius looked up and groaned. Lockhart was wearing a particularly foul set of lacy lilac robes and a jaunty little cape with blue sequins.

"Hello, Gilderoy. Yeah, it's a mop. The one Lucius Malfoy has been carting all around Hogwarts recently, I believe."

"Nice, chap, Lucius," said Gilderoy vaguely, sitting down on one of the pumpkin-juice soaked seats.

Tonks shook her head. "I can't believe Dumbledore hired Lucius Malfoy."

"I can," muttered Sirius, who had less respect for the old noodle-head.

"I mean, the man was in Azkaban. . . "

"That mop has simply excellent control, doesn't it?" interrupted Lockhart, and began to laugh. "To think, all this time, I thought they were supposed to be used for cleaning!"

Sirius rolled his eyes. "The real question is, why is Malfoy riding a mop instead of one of the school brooms?"

Lockhart let out a prolonged hot dog belch. "Excuse me," he said.

"Whatever the reason, I want one," said Tonks wistfully, standing with her hand shielding her eyes from the glare of the sun.

"Maybe Remus can get you one for Christmas -- if he has any cash left over from his whiskey and chocolate budget, which is unlikely." Sirius whistled soundlessly as Draco once again streaked away from Harry. "Well, this tears it. Suddenly Slytherin has a proper chance -- and it's about time Harry was actually challenged."

"I'm sure he'll appreciate it," said Lockhart, who wasn't exactly sure who Harry was.

"I'm not," countered Sirius. "The only time he ever lost was when the dementors attacked and he fell off his broom. Was he furious afterwards!"

"Who beat him?" asked Tonks, interestedly.

"A Hufflepuff named Cedric Diggory caught the snitch."

Her brow furrowed. "I know that name."

"He's the boy who was killed by Lord Voldemort -- exactly one year after that Quidditch match. Harry was the only witness. Personally, I think it's too much of a coincidence."

"Oh, come on now!" Tonks laughed, but stopped when Sirius didn't join in. "You are just joking. . . right?"

"Maybe a little," acknowledged Sirius. "But it's no secret that Harry is good at holding grudges. I'd be -- "

"They've seen the snitch!" Tonks shrieked as the two Seekers went into a dive.

"My pants are wet," said Lockhart.

Draco had indeed seen the snitch, but he had no intention of catching it. What he wanted to do was lead Harry to it so Harry could finally catch it and put an end to the interminable, hellish match. Then while Harry was celebrating yet another Gryffindor victory, Draco could sneak safely away and pretend to sulk, all the while rejoicing in having survived the game.

So far it seemed to be working. Harry spotted the snitch and went after it like it was made of ham. Just to keep up appearances, Draco went after it too. If he didn't, he reasoned, Harry might break off the chase to come after him -- he wasn't sure, but he knew Harry had to be seen triumphing over the odds to be satisfied.

Draco slowed down his mop so he wouldn't overtake Harry and catch the snitch by mistake. Harry peered over his shoulder and cackled with satisfaction before reaching his hand out for the snitch --

-- which veered off at the very last second and headed directly for Draco's face. Harry's fingers closed on air. The Potter lad let out a cry of frustration and wrenched his broom around.

Draco yelped as the snitch came flying at him, followed closely by Harry Potter. All he could think to do was duck, which he did barely in time to avoid getting smacked between the eyes by the little golden ball. But before he could breathe a sigh of relief, Harry went zooming by overhead. Perhaps inadvertently, Harry's right knee collided heavily with Draco's left shoulder. The impact caused Draco to turn a flip in mid-air, and for the second time that game, he was in danger of crashing to the ground.

His left arm had gone almost entirely numb from the collision. Flailing desperately, hoping to catch a grip on his mop through sheer luck, Draco felt something smack into the palm of his left hand. Instinctively, his fingers curled around it, even as his right hand almost miraculously caught hold of the mop handle. The marvelously responsive mop instantly settled, going into a gentle glide that gave Draco time to recover. And to wonder what that great roaring in his ears was -- had the collision damaged his hearing?

A second later, the roaring registered as cheering. Draco looked at the stand to see a wave of green and silver. Slytherins were jumping up and down like kernels in a popcorn popper, pounding each other on the backs and screaming in apparent delight. Confused, Draco glanced down at his own left hand, to which sensation was slowly returning.

Clutched between his fingers was the golden snitch. He'd won his very first Quidditch match against Harry Potter. A match he'd had no intention or desire to win.

Looking up, he gazed directly into the smoldering green eyes of the Boy Who Lived. Steam was practically coming out of Harry's ears, and he was breathing heavily between his teeth. A Grim couldn't look half so terrifying.

Perhaps Draco could be forgiven for fainting just then.

"He won," said Sirius, stunned. "I can't believe it -- he beat Harry! Remus will be sorry he missed this after all."

"He's shocked too," said Tonks. "Look, he fell off his broom." They watched Draco's body plummet as every teacher in the stands waited for someone else to take care of the problem.* It was kind of like a game of chicken among the staff, only with somebody else's life on the line. Lockhart eagerly raised his wand, but fortunately for Draco, Sirius wrestled it away from him in time. Finally Grubbly-Plank, who really wasn't into these games quite as much as the others, raised her wand and halted Draco's fall. The blonde boy settled safely to the grass below. A minute later, the cheering Slytherins ran out to swamp him and he was lost from sight.

Sirius turned from the spectacle with a humph. "I must say I wish it was another house that finally beat Harry."

"Poor Harry," said Tonks, standing. "His own godfather is happy that he lost."

"I just think it'll be good for his ego," replied Sirius, shoving his hands into his pockets and trudging after her. "His head has needed deflating for quite some time now."

"I don't believe he's as bad as you make him out to be," said Tonks with a shake of her head. "Let's go cheer him up. He's probably feeling like he let his team down, the poor kid."

They made their way to the Gryffindor changing room, where the 'poor kid' threw a chunk of wood at Sirius's face the instant he saw him. Sirius ducked just in time and it hit the wall behind him and left a big black mark. "Why didn't you ever buy me a mop, godfather Sirius?" Harry screamed. "I could have won that game. I COULD HAVE WON THAT GAME!!!!!"

Sirius winced and unpopped his ears. "Forgive me for buying you a five hundred Galleon racing broom instead of a ten Knut cleaning mop, Harry," he said dryly. "How was I supposed to know Lucius Malfoy's old mop could outperform a Firebolt?"

"You could have done some research, godfather Sirius. You could have run some tests. But no! You let me be beaten in public by Draco Malfoy! My life is ruined!" Harry flung himself on a bench and wept hot angry tears. The rest of the Gryffindor team took advantage of his distraction to scuttle out the door.

Tonks tried her best, kneeling by the bench and patting Harry on the shoulder. "It's all right," she soothed, "it's only one game. You can still win the Quidditch Cup for Gryffindor. After all, your Firebolt is still a very fine broom."

"I'm never gonna ride a Firebolt again," said Harry with immense sulkyness. "They're shite, and I hate them. I want something better."

"Fine, but you'll have to buy it yourself," Sirius reminded him, leaning idly against the wall. "I'm dead and you inherited all my money."

"BAH!" screamed Harry, outraged by the notion. It was so unfair. He deserved a present after this dreadful turn of events.

"Besides, Harry," said Tonks, still trying to comfort him, "there really aren't any brooms better than Firebolts. Maybe all you need is a little more practice -- "

"I'm perfect already!" Harry shot to his feet, face bright red with indignation. "And I'm not riding a Firebolt again! Matter of fact, I chopped mine up!"

"What?!" exclaimed Sirius, pushing himself away from the wall. He took a closer look at the piece of wood Harry had chucked at him. It was sleek and fine and had gold lettering and a few numbers stamped on it. "Harry!" moaned Sirius, "you didn't!"

"Never liked it anyway," replied Harry with nasty satisfaction. "It was a horrible present, actually. Honestly, godfather, why didn't you get me something I liked?"

Sirius counted to ten, and then to fifty when ten wasn't high enough to keep him from strangling his godson on the spot. "You liked your Firebolt well enough when everyone in school was slobbering over it," he said, calmly enough. "You liked it when you won game after game with it and when you used it to get past the Hungarian Horntail."

"It was okay," said Harry, refusing to concede the point. "I would have preferred a pig farm. And what did you get me for last Christmas? Books! God, you really hate me, don't you?" Harry's lower lip wobbled and he began sniffling again.

"I didn't even buy the damned books," said Sirius, exasperated. "Remus chose them because I was stuck in the house, remember? And -- Why am I defending myself?" he asked disgustedly, knocking himself in the head. "If you didn't like the presents I gave you, that's just too bad. Haven't you ever heard it's the thought that counts?"

"No," said Harry, who, after all, had been raised by the Dursleys, "it's the quantity that counts. And I'm afraid you fail in that department, godfather Sirius. In fact, you suck on toast." He wept some more.

Sirius flung his hands in the air. "That's it, I quit!" he exclaimed. "What the hell; I'm dead anyway. Seems my obligations to you should cease."

"Oh so that's it, is it?" demanded Harry, tears welling up so thick and fast they poured over the rims of his glasses. "You died just so you wouldn't have to look after me anymore! God, nobody wants me and I'm so alone and unappreciated."

"I'm leaving now," Sirius said to Tonks, who was looking slightly greenish at the exchange. "If you want to stay and try to cheer him up, feel free, but don't expect any miracles unless you know how to cut him open and stuff a new personality inside." He stalked out of the room. Tonks hesitated, but bravely turned to confront Harry again.

"I know you're not feeling very happy right now, but don't take it out on Sirius, okay?"

"Why not?" asked Harry sulkily. "He deserves it, and more. Neglecting me most of my life -- "

"He was in Azkaban most of your life," Tonks corrected.

"Oh, right, like that's an excuse! And then he busts out and expects me to fawn all over him and be delighted with any crummy bit of junk he gifts me with. . . " Harry's voice trailed off as he brooded over all the wrongs that had been done him.

Tonks was astounded by Harry's ability to rewrite history, but she tried to steer the conversation onto saner grounds. "Do you want me to try to repair your Firebolt, Harry?" she asked. "It's not really my area, but perhaps if I get Professor McGonagall to help me, or Professor Flitwick -- "

"STOP GOING ON ABOUT THE BLOODY FIREBOLT! I SAID I WAS NEVER GOING TO RIDE ONE AGAIN AND I MEANT IT!"

"But Harry," said Tonks, now thoroughly taken aback, "what are you going to do without your Firebolt? All the school brooms have vanished, and they're no good anyway. Are you going to buy a new. . . Harry? Harry, are you all right?"

For a new gleam had come into Harry's eyes and a small grin was beginning to stretch the corners of his mouth. "The school brooms, yes. Hey, Tonks, don't you think it's rather odd that they all vanished the night before the big game?"

"It is strange," she agreed, glad that Harry seemed to be over his fit. She wouldn't have been had she known what foul, cunning little thoughts were circulating inside his evil mind.

"And then Draco Malfoy has the mop charmed, just like that," Harry continued. "I mean, that never would have been allowed if the school brooms were still around."

She hesitated, wondering just what he was driving at. "Do you think Draco Malfoy stole the school brooms so he could ride that mop?"

"Oh, no," Harry said so earnestly she could be forgiven for believing him, "I'd never say such a thing without proof. It's just that his father has been working here, you know, carrying that mop around. The timing's a little odd, don't you think?"

"Hmm." Tonks was beginning to wonder if he hadn't stumbled onto something after all. "Well, perhaps someone should look into it."

"Yes, perhaps," Harry, chewing innocently on a fingernail. "I Mean, I really don't want to cause any trouble, but those brooms were school property, you know. . . "

"That's true," agreed Tonks, standing and brushing off her knees. "I'll talk to Dumbledore about it, if you like."

"Only if you get a chance," said Harry. "It's not urgent or anything."

"No, if someone's stolen school property, they should be punished," said Tonks. "After all, they need those brooms to train the first years and it's going to cost a lot of money to replace them. I'll go talk to him now."

"Well, if you think that's best. Tonks?" he called, as she stepped out the door.

She paused. "Yes?"

Harry paused too. This was going to hurt, but it was probably important to furthering his scheme. "Tell godfather Sirius that I didn't mean all the things I said and I'm sorry." Apologizing (even though he didn't mean it) was every bit as painful as Harry had suspected it would be, but he was rewarded by a wide smile from Tonks.

"I knew you didn't mean it, Harry," she said, relieved. "No one likes to lose, eh?"

"No," said Harry, "but it wasn't Sirius's fault, of course." He managed to smile in return, mostly by thinking of the terrible vengeance that was poised to fall on Draco's head.

"Of course not," Tonks agreed. "And we'll get your broom fixed up in time for the next match. Well, I'm off to speak to Dumbledore. Wotcher, Harry!" She waved and left.

Harry waved back, still smiling. When he was sure she was gone, he rubbed his hands together and started to cackle. God, he was so clever!

He deserved some pork.

* You may be wondering where Snape was during this time. But you see, after the strain of making the mop fly, he felt a serious need for a session with his ukulele. While Draco was falling, he was in the dungeons playing 'Barnacle Bill the Sailor'.