Resonance

Chapter 47 -- The Game of Life

The next morning Harry bounded down the steps, forcing Snape to step backward out of his path. "Off somewhere?" Snape asked in surprise.

"Yep. Ron, Ginny, Hermione and I are going into London for the day," he replied brightly. He stopped and looking hesitant, asked, "That's all right, isn't it?"

Snape tossed one long-sleeved hand to the side and said, "Of course." Harry gave a smile and went to the dining room where he grabbed up toast, quickly buttered. Snape asked, "You will be returning at what time?"

Harry chewed and made a thoughtful noise. "Late, maybe."

Snape thought a moment. "Not later than 1:00, if you would."

"Okay," Harry readily agreed. He was looking forward to this with hungry anticipation. As he stuffed the last of the bread in his mouth, he reached for the Floo Powder.

"Have a good day," Snape intoned. Harry chewing, just nodded. "Do try to exercise some caution." Harry waved him off and stepped into the hearth.

After stopping at Gringott's to change some Galleons into Pounds, Harry and his friends wandered the city in good spirits. They walked in pairs, Harry sometimes with Ron and sometimes with Ginny, who didn't seem to expect anything, which allowed him to relax. When it rained lightly they ducked into a tea shop where they drank three pots and talked for several hours. The sun broke through as they departed, so they walked around Regent's Park and rented paddle boats. A plantsman had to yell at them when their water fight got out of hand. He seemed a little confused as to how they were making so much water fly everywhere without using anything but their hands. Giggling, because they Harry and Ron had threatened, when Hermione sided with the park staff, to dump her into the water to make her transform, they walked toward the the exit to the park. By the time they reached the north side, the scent of food drove them to search for an early lunch.

Stuffed with Indian food, which Ron couldn't stop raving about, they took the underground to the Victoria and Albert. Feet aching after hours of strolling the many, many rooms, they found a pub and settled in to recover. Harry leaned his head back against the paneled wall, exhausted. Only four in the afternoon and this already felt like the longest, funnest day of his life. Hermione had taken off a shoe to rub her foot. Ron solicitously offered to rub it for her, making Ginny roll her eyes. Thirsty, they ordered another round of ales after the first quickly disappeared.

A few other patrons cheered at the football match that was on the tellie over the bar. Harry tried to follow it as Hermione and Ginny discussed shoes. It looked like a very boring game since the players were always stuck on the ground. He watched idly until he was distracted by an old man in an even older appearing cloak, approaching along the booths with a stunned expression on his face. Everyone hushed when he leaned on their table for support.

In a quavering voice he said, "So very pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Potter," while holding out his hand. Harry returned the jittery handshake and wondered just how old the man was, since with his thin hair, age-spotted scalp, and straggly sideburns, he seemed extremely aged. As if reading Harry's thoughts, the man said, "In my day, it was Grindelwald, you know. We thought no one could get any eviler than 'im. Should never think that."

"Jake," the barman said, approaching. "You botherin' these youngsters?"

"It's all right, sir," Hermione quickly said. Harry had just opened his mouth to say something similar. He closed it and shook his head but the man approached anyway.

"No, it isn't," the barman said, putting a hand on Jake's arm, then pulling it back, apparently because he got a kink in his shoulder. "Come on, Jake," he insisted as he rubbed his neck in painful annoyance.

"Really, sir," Hermione insisted. "He's a friend . . . of an old friend." She squinted a bit at the old wizard and said, "You're Jacarro Sazelac, aren't you?"

The man smiled faintly. "Ay, you know this old bloke?" the barman asked, stunned.

"Pull up a chair," Ron insisted, when Hermione elbowed him. "Would you like something?"

"Scrumpy, but they don't serve that anymore," the man muttered nostalgically.

"How about cider? Can we get a cider?" Ron asked the retreating barman, who was shaking his head as he walked.

Jake leaned over to Harry. "Ya' got yourself some fine friends here, young man."

"You mentioned Grindelwald," Ginny prompted, in an interested voice at the same time as Hermione asked, "Did you know Dumbledore well?" Harry waved them to silence as the barman returned with the cider.

"Don't believe a word 'e tells you," the man said, exasperated, as he plunked down the drink. "Mad ol' nutter, shouldn't be on the street." He stalked off.

Jake sipped his cider and smacked his lips. "Cold at least. Yeah, Social try to pick me up sometimes. Never seem to quite manage," he stated easily as though amused. He took another longer drink and said, "I knew Albus Dumbledore. He was older than me, believe it or not, though 'e never seemed to quite look it, the ol' weasel."

"Did you fight Grindelwald?" Harry asked.

Jake half smiled, half frowned, as he considered Harry sideways. "Not in the sense you would perhaps think meaningful. I was Assistant to the Minister of Magic when Grinnywald made his announcement that he was king. He was a mad one--made the announcement to the Muggles too. That was a mess in itself. Fortunately most Muggle newspapers thought it a hoax. Then the fires started. He liked starting fires it turned out and them Muggles certainly noticed those.

"No, the only thing I found myself able to do was keep the Minster, Fishbane, 'is name was, outta Albus' hair while 'e fought him." He studied Harry for a long moment. "Albus was a lot older than you, young man, hundred maybe, but he lost his former mentor, Druis Xerxentot, the finest wizard in those days, in the very first battle. That woke everyone up, let me tell you. People refused to believe he was really dead to avoid believing things had gotten so bad so quick like. No one was used to fighting dark wizards back then, thought they were over all that long ago. Above it."

They all drank and listened raptly as Jake went on. The bartender grumbled when he brought them another round, but not as much as last time.

Jake sipped his second cider. "Fortunately, Grindelwald was a loner, though that just meant there weren't any stupid people dragging him back, neither. Albus put out a call for help for anyone who knew how to fight dark magic, which was considered beneath most witches and wizards back then. Now they teach it to you all, I hear, and don't I know who's doing that was. I did a little searching in the Ministry Archives for anything I could find and sent 'im an owl or two." He shrugged.

His bloodshot eyes took them all in one at a time. "Did you kids all fight Voldemort, or you just keeping Potter company now?"

"They stood in front of me during the final battle," said Harry with laugh of chagrin. "I was a little too distracted to defend myself."

Jake winked at them and toasted them sloppily with his mug. After a large gulp, he said, "Don't get to be my age--your friends'll all be dead." They all gave each other bemused looks while Jake finished his cider. "Well, the misses will be wonderin' where I'm at." He stood up shakily.

"The misses?" Hermione mouthed silently in disbelief.

"Gretel, my fourth. Don't have more than three wives. Second one's the best, remember that," he said to Harry, then chuckled as he shuffled out. When he was outside they all broke out laughing.

"Shouldn't encourage 'im," the barman complained when he came by later.

Harry stared at the time and the last of their drinks. "Maybe we should go too." They all nodded and the barman collected their money, which Harry and Hermione had to count out to avoid any more strange reactions to Ron's and Ginny's money confusion.

Out on the pavement, they were walking a little unsteadily but the fresh air felt good. "Hermione," Ron said jokingly, "will you be my second wife?" This made them all double-over with laughter.

"No," Hermione replied forcefully, making them all laugh again. Harry had a hard time stopping giggling once he started. They stopped at a corner and looked around themselves. "Where are we?" Hermione asked.

Ron reached for his wand, and Harry had to shove his arm to get it out of sight of a group of women walking together in identical t-shirts and fake bunny ears. One wore a veil and little red horns. "Wha' was that?" Ron asked loudly, garnering sharp looks from a few of them.

One street seemed much quieter than the others. "Let's go this way," Harry said, starting out without waiting for a consensus. They walked a few blocks until they reached an area of nightclubs. Harry blinked down into the nearest one. "I love this place," he announced.

Ron laughed. "What are you talking about? You haven't been here."

"Yes, I have," Harry insisted. "With Tonks. Had a great time, well, 'til her ex tried to join us, but . . ."

"What?" the others all said together, moving in closer with avid expressions. Harry looked them over and thought over what he might add to that to improve things. Nothing came to mind. "When was this?" Hermione demanded, insinuating.

"Uh, maybe I don't want to say," Harry said, blushing.

"I think . . . we need another round," Ron concluded. He headed down the steps into the nightclub, Ginny's eyes following him in concern.

"Sounds good," Harry concurred.

In the club the barman gave Harry a friendly hello. Ron leaned over the bar, "Was he in here with a woman whose hair always changes color?"

"Sure, Tonks. She used to come in here a lot."

Ron elbowed Harry painfully before dragging him to the far wall where it was a little quieter. "Why didn't you say?"

Harry shrugged, wondering where he had lost control of his tongue. Hermione eventually brought over two drinks and handed one to Ron. Ginny gave the drink she held to Harry. "Not having any?" Harry asked, sipping gratefully from the straw to cover his embarrassment. She shook her head, looking grim and very Mrs. Weasleyish.


It was just after two when the door of the house in Shrewsthorpe creaked open, following no little fumbling with the lock. Ginny hauled a stumbling Harry across the threshold. When she looked up at the dark figure before them, outlined by the light from the hall beyond, she was very glad she had not joined the others in the last two rounds. The dichotomy of Snape as dreaded professor and Harry's guardian made her lick her lips nervously before she said, "Sir. Evenin', sir. Had to get a portkey to the station. Little worried about taking the Floo, you see," she explained, having had her brother Charlie knocked cold by landing on his head once after a night at the Leaky Cauldron.

Snape didn't respond or make any move to assist. Ginny tightened her hold on Harry's wrist at her shoulder and urged him to step forward, hoping they both wouldn't tumble over Harry's drunken feet.

"Severus," Harry slurred in a greeting.

"You may just leave him here, Ms. Weasley," Snape intoned with just enough edge to chill anyone, let alone a student at Hogwarts.

Ginny cringed, very, very glad that it wasn't she facing this. She wondered how Ron was fairing and whether he had let Hermione convince him to go home with her and make up an explanation tomorrow, as difficult as that would be. "Yes, sir," she said. "Ya' all right, Harry?" she asked, not wanting to simply drop him on the floor. She propped him against the wall and gradually let go of him.

"Yeah, 's great," he managed, sounding happily out of place. "Thanks."

Ginny backed up to the door, wondering if she should say something in Harry's defense. Harry straightened and pushed away from the wall, although he swayed a bit as he stood there. Snape's eyes were barely visible in the dark entryway. Ginny breathed deeply and said, "See ya' later, Harry." As she stepped out, she added quietly, "Probably much later." The door closed quietly and relatched when Ginny pulled tight on it from the other side.

"Hiya," Harry said, working his way down the wall a few feet. "Sorry. I'm a little late, I think."

"Hm." A pause ensued where Harry squinted at his guardian in the dim light. "Come with me," Snape finally said, apparently reaching some decision.

Harry pushed away from the wall and had to immediately catch himself on the other wall, but fortunately, the corridor of the entryway was narrow. Snape grabbed Harry's arm and hauled him firmly away with Harry barely keeping up as they crossed the main hall.

"Ow," Harry complained about the tight grip, but it didn't relax. "Where're we going?"

When they reached the toilet, Snape dropped Harry onto the bench across from the tub and turned the lamp up. "What were you drinking and how much?" Snape demanded.

Harry rubbed his arm where it had been clutched and thought that over. Snape roughly tweaked his chin up, making him reply, "Uh, mead, cider, coupla ciders, something bright blue. They were good," he added.

Snape shook his head and went to the cupboard and looked among the myriad bottles. "I am tempted to simply let you suffer," he stated. "But you may have consumed enough to do you harm." He came over with a very small bottle of black liquid. "You do realize alcohol is toxic in excess quantities, do you not?" he asked snidely.

Harry considered that at length, not looking like he was going to come up with a response. Snape, with jerky movements, opened the bottle, lifted the glass stem out of it and held it horizontal so it would not drip. "Put out your tongue," he said.

"What is that?" Harry asked, never having seen it.

"It is going to make you empty the contents of your stomach."

"Wha?" Harry sounded dismayed.

"Because there is drink in your stomach you have not absorbed yet," Snape explained. His tone continued to harden. "Given your state, I expect you will inevitably do so anyway. You might as well make the most of it. Stick out your tongue."

Harry frowned and turned away. Even seated he was swaying as the room swung on an uneven axis.

"I am not giving you a choice," Snape pointed out, sounding vaguely malevolent now on top of stony. Harry, after a brief battle with himself, opened his mouth. Snape let two drops fall from the stem onto his tongue. Harry put his head in his hands to wait, moaning slightly. "I do hope you aren't expecting sympathy," said Snape.

With a hint of petulance, Harry said, "I just wanted to go to bed."

"You would have awoken most unwell in that case."

Harry frowned as nausea rolled through him. He fought it the first wave, but not the second.

When he stood straight from the toilet, he was handed a warm, damp cloth. Harry cleaned his face and rinsed his mouth thoroughly in the sink. His stomach felt better, but the room still reeled unnervingly. He dried his face and tried to hang the towel back up. Snape took it from him with a sharp motion and tossed it aside.

"What's wrong?" Harry demanded, glancing at his disheveled self in the mirror before looking quickly away, but not without straightening his shirt a bit.

"What is wrong?" Snape echoed in disbelief. "You are incapacitated with drink; that is what is wrong. Have you forgotten that you are a powerful wizard?" he demanded. "Did you consider what enormous damage you could do with that wand of yours in the state you are in?" Harry felt his pockets. "Did you lose it?" Snape asked derisively.

Defensive now, Harry snapped, "No, it's right here," as he pulled it from his back pocket. He didn't admit that it should have been in the wand pocket of his cloak. He did not remember moving it.

Snape crossed his arms, straightened, and sneered, "I admit, I expected better from you. Or more intelligent behavior, at least."

"Why are you being so mean?" Harry demanded, unable, presumably because of the alcohol, to fortify himself against the disapproval.

Snape hmpfed. "You may suffer in the morning then, if that is your desire." He pointed at the door to the toilet. "Go up to your room."

Harry gave him a dark look and tried to stalk past him angrily. He lost his balance, though, and had to catch himself on the doorframe. He clipped the bone of his shoulder and the pain made him angry. "You don't care about me," he muttered.

He didn't see Snape's eyes flicker to the ceiling in annoyance. "No, clearly not. Do you need help getting to bed?" he asked, sounding about as ungracious about the offer as one possibly could. Wounded green eyes came around at Snape, who huffed again in response. "You are hopeless right now," he commented. "Whatever it is, it is better left 'til morning. Come." He took hold of his charge's arm again and lead him across the hall to the steps. At the bottom Harry shook himself free with a jerking motion and stomped up on his own with generous use of the handrail.

Snape followed behind and stood in the doorway, watching Harry weave his way to the bed and fall on it. "I don't understand why I'm not allowed to have any fun. Just because you never have any doesn't mean you have to be so cruel," complained Harry, voice muffled by the duvet.

Snape stepped into the room partway, arms crossed, eyes dark. "It is not cruelty. I simply want to make it eminently clear that I disapprove of your behavior."

"'S cruel," Harry insisted groggily, rolling over and putting his feet, shoes and all, on the bed. His face looked pained as though he might lose control.

Snape stepped over and rather ungently removed Harry's shoes before dropping them on the floor and crossing his arms again. "Shall I have treated you in the manner my father did under these exact circumstances?" he asked harshly. "He took my wand and locked me out of the house, too incapacitated to even get out of the rain." When Harry didn't comment, Snape said more vehemently, "You think it is cruel to make certain you are not sick in your bed, to make certain you actually make it to your bed?"

Harry didn't want to accept that. He rubbed his eyes and said, "Do you have that pink stuff? My head is cracking open."

"You think you deserve it?"

Rubbing his temple now, Harry sat up on one elbow. Sounding close to the edge of control, he murmured, "Didn't I do everything I was supposed to? You said I did. I was tired of remembering being responsible." He rubbed his dry eyes then and added sadly, "I did everything."

"Yes," Snape agreed stiffly, "you did everything." With a slow shake of his head he went out and minutes later returned with a fizzing cup of pink liquid, which he handed over. As Harry gratefully sipped it, Snape said firmly. "Repeat this and you will be grounded for a week. No visitors. Repeat it again it will be two weeks."

Harry finished off the last of the liquid and sighed as the pounding in his head eased. "You're saying I'm not allowed to drink at all?"

"I am saying you are not allowed to lose control to it. There is a crossover point where your judgment about how drunk you are is impaired. Do not cross it again. I am surprised Ms. Granger let you, frankly."

"She was ahead of us," Harry pointed out.

"Good thing Ms. Weasley was behind, then, otherwise none of you may have found your way home."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, remembering Ginny turning down additional drinks. She had looked a little disapproving, he remembered now. Harry dropped back onto the bed, feeling almost normal. He watched as Snape went to the wardrobe, brought over a fresh set of pyjamas and dropped them on the foot of the bed.

Snape re-crossed his arms, still looking disapproving. "Are you set for the night?" he asked stonily.

Harry nodded and reached for his pyjamas which prompted Snape to depart.

Harry was awoken by a knocking on his door. He rolled over groggily, believing it to be in his dream. "Get up," Snape's voice said as he opened the door. Harry just groaned, reminded distressingly of his Aunt Petunia and every morning of the first eleven years of his life. "Up," Snape repeated.

"W' time is it?" Harry asked, his brain feeling like it had an anchor in it, dragging him forcefully down into sleep.

"Eight. I am not going to allow you to sleep late simply because you stayed out late." When Harry didn't move he said, "Up, or I will teach you a spell you will not like." Harry opened his eyes, alarm shaking the lethargy off somewhat. Snape continued in a snarkier tone, "It would be ironic to use it on you as I learned it from your father that way."

"Oh dear," Harry murmured, forcing himself to sit up. "I'm up, I'm up," he insisted, rubbing his eyes hard since they were gritty and ached abominably.

"Breakfast will be on the table shortly," Snape said, making even that sound like a command.

Harry stumbled around the room and managed to put on some clothes, which was difficult as his eyes would not stay open very long at one time. Somehow he made it downstairs and into a chair at the table, where he propped his head up on his hand. He wanted nothing in the world more than to be back in bed, asleep, or at least attempting to sleep. Breakfast appeared. Snape poured him coffee and pushed it closer, even though it was well within reach.

"You must have had quite a bit. The "pink stuff" as you call it usually renders one more recovered than this."

"I had a lot," Harry admitted, forking a sausage and chewing it down. He felt better almost immediately. "Ron must really be hurting," he said, then wondered where he had ended up since the last blurry thing Harry remembered was Hermione trying to convince him to come home with her instead. He also considered that it was nice of Ginny to make sure he got home. "So I'm not grounded?" he asked, thinking of checking up on his friends.

"Not this time. Some jubilation is to be expected when you finish school. I am surprised just how much you indulged in," he added in a dark tone.

"You lose track like you said," Harry agreed, thinking he would definitely have to work out a way to avoid that. Harry buttered his toast and nibbled that down as he thought over the night before. "I'm sorry I said you were cruel."

"I wanted to make it clear I was angry with you. That feeling of lifted responsibility alcohol produces is a trap. I would let you despise me before allowing you to fall into it."

"So, if it does happen again . . . ?" Harry began.

Snape's eyes narrowed and his face, which had relaxed, hardened. "You will not like me, then."

"Yeah, I bet," Harry breathed, feeling cowed and little surprised to be so, especially after last night when he was feeling so independent and self-possessed. Harry sighed and moved his coffee in a way that cued Snape to refill it for him.


Harry took the Floo to the Burrow late in the morning. Mrs. Weasley gave him the usual hug, but it didn’t have much feeling behind it. Ginny sat in the living room reading Witch Weekly. "Didn’t expect to see you so soon," she said.

Harry sat beside her on the worn cushion. Mrs. Weasley headed back to the kitchen and started making cooking noises. Quietly, Harry said, "Snape wasn't happy, but I got off with a warning."

Ginny laughed. "Wow, didn't look like that was going to be the case last night."

"I blackmailed him a bit," Harry said, studying his fingers.

"You what? And how does one do that?"

"I reminded him that I did away with Voldemort," Harry said. "Think I can see Ron?"

"Oh, well." She thought a moment and leaned forward to look into the kitchen. "His punishment is YTBD." At Harry's questioning look, she explained, "Yet To Be Determined. But go on up, what can they do to you? Though, I'll warn you, Ron isn't feeling so good."

Harry glanced at the busy Mrs. Weasley and headed to the stairs. In Ron's room, his friend was lying in bed still, looking a little greenish. "Hello," he managed, upon turning his head to look at Harry come in the door. "You look good," he accused. "How's that?"

Harry reached into his pocket and took out three small bottles, from which he poured out a splash of each into a grungy water glass beside the bed. He held it out to his friend saying, "Compliments of your least favorite Potions professor."

Ron managed to sit up halfway and accept it. "Who, Greer?"

"You never had Greer as a teacher."

Ron sipped the fizzing liquid. "I heard 'Mione complaining enough." He swallowed the rest of it. "Wow," he breathed, blinking brightly. "Get the recipe for that."

"He won't tell me so I think it's restricted."

"Who cares?" Ron exclaimed, sitting up. "No wonder you look so chipper. You get that last night?"

"After being forced to puke."

"I didn't need forcing," Ron said, slipping out of his pyjamas and into some clothes. "I need to go do damage control so this Quidditch match is still possible. Merlin, what was I thinking last night?"

----------------

Harry spent a great deal of time on correspondence. Friends and acquaintances from school all owled over the first few days of the holiday, saying how their time was going to be spent and providing addresses for the summer. Harry wrote back explaining his planned trip and his testing so many times he thought he should learn a parchment duplication spell. Even McGonagall wrote, wishing him luck on his continued application to the Auror's program. Harry wrote a very carefully penned letter back to her. As he sealed it up in an envelope he wondered why he had tried so hard, since he never did before and hadn't when writing her an essay just two weeks ago.

Harry also wrote a long letter to Penelope where he hoped her travels home had gone smoothly and giving her news of others from their letters. He sort of missed her already but he could easily get wrapped up in other things, for a while anyway, until he thought about being really close to her.

Snape came into the drawing room where Harry was working at the desk. "I'm almost done," Harry said, thinking his guardian wanted to sit there.

Snape waved him off. "I ordered you this," he said, holding out a large book, still wrapped in brown paper.

Harry opened it and read the cover. Menacing Mastery, it read. Harry pulled his head back and looked up in surprise. "This was in the restricted section at Hogwarts." When Snape gave him a look that implied he had incriminated himself, Harry explained, "Sometimes we were actually allowed in. But mostly not," he quipped as he opened the book. It contained a lot of very nasty things like disemboweling curses and inferno spells. "Thanks," Harry said. He set the book aside for later study and asked, "I can still go to Switzerland, right?"

"If you can fit it in, I don't see why not," Snape responded as he straightened the files stacked on the credenza.

Harry collected up his letters and the new book and stood to leave. "Thanks," he said again.

Snape shrugged lightly. "You are of age and may do as you wish . . . as long as it doesn't interfere with the peace of this household. Or threaten your future," he added with a sharp look.

----------------

The portkey to the Falmouth match dropped Mr. Weasley, Harry, Severus, Ron and Hermione between the circular towers of a small castle, overlooking an expanse of green lawn and, far below, a bay.

"Ugh, Pendennis," Ron grouched. "I think they do this to all the visiting fans."

"Where is the pitch?" Harry asked.

Ron pointed across the inlet to a similar castle on the other side. "Over there, in a spatial slice. Why did we not appear there, you may ask?" Ron continued to complain.

"Really?" Harry asked, trying to imagine a gap big enough to hold an entire arena. He could see an unusual number of people meandering around the towers across the way. A pair of gulls noisily flew overhead and the wind gusted onshore, making it almost chilly. A figure in a large orange hat disappeared as Harry watched him.

Ron put his hands in his pockets, looking happy to impart Quidditch history. "They've been extending the spells for two hundred years, from when it only seated three hundred rather than fifteen thousand."

"Well, shall we go then?" Mr. Weasley asked. "Coast is clear. Heh, literally," he added with a crooked grin as he gestured at the empty lawn dipping down to hillside out of view and finally the ocean.

Ron quickly turned his bright cloak around so the autographed side faced out; he then took his father's arm. "Can't bloody wait to have the license," he muttered just before they Disapparated. Presently, Mr. Weasley reappeared, graciously offered Hermione an arm and disappeared with another pop!

"We need to find time for those lessons," Harry said, holding up his arm to be grasped.

Near the silver entrance, marked by tall, glistening banners, they found Suze waiting. She gave Harry a nice smile and greeted her professor a little shyly. Mr. Weasley introduced himself warmly, which brought her smile back. The area outside the seating was full of gregarious witches and wizards, some carrying drinks and snacks, others talking and gesturing broadly about the upcoming game.

Just as they found their seats, the sun came out, sweeping the blue-grey light from the stands and making the gilding on the banner poles sparkle. Blinking in the glare, even with the shade of his cap, Harry filed into a row of seats between Suze and Snape. The stands were crowded even this early, maybe because the weather was so nice.

"You don't mind that I'm cheering for Falmouth?" Suze asked, pinching the corner of her grey cloak where a black falcon head logo resided with the encircling motto Let us win, but if we cannot win, let us break a few heads.

"No, not at all," Harry assured her. "There are other Falmouth fans in the visitor's section," he pointed out, gesturing at the two fans just down from them. ". . . so you won't be cheering alone, which is good, because I expect you'll be doing it often, if Ron's assessment of the Cannons' season is accurate."

"Sounds like it is," she opined a little pertly.

"Don't rub it in," Harry insisted with a smile.

"Want anything?" Ron shouted. "I'm going down for treats."

Harry leaned forward to look past Snape and Mr. Weasley. "What do they have?"

Ron started to list many things Harry had not heard of, such as Crusted Caterwauls and Delectable Delicates. "I'll just get you something," he finally said, seeing Harry's expression.

"Thanks."

Ron came back with something that at first Harry thought was an ordinary caramel apple, since it was red underneath, on a stick and smelled of caramel.

"Yum, a Cherry Bomb," Suze said beside him.

"Did you want something?" Harry only now thought to ask.

"No, it's unlucky to get anything before the game starts," she said knowingly.

"Ah." Harry started to take a bite of his treat only to have it spit a caramel-covered fruit ball into his mouth before he even got close. He pretended to expect that and chewed the sticky thing. It tasted pretty good, actually. He tried not to imagine growing up like this, with regular sunny afternoons watching Quidditch, eating exploding candy. Tried, but didn't quite succeed. Snape was eyeing his sweet, Harry noticed when he glanced at him. "Want some?"

"No."

"Certain?"

"Quite," Snape replied in his driest voice.

Harry grinned and opened his mouth for another morsel; the treat was on target again. By the time the teams were being introduced, Harry had had his fill and given it up to Hermione who had originally insisted she did not want anything too sweet. She looked to be enjoying it from what Harry could see this many seats away.

The teams circled. Suze called out to a few of the Falcons by first name, shouting encouragingly. The Cannons fans in front of them turned around a few times in annoyance before finally ignoring her. For someone her size, she really could shout.

The Quaffle was tossed into the air and the teams became blurs of color. The Chudley first possession was wasted on a poor shot and Falmouth came back immediately and only did not score because a misdirected Bludger clipped the shooting Chaser's broom tail. As the game went on, Harry made himself relax, since he really didn't care who won beyond making Ron happy, and Ron seemed happy just to be here.

An off-key song started up among the more orange-clad fans. The words were not flattering at all. Harry glanced down their row and saw that Ron was mouthing the words and glancing at Mr. Weasley, who had his arms crossed and appeared sternly disapproving.

"You don't know the songs?" Suze asked Harry.

"I've never been to a match before."

"Really?" she sounded completely disbelieving.

"I went to the World Cup a few years ago. That's it."

"I was there too. Took months to talk my dad into taking me. Fortunately we left that evening; otherwise, I don't think I'd have heard the end of it."

"Good time to have left," Harry agreed.

"You were there that night?" she asked curiously after cheering a Falmouth goal.

"Yeah. What a night," he said at the memory. "Mr. Weasley sent us into the woods to get out of the way and we lost track of people and then someone sends a Dark Mark over our heads, using MY wand."

"Really?" she blurted, stunned and a little amused. A Cannon had fallen off her broom onto the turf and medi-witches were tending her.

"What are you discussing?" Snape asked when the crowd quieted.

"My last Quidditch match: the World Cup."

"Ah," Snape said somewhat snidely. "Surprising you wanted to go to another, given that."

Down on the field, they were picking up the fallen player on a large orange tarp and a substitution was announced.

"Someone used your wand?" Suze prompted curiously.

"Yeah, and there I was, trying to explain that I didn't know where I'd lost it. I didn't even know what the Mark meant-"

"Wait," Suze said sharply. "YOU didn't know what the Dark Mark was?"

"No," Harry insisted.

Her face twisted in doubt. "Professor, is he telling the truth?" she asked Snape.

The game restarted and Falmouth nearly scored twice, one shot after another, the second shot bouncing off the ring. The crowd groaned. Snape replied. "I assume so. Remarkably naive boy, Harry was."

"See?" Harry said in chagrin.

The game continued. A Falmouth player fell and this time the medi-witches took their time moving him off the pitch. The referee called a rare halt to the game, bringing both Seekers to the ground in the center of the grass where they proceeded to chat like old friends. Harry sat back, wishing he had not given away his sweet so quickly. Buth then, a commotion from down the bench made them lean forward. Ron was red faced and Mr. Weasley had a hold of his cloak, which meant he had a hold, in a way, around Ron's neck.

"Ronald Bilious," Mr. Weasley was stating furiously, "I cannot believe a son of mine would use such language." He tugged Ron before him in Harry's direction. "Harry, would you mind terribly changing places with my son, who is apparently incapable of holding his temper at a harmless Quidditch match."

Harry glanced at Hermione's pained expression, the gaping looks from the two grey-robed Falmouth fans in the next row forward, and Ron's beet-red face. "Sure, Mr. Weasley," Harry replied agreeably. As he stood and let Ron pass, he said goodbye to Suze with ease, knowing that she and Ron wouldn't have difficulty discussing the game. Furious looking, Ron took Harry's seat and crossed his arms. Harry slipped down the row to sit beside Hermione, wondering how long it would be before Ron realized he was sitting beside Snape.

Harry said hello to Hermione, wanted to ask what happened, but the furtive glances from the Falmouth fans with bad haircuts just ahead of them made him hold back. The game resumed, but the crowd remained quiet. One of the Falmouth fans scoffed and said to the other, "Gee hope this one doesn't claim to have fought Voldemort too. What a numbskull the redhead was."

Harry narrowed his eyes and glanced at Hermione. "I see the problem," he said.

She leaned close. "You could take your cap off."

"That would be too easy," Harry returned, watching Falmouth score easily on a simple dodge play. The fans in front of them leapt up and did a strange little victory routine that ended with four hands slapping over their heads followed by bumped hips. "Maybe I haven't missed that much," he commented to himself.

"I would say," Hermione confirmed dryly.

The Cannons finally scored, off an admittedly dirty play involving a Beater-pinch that could have been called as a foul. Harry was glad he wasn't facing the oversized Cannon Beaters. One of the Falmouth fans spun on them and snipped, "That the only way you can score?" Harry, not really wanting to get into a position of defending that, simply shrugged. The man scoffed. "You friends with that loon down there?" he asked indicating Ron.

"Best friends," Harry replied distinctly.

"Amazing he has friends," the thinner man said, the one whose bad haircut left him with a triangular bald spot that Harry had to work not to stare at.

"Yeah," the chubby one on the right agreed gregariously. "Bet 'e also claims to be in the Order. Order of the Pigeon, wasn't it called?" he added with a laugh.

Harry glared at the man as the world tried to close in on him; he could feel the green haze hovering just beyond the sphere of his vision. His hand was on his wand pocket when Hermione jerked him by the elbow. "Harry!" she whispered harshly. He dropped his arm and shook himself. The first man was eyeing him very warily now, but at least it quieted him down.

The score was eighty to ten and the Cannons' Seeker was diving, apparently for the Snitch. The stands rose up, but he either was faking or lost track of it, because he returned to circling high. The fans, happy to stretch, remained standing. Mr. Weasley turned from talking to Snape and asked how things were going. "Fine," Hermione replied brightly. "Harry's only gone for his wand once," she teased.

"Hermione," Harry quietly chastised her. Snape, eyes narrowed, slid past Mr. Weasley with purpose. Harry just heard Hermione's whispered apology as Snape came alongside him in the crowded space and put an arm around his shoulders, gripped hard, and leaned over him. "You what?"

"I was just checking that I had it," Harry insisted, surprised by the concern Snape was showing.

"No green visions?" Snape whispered matter-of-factly.

"No," Harry replied, which was mostly true. He was again surprised, this time by Snape's perception.

The chubby Falmouth fan turned and made faces. He nudged his friend and pointed over his shoulder. The other turned and said, "Ha, he's in trouble with dad?"

Snape looked up and after a pause said, "Something you need, Mr. Trellis?"

Confused, the chubby man asked, "Do I know you?"

"No," Snape replied darkly. "Nor do you wish to."

The man's eyes bugged a little before he turned to his friend. "Dad's a friggin' dark magic goon . . . wonderful."

Snape's eyes narrowed to slits and Harry asked with a touch of innocence, "Not thinking at all about where your wand might be, are you?"

Snape backed off and released him. "As you were, Harry," he said easily, but he remained standing beside him. Gradually, everyone returned to sitting on the benches, when it became clear the game was going on a lot longer.

After Falmouth scored ninety and they were forced to watch the victory dance yet again, Hermione nudged Harry. He looked down and saw that she had her wand up her sleeve. With a malicious grin she whispered something, of which Harry only caught the word "binding". Curious, he watched the two before them. Nothing immediately happened. After a minute though the one on the right began shifting oddly in his seat and stamping his foot. Finally as though exasperated, he reached down and tried to take his shoe off, unsuccessfully. Hermione covered a giggle. Another minute of frantic tugging ensued before the spell wore off.

To Harry's surprise, Hermione immediately nudged him again. She muttered something while glancing at the sky. Harry waited for the result, trying not to be too obviously amused. A gull passed close overhead, then another, one dropping on the shoulder of the left-hand fan's robe and the other on his head. Harry had to duck and pretend brush off his jeans to hide his laugh while the Falmouth fans cleaned up with sweet wrappers.

This time, Harry nudged his friend, after furtive movements to pull his wand into his sleeve. "Caldera Garmentia," he whispered while pointing at the chubby man on the right, who immediately began fanning himself with the colorful team report in his hand and complaining about the sunlight. He had completely unhooked his robe, and was getting dirty looks from the little old ladies in orange in front of him, before Harry canceled the spell.

Snape leaned in. "I assume that was you."

"Why would you assume that?" Harry asked innocently and received a very doubtful raised brow in reply.

Mercifully, the Falmouth Seeker caught the Snitch ten minutes later. Ron groaned in genuine-sounding pain and put his head in his hands. Harry wondered how he could still have been that hopeful. "Better luck next time, I'm sure," Harry shouted to his friend as they all stood up and waited to file out.

The Falmouth fans stood on tiptoe, hoping to find a fast way out. The chubby one turned around with a frown at Snape, who apparently made him uneasy, which made Harry smile. The hot sun was beating down now and Harry pulled off his cap and wiped his brow unthinkingly. The man yelped in surprise, making Harry tense. He avoided the stunned man's gaze but it could not be helped. The man tugged hard on his friend's robe saying, "It's 'Arry Potter, it's 'Arry Potter." This got everyone else's attention as well.

Hermione gave Harry a sympathetic frown when it was clear that the top rows of their section had stopped shuffling toward the exit because everyone had turned to look for him. Harry stuffed his cap into his pocket resignedly. The two Falmouth fans moved away, pushed aside by others moving in. "Eh, did 'Arry Potter make yer shoe too tight?" The thin one asked the other excitedly as they were swallowed by the crowd.

"Oy, imagine that if 'e did," the other said, sounding bizarrely reverent. They glanced back with eyes full of amazement. Harry studiously avoided glancing directly their way. A wizened little wizard came forward from the surrounding crowd and shook Harry's hand in silence, nodding continuously. This cued others to move in as well. Harry shook a lot of hands before the stands emptied out and he could put his cap back on.

As they made their way down to the grass, a group in orange approached. It took a moment to realize it was the Cannons themselves, some still carrying their brooms. Ron grabbed Harry's arm to bring him to a halt and wait for the others to come by. The team stopped. "Oy," one of them said, "We 'eard 'Arry Potter was here."

Harry glanced at Ron, who had gone moony-eyed, and shook his head. He slipped off his cap again and stepped around his friend who seemed to be stuck in place. The Keeper, a tall man with a ruddy face and dark hair pulled back in a short ponytail, came forward and gave Harry a powerful handshake. Beside him, Ron murmured, "Roybus Barbicon," kind of adoringly. Harry stepped back, "My friend, Ron," he said, pushing Ron forward.

"Wow," was all Ron managed, as his hand was shaken.

Handshakes went all around as they were introduced to the team. Harry got a bruising hug from one of the Beaters, a hulking woman with cropped hair who didn't seem to speak any English. "Natasha," Barbicon had to prompt to get her to let go. Natasha finally did, patting Harry on the head and looking teary-eyed. Barbicon then asked, "Can we get a picture? With the team?"

Harry shrugged, but then nodded upon seeing Ron's very hopeful face. They stepped onto the pitch before the goal posts and lined up. Snape and Mr. Weasley declined to get into the picture, but Suze was dragged into it, despite her clear Falcon affiliation. The team photographer, a man about Flitwick's size, bustled about getting everyone adjusted just so before firing off a flash pan that burned like a pyre while he took several pictures.

"Anytime you need tickets," Barbicon said to Harry after they broke up. "Just owl the office; you know our address," he said with a crooked grin and an elbow jab in the direction of Ron's cloak.

"Yep. And thanks for that."

The man made a noise like a hissing scoff. "'S nothing. Really." Harry realized then that the man was actually nervous talking to him. The man's gaze went distant. "Oy, Gregor come over here, meet our biggest fan," he shouted and gestured with his arm. Harry turned as a group of four in plain robes approached. They had a confident swagger to them, although they looked wary as well. "Falmouth Captain," Barbicon said to Harry, apparently noticing his lack of recognition. Suze sidled over beside Harry as the others arrived and rocked up on her toes while biting her lower lip.

"Co-opting our fans," one of the Falcons accused, indicating Suze.

Barbicon replied, "No, just a friend of Harry Potter's here."

"Ah, so it is," Gregor said dryly. His thin sandy hair tossing easily in the wind. He shook Harry's hand perfunctorily. Behind the captain, a bald man with one long eyebrow, lowered it as he looked Harry over closely, making the hair on Harry's neck bristle. Harry shook hands with him too, not giving anything away. The man's eyes sparkled strangely as they exchanged pleasantries. Harry introduced Suze to them who, unlike Ron, didn't seem to be moony at all.

When the four had sauntered off in the direction of the open end of the pitch, Harry said flatly, "Unnerving group."

"They're a little surly, all right," Barbicon commented.

"No," Harry murmured, still feeling uneasy, "it's not that."

Barbicon pushed his shoulders back and watched the four Falcon's step out of sight. "Well, I'll be sure not to insult them to their faces anymore."

"I'd do that," Harry confirmed. He looked down at Suze beside him.

"I didn't like them," she stated, sounding confused.

Barbicon said, "The others are much nicer; too bad they didn't come out."

She adjusted her cloak which had been pushed crooked by the steady breeze. "I don't think I want to play for them."

"Four years is a long time," Harry said reassuringly as he glanced at his guardian who was still gazing over where the four had disappeared. Ron with Hermione beside him was chatting animatedly with a group a few feet away, not paying attention.

"You can play for us," Barbicon said brightly, holding out his broom to Suze.

"What?" one of the others complained; "You were taken off recruiting, remember?"

"Yes, after I brought you in," Barbicon returned teasingly, his ruddy face pulled into a broad smile.

Harry grinned, thinking that Ron had picked the right team to cheer for. Barbicon held his broom out farther to Suze. "That's a Mortabella," Suze said, looking it over.

"Gift from my grandmum," Barbicon stated brightly.

"No," Suze said, shaking her head.

"No, really," the man insisted, sounding serious now. Harry wanted to break out laughing but held back. Barbicon went on. "What position do you play, Keeper?"

"You are teasing me," Suze insisted, clearly not happy about that notion.

Harry said, "He teases everyone, I think."

"'Cept this bloke," Barbicon said conspiratorially, indicating Harry. "Not sure what he'd do to me . . ."

Harry straightened and blinked in surprise, wondering how he appeared to this big man. Suze, giving Barbicon a doubtful look, insisted, "He wouldn't do anything." She accepted the broom though, and looked it over with an expert eye. "Can I really try this?"

"Sure. Just bring it back before the next match."

Suze looked to Harry who gestured that she accept. She shucked her cloak to the grass and kicked off. The team watched her circle and slalom lazily before returning to their conversations. Suze veered suddenly a few times, then headed straight at the tallest bleacher. Barbicon grabbed Harry's sleeve. "What's she doing?"

"Her favorite maneuver," Harry answered calmly. The grip on Harry's sleeve tightened as Suze accelerated and pulled a right angle diagonal at just the last moment to avoid crashing, then flew a fast corkscrew that tightened each turn ending in spin, which she halted perfectly level.

"Her favorite, eh?"

"So her opponent ends up in the hospital wing," Harry said.

After watching her slalom some more, Barbicon said, "You play Seeker, right?"

"Yep. I was out of the hospital wing by the next day," Harry stated reassuringly.

"Toss out the practice snitch," Barbicon said loudly. A blonde man frowned from the other group, but obeyed. The Snitch fluttered a moment just above the ground before taking off under the control of a pointed wand.

The Cannon's Seeker stepped over. "We aren't really having a tryout?"

Barbicon shook his head as Suze gave chase to the Snitch and they all watched. "Broom flies like there's no one on it," he observed after a minute. After two, Suze had caught it despite it being rather controlled rather illusively. She landed with it in hand with one of those braking dives that looks like an imminent collision with the ground.

"Nice broom," she said to Barbicon as she handed it back. She was at least a little out of breath.

"When do you finish school?" the Cannon's captain asked in an innocent tone.

"Four years," Harry supplied

"Oh, good," the current Seeker breathed in relief. "I'll have broken my neck again by then, so that's okay."

Later, while they walked around the lee side of the castle to get to a portkey, Suze asled Harry, "Do you really think I can play professional?" She sounded very hopeful.

"You impressed their captain and had their Seeker worried," he pointed out. Seeing that more was needed, he added, "Why not? Just keep working at it."

She frowned thoughtfully until they came to a halt at a torn crisps wrapper weighted down with a smooth grey rock. "You were wrong, Professor," Suze said. When Snape turned to her curiously, she said, "Winning isn't everything."

Mr. Weasley picked up the wrapper and the rock and held the wrapper out so everyone could reach it. Snape responded, "There are times when it is." His eyes flicked to Harry. "Fortuneately, they are rare."

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