The Man of the Moment

Chapter Twenty: The Ties That Bind

A few hours later, Harry was unceremoniously discharged from the Hospital Wing, and found himself walking past Persephone's office. He was about to go back to the Gryffindor Common Room to chat with Ron and Hermione before going to bed, when he remembered he needed to get some wandless magic practice in. Sighing, he turned on his heel and walked past Persephone's office once again. He paused, and decided to ask her if she could help him. He didn't feel able to push himself into the intense concentration required on his own, and besides, he thought it might help to take her mind off things.

He reached up to knock on the door, except he was distracted by a male voice emanating from behind the oak door.

"...Persephone, I'm sorry..."

"Don't be stupid, Remus," Harry heard Persephone reply. "I was being just as big an idiot. I was angry about what everybody was inferring about my dad. I know he's never going to win any popularity contests, but he's still my dad. Besides, spying is a really tough gig- I only do fleeting, temporary stuff; nine months has been my longest ever stint, and that was here! He's been playing this same charade for years- it does stuff to you, Remus. Sometimes I'm not sure anyone truly appreciates what he's putting himself through for this war. I mean, Sam gets it, but..."

There was a brief pause.

"I don't think you're a coward, Remus."

Harry heard Lupin chuckle warmly.

"I don't believe you think the universe revolves around you, either," he replied. "Well; maybe the solar system..."

"Oh, shut up," Persephone retorted, but Harry could hear the tone of amusement in her voice.

"I hear you've worked out the date that prophecy points to," Lupin commented, changing the subject.

"Yeah; I think so, anyway," Persephone replied, and Harry heard a rustling of paper. "Here- check that out."

"The fifteenth of June?" Lupin sounded startled. "That's rather precise..."

"I'm trying to work out where he might attack, but that's proving difficult. Besides, it's not easy basing an entire defence strategy on what two women said in a trance. I'd prefer a more solid base for such work," Persephone said.

"Sadly, at the moment, it appears to be all we've got," Lupin pointed out. Harry heard an angry sigh.

"I hate this!" Persephone groaned, suddenly.

"What?" Lupin asked, in a concerned voice.

"All this lying, all this fear; the kids here are far too jaded- it means they know what's coming. Oh, and I hate the fact that everyone seems to think the fate of the whole wizarding world as we know it lies on Harry's shoulders!" she exclaimed, and Harry felt his ears grow red under hearing his own name mentioned in a conversation he shouldn't be overhearing.

"None of us want this for Harry, Persephone," Lupin soothed. "We're doing everything we can to protect him..."

"It's unfair," Persephone stated, almost sulkily. "It's unfair to ask a child to shoulder this kind of responsibility."

"I know," Lupin replied quietly, "but he's not a child anymore."

Unable to handle hearing anymore of this conversation, Harry hurriedly knocked on the door to Persephone's office.

"Hang on; I'll be with you in a minute!" Persephone's voice called out, and Harry heard a fire swiftly light up.

"It's me," Harry replied.

"Harry?" Persephone called.

"Yeah."

Suddenly, Harry heard the dull click of her door unlocking, and he pushed the handle. On entering the room, he saw the rather amusing sight of Lupin with one leg in the magical fire, his expression somewhat sheepish. It made Harry think of one of those Muggle films, where the two principal characters would be having a secret liaison, and upon hearing the fateful knock at the door, one of them would have to hide in the wardrobe, or sneak out of the back door.

"Oh, hello, Harry," Lupin said, cheerfully. Harry tried not to laugh.

"Hi, Lupin," he replied, not looking at him. Persephone caught his look, however, and laughed loudly.

"Yeah, it does look a little sordid, doesn't it?" she remarked. "Don't worry, Harry- my intentions are entirely honourable."

Lupin looked at Harry, then at Persephone, and seemed to find her suggestive comments somewhat distasteful.

"You might as well sit down, Remus," Persephone said, gesturing towards a chair. "I'll put the kettle on."

Lupin patted her on the shoulder.

"Allow me," he offered, and proceeded to tap the nearby kettle with his wand, before rummaging around in Persephone's open cupboard in the search for some tea leaves.

"So, what's the matter, Harry?" Persephone asked. "Quidditch getting you down?"

"No," Harry replied, confused by her statement. "I wondered if you could help me with my wandless magic practice. I don't feel like I'll be much good at focusing myself alone at the moment. I just feel, well, tired, I guess."

Persephone smiled.

"No problem, Harry," she said. "I'm not surprised, to tell you the truth; you've spent most of today in the Hospital Wing..." She trailed off, evidently not wanting to mention Malfoy, although Harry imagined it might well be more for her own benefit than his. He could tell by the way her shoulders stiffened upon the thought that she was still intent on killing him if he crossed her path again.

She briskly got up, and muttered a few incantations to light up the candles sitting around the big blue mat on her office floor.

"Right; if you'd just like to warm up," she instructed. Harry did as he was told, and began the mental preparations for his practice- which basically involved chanting a couple of mantras and making himself feel calm, balanced and serene. Surprisingly, Harry had found this entire warm-up took him a lot less time than it had only two months ago; perhaps he really was getting better. He was even more pleased to realise that this increased speed coincided with his presence in a room containing people- he had often assumed that company would suppress his achievements in creating the peace of mind wandless magic required.

"Persephone, do you have any normal tea?" Lupin chastised in a somewhat jocular manner, the infectiousness of which caused Persephone to laugh.

"What do you mean by 'normal'? That's such an arbitrary turn of phrase," she mocked. Lupin shrugged.

"Something that isn't indicative of your childhood spent on the Continent." He paused over one of the tea caddies. "Green Tea?"

"It aids digestion- plus it has less caffeine than other teas," Persephone pointed out. Lupin glanced over his shoulder at her.

"I know that," he replied, "but why would one own any in lieu of Earl Grey, or some Darjeeling?"

"Early Grey is disgusting," Persephone stated, shuddering at the thought.

"You're abandoning your English heritage, you realise that," Lupin commented, shaking his head in mock disappointment. His eyes swiftly rested upon another of the caddies in Persephone's cupboard.

"Mint tea?" he asked suddenly, a note of disgust in his voice.

"I'm with you on that one," Persephone admitted. "Trevor- one of the Brethren- brought it me back from Morocco- he'd been on honeymoon there. I tried it once; it tastes like half-chewed Muggle chewing gum. Still; it's sort of refreshing."

Eventually, as Harry had begun to channel his magic powers through his hands and was ready to cast some spells, Lupin finally decided upon a particular type of tea and was busy with the teapot.

"Persephone, where do you keep the strainer?" he asked.

"Second drawer down," she replied, gesturing towards her desk. Harry looked across, and found he simply couldn't resist.

"Dextera; Resero drawer," he announced, and a sudden pull at his right hand indicated that something had happened. To Harry's delight, the second drawer down on Persephone's desk began to slide open. Taking a deep breath, he went for the proverbial jugular- he felt confident, he could do it...

"Sinistra; Accido strainer!"

Lupin looked amazed as the tea strainer landed in Harry's left hand.

"Here you go," Harry said, unable to conceal the grin on his face as he gave the strainer to Lupin.

"Harry? You've come this far so soon?" Lupin breathed, his expression a mixture of delight and utter surprise. Persephone looked thrilled.

"Wow, well done, Harry! Is this your first time of sequential spell casting?" she asked, eagerly. Harry didn't understand what she had asked him at all, and he conveyed this.

"She means have you performed spells using both hands before?" Lupin encouraged, sounding just as excited as Persephone. Harry shrugged.

"No, I haven't..."

"How do you feel?" Persephone chimed in, hurriedly.

"Okay, I suppose. I'm a little tired, though," Harry replied. That was no lie; he thought he could fall asleep right there on the blue mat in Persephone's office, and stay there all night.

"Well, come and sit down; have some tea," Persephone urged. "With lots of sugar," she added, quickly, taking a spoon out of the open drawer and adding so much sugar into Harry's cup of tea, he thought he could feel a cavity developing just by looking at it. He sat down in a chair next to Persephone and Lupin, and tasted his tea- it was almost disgustingly sweet, and the shock made him wince.

"It'll do you good," Persephone implored, upon seeing his expression. Lupin appeared to agree with her, so Harry shrugged and carried on sipping his tea.

"You need sugar, Harry- that's why you feel tired. The first few times you try sequential spell casting, you'll feel exhausted. I fell asleep all over the place for the first fortnight- one time, Sam found me in the Intelligence Suite; I was sound asleep, curled up against the leg of Brian Perkins' desk, and dribbling over a picture of Cornelius Fudge on his first day of office that was on the front page of an old copy of the Daily Prophet."

Lupin laughed.

"Now that's something I'd like to see," he teased. Persephone took a slurp of tea, and grunted.

"You probably could, if you asked Sam nicely," she commented. "He took a photograph of that particular occasion, which he now keeps in his desk drawer and thinks I don't know about."

Harry couldn't help but laugh at the mental image he got of that occasion. He looked across at Lupin, who pursed his lips as though trying not to laugh- although he did grin at Harry.

"I'm sure you'll be up to captaining the Quidditch match this week," he said, soothingly. However, the words did not calm Harry in the slightest.

"Quidditch match?" he asked, hollowly. Persephone pulled out her school calendar.

"Yeah- Slytherin versus Gryffindor," she said, nonchalantly. Harry groaned, and buried his face in his hands. He knew there had been something he had to do! The rest of the team had kept asking him about match preparation during their practices... He had to be Gryffindor's worst Team Captain in the History of Hogwarts!

"I forgot!" Harry groaned from behind his hands. He heard Persephone chuckle hollowly.

"You'd better do something about it!" she exclaimed. "There's no way I'm losing to my dad's house!"

Harry could tell she was only half-joking; she and Snape definitely had some curious rivalry going on, one that Harry couldn't hope to understand.

Lupin swirled his cup in his hands, then downed the last dregs of his tea, before setting the cup down on Persephone's desk.

"Hmm- what about that miniature Quidditch pitch Tonks gave you for Christmas, the one with the movable players that predicts the outcome of a match with certain formations?" he suggested. Harry clicked his fingers.

"Yes! That'd work!" he exclaimed.

"Tell you what, you go and chat with your team before bed, and I'll help you do some extra training tomorrow; how does that sound?" Persephone suggested. Harry nodded.

"Yeah, I'll do that," he announced. "Ron will still be up, even if the others aren't... Thanks, Persephone."

"You're welcome," she replied. "Now, finish your tea." Harry grimaced, but gulped down the rest of his disgusting sugary tea.

Lupin got up from his chair.

"I'd better go," he said, gesturing towards the still-burning fireplace. Persephone got up too.

"Of course, Remus," she said, and rummaged around in her desk drawer for some Floo powder.

"Thanks, Remus," Harry said, looking him straight in the eye. "I'll see you soon, won't I?"

Lupin frowned.

"Well, you'll certainly see me during the Easter holidays... I will write to you, Harry," he replied, with a smile that Harry thought made him look much younger.

"Thanks," Harry replied. He wondered if Lupin knew exactly what he was thanking him for- it wasn't just for offering to write to Harry now and then; it was for making up with Persephone, too. In fact, it was just for being around.

"You take care," Lupin instructed. Harry gave him a mock salute.

"Will do," he replied, as Lupin stepped into the fire and left Persephone's office in a puff of smoke.

Persephone looked at her watch.

"Have you seen the time, Harry?" she asked. Harry shrugged.

"No," he answered.

"It's half-past eleven! You'd better go to bed, Harry, or whoever's got you first thing tomorrow morning is going to have my guts for garters," she insisted. Harry grinned. Tomorrow morning he had Charms with Professor Flitwick, who seemed the most lenient of all the teachers he had when it came to student weariness. He often sent them away with wise words, such as one hour of sleep before midnight was worth two after the stroke of twelve.

"Okay, I'm going; I'll see you tomorrow!" Harry insisted. Persephone rolled her eyes at him.

"Goodnight, Harry," she ordered, and he exited her office and heard the click of the automatic locking charm behind him. He assumed Persephone would not be going to bed for a good few hours, owing to her apparent patrolling duties and no doubt her eagerness to extract any more useful information from the prophecy.

"Nimbus Incorporated," Harry said to the portrait of the Fat Lady, who glared at him reproachfully.

"What did I tell you about not making this late-night gallivanting a habit?" she yawned, clearly irritated at being woken up. Harry smiled sheepishly.

"I'm sorry," he said, feebly.

"I should think so too!" she huffed, before the portrait swung open and allowed Harry access to the Gryffindor Common Room.

Upon walking into the Common Room, Harry was greeted with the familiar sight of Ron, except, to Harry's amazement, he was huddled in front of the fire in deep conversation with Hermione. They were both lying on their fronts facing each other, and surrounded by pieces of parchment.

"What are you still up for, Hermione?" Harry asked. Hermione jumped with shock.

"Oh, Harry- I didn't know you'd come back," she said, bashfully. She looked across at Ron, who looked equally nervous, although Harry thought he could detect a slight sense of disappointment, if only for a second.

"What's up?" Harry asked. Hermione pointed at the pieces of paper lying on the rug near the lit fireplace.

"Oh, these?" Ron asked, before sharing another look with Hermione, who nodded.

"We've come up with an idea. For the D.A. reformation," Ron explained. Harry couldn't help but sigh. He was exhausted and busy enough as it was, without extra activities on top of it all.

"We thought, if we teach the existing members, as well as the current prefects, and last year's prefects, too, and any of the lower years that we can persuade- if they want to, of course; we were planning on making our intentions about forming a student army clear from the onset. You wouldn't necessarily have to teach all of the time, either," Hermione explained.

"Yeah, we've thought of a few people we could ask to teach as well- we could get a rota system of teachers going..."

"That's nice," Harry said. He stood still for a moment, uncertain of how to react. Part of him thought it was a great idea; the other part thought it was suicidal madness. He was going to voice this concern, except the words, "Who are you considering asking to teach the class?" came out instead.

Hermione frowned a little, as though deep in thought.

"Well, we were going to ask you, obviously," she explained. "We also thought about asking Persephone- she seems amiable enough for the students to feel comfortable around her in an extra-curricular capacity. We thought about Alex, too; but then we scrapped that idea."

"Why?" Harry asked.

"Because of the students needing to feel comfortable in an extra-curricular capacity," Ron replied. "She scares me, and I know how much of it is put on for the benefit of the students!"

"We did have one other name," Hermione added.

"Who?"

"Neville," she replied. Harry must have looked stunned, for Hermione hastily explained herself further.

"He was getting really good during the D.A. in our fifth year, plus he's fought against Death Eaters and come out alive. I think- we think- he'd be really good."

Harry had to agree with what they were saying; Neville had indeed improved dramatically from the timid first year who exploded cauldrons in Potions class and was terrified of Snape. Plus, Harry couldn't ever shake off the notion that it was one simple choice by Voldemort that had put Harry in the situation that Neville could just have easily ended up in...

Harry soon noticed Ron and Hermione looking up at him expectantly.

"Well, what do you think?" Ron asked. Harry wanted to tell them no way, that it would be impossible and ridiculous. Then he looked into their eyes, and saw that they were not only hopeful, but also determined. They knew they could make this work; they just wanted Harry's consent.

"Alright, I'll do it," Harry sighed. Hermione leapt up from her position on the rug and hugged him tightly.

"I knew you'd agree, Harry," she whispered gleefully.

"As long as you get other teachers as well as me," he insisted. Hermione nodded, and let go of him.

"Of course, of course!" she replied, hastily.

Harry sighed, and stretched his arms above his head, before yawning.

"Right, I'm going up to the dormitory," he announced. Ron looked up at him from his prone position on the rug.

"Yeah, I suppose I should be going to bed too," he said, sleepily. Harry laughed harshly.

"Oh, I'm not going to bed," he replied. "I'm going to sort out Quidditch tactics for the game against the Slytherins we've got on Saturday that I forgot about."

Ron looked askance at him.

"You forgot? Harry- I've been reminding you for weeks!" he insisted. Harry sighed.

"Yeah, I know; I've had things on my mind!" he retorted. Ron looked at him sympathetically.

"I know, mate," he replied. "You'll be fine, though. Third time's the charm, after all."

* * *

"It's cold out here," Harry commented, quietly, as he looked up at the night sky, obscured somewhat by the spiralling branches of the trees. He could see quite clearly the glow of the moon, however.

"It's always cold here," Sirius replied, genially. "You just stop feeling it, 'is all."

Harry nodded, and looked down at the barren earth between his feet. It was starting to crack open- if there wasn't any rain soon, he thought even the old trees would start to wither and die.

"I don't think you ever stop feeling it," Persephone commented, as she wandered around the clearing like some kind of spirit. "It's always here, you just have to acknowledge that," she explained, as she patted her breastbone with her fist, presumably indicating her heart.

Sirius smiled, before walking over to her and wrapping his arms around her, as though they were a couple of newlyweds; they were certainly dressed for the occasion- Sirius in his white suit and overcoat, Persephone in her white bodice and long skirt. For the first time, Harry noticed a large cross, stitched into the fabric of the bodice with silver thread, not dissimilar to the one Hagrid had carved for him as a Christmas present.

"But the power is in letting go," he replied, kissing her tenderly on the cheek. Persephone laughed.

"I bet you say that to all the girls," she teased.

"This is weird," Harry commented. Persephone cocked her head and looked at him.

"Why?" she asked. "Everything has a link- we all have a link."

"I like that," Sirius added. "We all have a place; a part to play and a time to play it."

Suddenly, Harry became aware of a deep growling noise, coming not too far away from his left ear. Slowly, he turned around, and saw a werewolf glaring back at him, his yellow eyes hungry for flesh, and his snout set into a malicious snarl. He jumped, at which the werewolf almost pounced, but Harry fell over onto his back, and the werewolf missed clawing his skin by millimetres.

"It's alright, Harry- it's just Remus," Sirius remarked, calmly, as he pulled Harry up into a sitting position.

"Just keep hold of this; he won't hurt you," Persephone soothed, handing Harry a silver cross shaped like the one stitched onto her bodice. It felt warm to the touch, and he gripped it as though it were a lifeline.

"What does it do?" Harry asked, but they were both gone. Only he and the werewolf remained.

Gingerly, he held the cross aloft, not entirely sure how it would help- he could recall many situations when Lupin had come across silver and not so much as flinched. Harry had thought perhaps the aversion to silver was some kind of Muggle myth, except that the werewolf kept circling him, as though it were craving the kill, but couldn't quite make it. He stared at the werewolf's paws as it clawed at the scorched earth, scratching it and sending dust flying up into the air.

"It's alright; he won't hurt you," a small voice said. Harry looked up and jumped at the sight of the small, dark-haired little girl that had appeared at his side. She was stroking the coarse fur of the werewolf, who seemed to be satiated by her touch. She knelt down beside it, and he soon curled up on the floor and gently nuzzled her lap. She giggled, and continued to stroke the top of his head all the way down to his back with the gentle, rhythmic action of her tiny hands.

"Isn't that dangerous?" Harry asked, watching with wonder as the raven-haired girl sat with the werewolf in her lap, seemingly content at the whole situation. She shrugged.

"No more dangerous than that of a man," she replied. "The werewolf at least is honest- once a month, it shows its true form. Who can say whether the werewolf is a man who becomes a beast when the wolfsbane blooms; or whether the man is a wolf simply wearing a mask."

"Right," Harry replied, not entirely sure he understood where this conversation was going- or indeed, where it had come from. The girl merely smiled, and looked up at Harry with big dark eyes; he recognised her all of a sudden.

"Angela?" he croaked, reaching out to touch her arm. She held the wolf's face in her hands as though protecting it from some unseen evil, and pulled away from Harry.

"The werewolf is honest," she repeated. "For I have heard that every man is never truly a man, not even for one night of the lunar cycle."

"I don't understand," Harry replied, lamely. He couldn't believe he was having a conversation with a ten-year old girl who seemed to despise his naïvéty. She leant closer to him, until her face was only inches away from his own.

"Inside every man lurks the beast- in his belly, in his blood. The werewolf can't help but show this; but the man can lie, even to himself," she whispered, before pulling out a small mirror from the pocket of her white nightdress. She held it up so that Harry could see his reflection. He peered into the mirror, but all he could see was Neville, wearing his clothes, touching his lightening-bolt scar, just as Harry reached up to touch his own...

With a lurching jolt of his stomach, as though he had fallen off the edge of a high cliff, Harry woke up suddenly, unnerved by the dream. Then he looked at his calendar, and was even more unnerved. It was Saturday.

"Harry? You up?" Ron mumbled, as he stomped around the dormitory, looking for clothes.

"Yeah- well, I'm awake," Harry replied, groggily. He rolled out of bed and landed ungainly on the floor, before getting up to his feet.

"How do you think the others are going to take it?" Ron asked. "I mean, I did my best with a bit of practice, but nobody wanted to listen to me, seeing as I'm not captain. We really needed you there..."

"I know, I know- I'm sorry," Harry said, whilst rushing around for a pair of jeans. "I just didn't get chance. I got all my Occlumency practise out of the way, and my wandless magic training; but then Snape landed us with that three foot essay, and Alex set us that experimental technique critique of the behaviour of Transfigured cattle..."

"I understand, Harry," Ron replied. "But I'm not sure the others will."

Harry sighed heavily as they exited the Common Room.

In the Great Hall, Harry tried to eat some breakfast before going to the changing rooms, but he felt so nervous, and so sick, that he sympathised with Alex Ridley, who was sitting at the High Table, chewing gingerly on some dry toast. She, however, was occasionally shooting daggers at Snape.

"Wait until you go into labour," Hermione whispered under her breath, on watching Alex's irritated expression. Harry saw that Snape had noticed Alex's annoyance, and had simply smiled cheerily back, which served to infuriate her further.

"Ready for the match, Harry?" Ernie MacMillan asked, cheerily, patting Harry on the back as he walked past. Harry smiled weakly.

"You bet," he lied.

"Well, just as long as you beat Slytherin- Malfoy's becoming unbearable," Ernie pointed out.

At that point, Draco swaggered into the Great Hall as though he had already played and won the match.

"Ready to get creamed again, Potter?" he shouted, to the amusement of the Slytherin table. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Oh, shut up, Malfoy," he replied, wearily. Draco ignored him.

"I've had my team practicing for the past fortnight for this match- extensive training is very important, wouldn't you agree, Potter?" he asked, in a tone of voice that suggested he knew exactly how little practise Harry had managed to organise for his team.

"Well, if your team are so bad, you have to train them every day; that's your problem," Harry retorted. Draco's smug expression snapped to a scowl.

"We'll see, won't we," he threatened.

"Yeah, we will," Harry replied.

"Oh, for Christ's sake, shut up, the pair of you! You're giving me earache!" Alex yelled, loudly, causing all the students present to fall silent and drop their spoons.

"Sorry," Harry mouthed, upon seeing Alex's infuriated expression. There was no doubt about it- she had been getting noticeably grumpier throughout the past month, both in class and out. It was bizarre; sometimes her moods would change as often as the British weather. Harry recalled a particular Transfiguration class where she managed to be simultaneously furious, upset and cheerful. He had assumed it was due to the stress of running two factions of a war effort, Ron had assumed it was being married to Snape. Hermione had tutted at them both and pointed out that pregnancy tended to make one's moods rather unpredictable, before going on a long diatribe concerning the fact that men never understand how women feel- which Harry and Ron responded to by merely nodding at what they felt were appropriate junctures.

"See you on the pitch, Potter," Draco whispered; Alex's rebuke having taken the edge off his braggadocio somewhat.

Harry merely sighed, and sloped off to the changing rooms, followed by Ron and Ginny.

"Good luck!" Hermione called after them, and Harry managed a half-hearted wave in reply.

The atmosphere in the Gryffindor changing rooms before the match against Slytherin was tense, to say the least.

"You forgot? How dense are you, Harry?" Natalie MacDonald remonstrated. Harry could do little but shrug sheepishly.

"I've had stuff on my mind," he replied, somewhat lamely. Ron and Ginny exchanged sympathetic looks. They understood the sorts of things Harry had on his mind at the moment: wandless magic training, Occlumency practise, the possible death of his half-sister, the death of her aunt, the prophecy that called to him like an impending death knell, the other prophecy that suggested everyone was out to get him anyway, the break in at Hogwarts by Death Eaters... the others had no such inklings as to Harry's tardiness.

"We kept telling you, but you still couldn't find a time for us to practise," Andrew Kirke pointed out.

"It'll take a miracle to stop us losing against Slytherin!" Jack Sloper complained, angrily.

"Look," Harry replied, testily. "I've said I'm sorry, alright! Now, all we can do is go out there and play the best we can!"

"What is wrong with you?" Jack retorted, angrily.

"Oi! I offered to run the practices, but you didn't want to know!" Ron shouted back.

"Are you the captain?" Andrew snapped back. "Since when should you have the right to dictate what we do and don't practice?"

"Just stop arguing, all of you!" Ginny yelled. "Harry's right- we've just got to make the best of it. Now, let's go."

She stormed away from the rest of the players and stood next to the exit of the changing room, clutching the Cleansweep she had borrowed from Ron, awaiting the signal to walk onto the pitch. Natalie MacDonald joined her.

"Ginny's right," Ron pointed out, grabbing Harry's Firebolt as the first whistle blew. Harry grabbed his own Lytenbolt racing broom, and signalled to the team to exit the changing rooms. They followed him reluctantly out onto the pitch, each starting up their brooms and flying to their playing positions.

Madam Hooch strode out onto the pitch and released the Quidditch balls. Harry watched as the Snitch flew straight out of view over the horizon, and he briefly wondered if it would ever return to the pitch. Madame Hooch kicked down on her broomstick and flew to the centre of the pitch, where she beckoned Harry and Draco over.

"Captains; shake hands," she ordered. Harry tentatively held out his hand, and attempted to grab Draco's hand before he could grab Harry's in an attempt to crush it.

"You're going down," Draco hissed, as Madam Hooch blew her whistle, and the game began.

Within seconds, Ginny had managed to knock a Quaffle past the Slytherin Keeper and into one of the hoops, and Harry could have kissed her, he was so pleased.

"And the first ten points of the match go to Gryffindor, with that wonderful goal from Weasley!" Colin Creevey announced, excitedly from his place in the commentator stand. From the tone of his voice, Harry thought he wasn't the only one that wanted to kiss Ginny for that goal. However, his delight was very short lived, as Ron ducked to avoid a Bludger Crabbe aimed at him, only for one of the Slytherin Chasers to slip the Quaffle through the Gryffindor hoops, evening the score. Harry kept his eye out for the Snitch, but it was nowhere to be seen.

A Bludger zoomed out of nowhere past Harry's ear, and before he could warn poor Natalie, she had been hit full in the face by it. Madam Hooch called for a brief hiatus of play to assess the damage, but Natalie's nose just kept gushing blood all over her robes and the pitch. For the second time in as many matches, they had lost Natalie from play to an injury. Harry sighed- it had only been seven minutes.

"Face it, Potter- you're finished!" Draco sneered, as he whizzed past Harry on his broom. Harry made a rude hand gesture at Draco that, had Madam Hooch seen it, would probably have got him suspended from play. Draco merely laughed nastily, before swooping off down the other end of the pitch. Harry cursed under his breath, and continued to look for the Snitch.

Ginny managed to score another thirty points, only for the Slytherin Chasers to double that score with relatively little effort. Harry wasn't surprised- they did have the advantage of an extra player. He chanced a look across at the teachers' stalls, and saw that Persephone looked completely mortified. She caught his eye.

"Come on, guys- you can do it!" she mouthed, in an intense over-exaggeration so that all of the Gryffindor players watching could see. He couldn't help but smile- but then the Slytherin Chasers put another Quaffle past Ron, who kicked the hoop in frustration. Judging by the way Ron had gritted his teeth, the move had merely replaced his mental pain with a physical one.

"The score stands as one hundred and thirty to Slytherin, but just thirty to Gryffindor- come on, Gryffindor! Show them what you're made of!" Colin exclaimed, excitedly.

"Creevey- you're supposed to be impartial!" McGonagall warned.

Harry was starting to worry- very soon, even if nobody caught the Snitch, Slytherin were in danger of widening their points gap to over one hundred and fifty; which would make it difficult for Harry, who would then have to try and stop Draco from catching the Snitch, but without catching it himself until the Gryffindor Chasers had closed the gap.

Harry heard a fluttering noise by his ear, and he stilled himself in preparation. He turned around to make a grab at the Snitch- and the prospect of winning the first match he had ever captained- only to find that a small butterfly was flapping its wings next to him.

"Great- thanks!" he muttered to the butterfly. Unsurprisingly, it ignored him completely.

"And Slytherin score again! The score stands at one hundred and forty to thirty!"

The Slytherin stalls erupted in cheers, which were almost drowned out by the groans from the Gryffindor area. Within seconds, the Slytherins had erupted into a rousing chorus of 'Potty Is Dotty (if he thinks Gryffindor will win)', which was matched in volume by 'Slytherin Ain't Gonna Win', sung by the Gryffindors. This was then followed by the aiming of projectiles from both sides- Harry could have sworn he saw a shoe fly across the Slytherin stalls and nearly hit one of the Gryffindor second years in the face. The taunts escalated to such violent levels, that McGonagall had to threaten both Houses with mass detentions to prevent a pitch invasion from occurring.

Suddenly, over the horizon, Harry thought he had spotted the Snitch. It turned out to be yet another false alarm, but it did bring his attention to something else. A group of people, dressed in black, slowly marching. Harry squinted to get a better view- they were definitely marching towards the pitch. Harry sat on his Lytenbolt, counting the people; there were seven, no, ten, maybe more, all marching as though to their own funeral procession. Harry felt his heart sink into his stomach and beat rapidly- it looked like Death Eaters had returned to Hogwarts.

He waved to get Madam Hooch's attention, and Draco noticed.

"Can't take the heat, Potter?" Draco drawled, nastily. "You have to get a teacher involved because you can't handle the fact we're winning..." He trailed off upon seeing what Harry was looking at. A quick look around the Quidditch stalls told Harry that he was no longer the only person who had noticed- students were craning to get a closer look, or fearing the worst and causing mass-panic by screaming. The figures got even closer, and Harry eventually counted them as being thirty-seven in number. He also noticed that they were without the deathly-white masks of the Death Eaters, and they did not appear to be brandishing their wands.

"Thirty-eight," Harry corrected himself, upon seeing a small child in white that was being carried by one of the people in black.

Madam Hooch blew hard on her whistle.

"Match suspended; we will postpone this game until further notice," she barked, much to the dismay of the Slytherins. Harry chanced a look across his shoulder, and saw Jack Sloper looking quite terrified.

"Well, you wanted a miracle," Harry pointed out, somewhat maliciously, and Jack did not appear amused in the slightest.

"You're sick, Harry- this is serious!" he croaked, before flying down to the ground and jumping off his broomstick. Harry flew across to where Ron was hovering on his broomstick.

"What's going on?" Ron asked. Harry shrugged.

"I don't know," he replied, truthfully. Ron narrowed his eyes at the strange visitors who were just about to set foot upon the grass of the Quidditch pitch.

"They don't look like Death Eaters," he commented.

"I don't think they are," Harry replied, swiftly.

The group stopped as they stepped onto the pitch, and Harry could see them much more clearly. The man at the front was rather old; his face was weather-beaten, and he was dressed in black robes, and appeared tall and stately in his demeanour. He had long black curling hair flecked heavily with grey, and Harry was able to identify him as the member of the group carrying the small child in his arms. He gently put the small child down onto the floor, and Harry could now see from her white dress that the child was a little girl, despite the fact that she hid her face shyly behind her long black tresses.

The old man tapped his throat with his wand, and began to speak in a booming baritone that echoed around the pitch.

"We wish to speak with Severus Snape and Persephone Beauchamp, immediately," he announced. The crowds of students all looked across at the teachers' stalls, whereupon Snape and Persephone stood up, almost simultaneously. Harry saw Persephone mouth something to Snape, who nodded slowly, and they both rushed down to the pitch.

"Potter, Weasley; get down here this instant!" Madam Hooch bellowed, almost matching the power of the old man's booming voice with her own furious screech. Not wishing to incur her wrath, Harry and Ron did as they were told, and flew down to the ground, before jumping off their brooms and walking towards the changing rooms. On the way, they passed a rather harassed looking Snape, and a calmer- but still bewildered- Persephone. Harry grabbed her hand as she passed him.

"What's happening?" he asked, as Persephone stopped in her tracks from the contact. She smiled grimly.

"It appears that we've had a visit from the family," she said. "I'll talk to you later, Harry!"

And with that, she pulled away from Harry's grip and rushed towards the assembled group of people, who began embracing her and crying. Some of them were wailing in a language Harry couldn't hope to understand, and judging by the looks on both Persephone and Snape's faces, they were having difficulty comprehending their words as well.

"Weird," Ron commented as they entered the changing rooms. "You don't suppose those people are members of the Snape tribe that Hermione kept banging on about last year?"

Harry almost walked into one of the benches upon hearing this. The familiarity the group appeared to have with both Persephone and Snape would account for it, and Harry finally realised that Persephone's description of them as 'the family' had been entirely literal.

"I think you might be right, Ron," Harry replied, as he saw Persephone embrace the nervous looking little girl standing on the grass of the Quidditch pitch.

"I wonder why they're here?" Ron asked. "I mean, it isn't like anything serious has happened..."

"What about Porphyria's death?" Harry countered. Ron snorted.

"Come on, if they were that bothered, they'd have been here weeks ago!" he retorted. Harry had to admit, he couldn't fault Ron's logic on this one.

"Let's just get changed," Harry said, as he began pulling off his sticky Quidditch robes. "I'll talk to Persephone later- she'll let me know what's going on."

With those words, Harry placed his glasses on the bench and stumbled into the shower, hoping to get cleaned, dried and dressed as quickly as possible. They could go and find Hermione, explain to her what they knew, and they could anxiously await any news that may be of importance. As far as Harry was concerned, it seemed a little over the top to invade a school Quidditch match just to have a friendly chat with two of the teachers.

Harry squinted to try and find the soap; warm water from the shower drenched his hair and flooded into his eyes, which didn't help in the search. He pushed his sopping wet hair out of his face, and then thought he could spot something yellow and soap-like on the floor of the showers, so he gingerly knelt over to grab it, taking care not to slip and fall over.

Suddenly, a burning sensation spread from his scar right the way across his forehead. Fear clamoured at his chest- he knew this feeling, and it was never, ever good.

"Okay, don't panic," Harry told himself, carefully sitting down on the floor of the shower and remaining still as a statue. "Just remember what you learned with Persephone..."

"Harry? Are you okay in there?" Ron called, but Harry could not reply. He feared a response might break his concentration, and he was so desperately trying to concentrate on calm blue oceans, broomstick flights and anything else neutral and unthreatening that Harry could think of.

"Go away," Harry thought, over and over. "Go away, and stay out of my mind; go away..." He felt himself begin to lose sight of the changing rooms...

Two figures stood in a dingy room- it looked like a living room of some description. The wallpaper was old and peeling, with a gaudy paisley pattern on it. One figure, which looked like Wormtail; a small and runty looking man with wispy brown hair, was fiddling nervously with his wand. The other figure; the taller, thinner one of the two, stood with his arms folded, languidly drumming his fingers against his upper arm. He turned around, and Harry recognised those reptilian red eyes immediately.

"D... Do you want me to kill him, master?" Wormtail asked, in a grovelling voice. Voldemort laughed a cold, high-pitched laugh.

"I would prefer that privilege myself, Wormtail. However, he may be useful to us yet."

"I don't understand, master," Wormtail replied.

"I wouldn't expect you to," Voldemort retorted, looking askance at Wormtail. "He may be useful, because he may know what that rag-tag bunch of degenerates are planning..."

"B... but, he won't talk, master, Malfoy said as much..."

"I'm perfectly aware of what Lucius Malfoy said, Wormtail. Or rather, what we managed to get out of him after that damnable memory charm. That is not important. What is important is that we persuade our little rebel to try and appease me."

"How are you going to do that?" he asked. Voldemort smiled coldly.

"The chink is his armour, Wormtail. Every man has one, and he is more susceptible than most..." He mulled over his words for a moment, before he snapped his fingers sharply.

"Find her," he commanded. Wormtail looked confused.

"F... find who?" he stammered, clearly frightened.

"The chink in his armour!"

"But, I..."

"Find her, and bring her to me," Voldemort reiterated. "She'll be at the school, no doubt. Trust me, Wormtail- if we have her, he'll sing like a canary..."