Harry Potter and the Sticking Broom

Chapter 14: An Easy Deception

An elderly barn owl, its feathers much the worse for summer moulting, was hopping in a lopsided manner along the Gryffindor table. It stopped in front of Harry long enough to peck a hole in his toast, and then did an about-face, ready to hop the length of the table again. It was not just the owl's age that made its progress slow and ungainly, but also the fact that it had the day's edition of the Daily Prophet clutched in one of its feet.

"That's for Hermione, isn't it?" Harry asked. The owl hooted in forlorn assent.

"Good luck finding her," Harry said glumly.

He knew that Hermione and Ron had not returned to Gryffindor Tower the previous night. Ron's bed had not been slept in. And when Harry had asked Lavender about Hermione, Lavender had giggled idiotically and said, "She stayed out all night.... I wonder who with?"

"I'll pay for it, if you like," said Harry, as he found five Knuts in his pocket and placed them in the owl's moneybag. The owl seemed to think this would be a fair transaction. Its talons released the newspaper and it flew away.

Harry was glad to have the Daily Prophet. It gave him something to hide behind while he finished his breakfast, and also prevented his eyes from drifting to the other end of the table. Ginny was sitting there with the fourth years, chatting and joking as vivaciously as ever. Harry felt a knot in his stomach each time he stole a glance at her. He had insulted her in an inexcusable way. But then, Ginny had called him a cheat. Harry desperately wanted to apologise, but part of him clung stubbornly to the notion that Ginny had also been in the wrong.

He turned his attention to the news of the day instead. The Magical Law Enforcement Office had arrested Kirley McCormack on charges of battery with a beverage serving implement and aggravated assault with a dwarf. The Daily Prophet's front page denounced the "maniacal musician". It quoted a Healer from St Mungo's, who advised that the victims, Messrs Ratzi and Short, were in a, "Stable but jittery condition." The report also mentioned that the arrest was delayed until immediately after McCormack performed for the crowd at Hogwarts because, "the arresting officers were all avid Celestina Warbeck fans."

The bottom half of the front page was devoted to coverage of the Hogwarts Quidditch tournament or, more particularly, to the fact that Severus Snape had put in an appearance. A byline stressed that story and pictures were by Rita Skeeter, while a large photograph bore the caption, "Cherub's Kiss for the Chaser who Cares." Romulus Peebles, the little boy who Harry had noticed before the game, was shown being lifted towards Professor Snape by his mother. The toddler grabbed the Potions Master around the neck in a throttling embrace and proceeded to blow an enormous raspberry at Professor Snape's horrified face. Harry regretted that wizard photographs were silent - that raspberry would have been wonderful to hear. The Snape in the photograph writhed out of the hug, revealing something unpleasant and moist running down his cheek. He then stalked out of the frame.

"Eurgh," said a voice behind Harry's shoulder. "Letting your baby kiss Snape! Somebody should lock up that mother for child abuse!"

Harry turned to see the round, freckled face of one of the Weasley twins grinning at him. After nearly five years at Hogwarts, Harry still did not know which twin it was.

"Just grabbing a kipper," the twin said, reaching over to the centre of the table. He placed the kipper on a plate that was piled high with food. "George doesn't feel like showing his face yet, so I'm taking up his breakfast. Got to keep his strength up, eh?"

"That depends on whether he's intending to play properly today," Harry replied gruffly. Harry thought that George had every reason to hide and feel ashamed, and that Fred had very little reason to reward his brother with a hearty breakfast.

Fred, who as a general rule never took anything seriously, unexpectedly stopped smiling. "You know, Harry, you shouldn't be so hard on him. It wasn't what it looked like."

"Well, what was it then?"

Fred was looking solemnly towards the part of the Gryffindor table where Angelina sat. Lee was sitting next to her, apparently coaxing her to eat four pieces of toast. "That doesn't matter," Fred said thoughtfully. "Today, we're going to put things right." He left Harry to his reading.

* * * * * * *

When it became obvious that Ron and Hermione would not be coming to breakfast, Harry tried once more to make contact with them in the library. But, the library door was still locked. Even worse, a notice was pinned to the door, in Madam Pince's florid handwriting, advising that:

This Library will be closed for the duration of the school's Quidditch tournament. Students are advised that the school sees no point in letting you all in here to chatter when none of you has any schoolwork to be getting on with. The library will reopen on Thursday so that all borrowed books may be returned. Should you fail to return any library book in your possession, the consequences will be as awful as it is within my power to make them.

Irma Pince, Hogwarts Librarian

Cursing under his breath, Harry inserted his pocketknife in the door's lock. Sparks shot out with a loud hiss. Harry was thrown backwards; he landed metres from the door and then skidded on his backside on the smooth flagstones. His knife popped out of the lock and dropped on the floor with a clatter. Bunty had apparently been true to her word.

"Bother!" said a girl's voice.

Looking up, Harry saw Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet approaching, both carrying armfuls of heavy books.

"You'll have to keep them in your dormitory till Thursday," Alicia said to Katie. Then she added, "Oh - hi, Harry. What're you doing down there?"

"I, er, dropped my knife," Harry said as he crawled back to the door and picked up the pocketknife. The girls had already started on their way back to Gryffindor Tower and Harry hurried to catch up with them.

"But, are you sure nobody will mind?" Katie was asking.

"Why should they care?" Alicia replied. "Dad's got to work today. There's a spare seat. The view from the top box is really cool."

"All right, I'll sit with you," Katie agreed. "And hopefully the game will be worth watching today." She glanced sideways at Harry. "Yesterday was just a shemozzle!"

Alicia fumbled with her bundle of books, but couldn't help smiling. "Angelina practically swore herself to sleep last night," she joked.

Harry decided that maybe he did not want to walk back to Gryffindor with Katie and Alicia. But then Katie said, "Here, Harry, can you take those books? Alicia really shouldn't be carrying them for me. Not with her sore arm."

Alicia handed her burden over. "Thanks. But, you know, my arm's just about right now. I reckon I could have done a better job than Avery yesterday."

"And wasn't Cho's contribution fabulous." Katie added sarcastically. "Sure, I might not be as fast as Miss Chang, but at least I'm smart enough to dodge a Bludger."

Alicia giggled snidely. "You know," she said, "from where I was sitting, it didn't even look like the Bludger hit her."

Harry dropped a few steps behind the girls as they went up the spiral staircase. He didn't bother to contradict Katie or Alicia. He knew that they were just being nasty, and jealous and - girls. But it bothered him that they could find fault in Cho's performance on the Quidditch pitch, when they hadn't even mentioned how badly George had played.

Alicia was waiting alone for Harry at the top of the stairs, and took the books back from him while the Fat Lady opened the portrait hole. It was only then that Harry realised he had been carrying five volumes of Hogwarts Quidditch Records, hidden under a book that was titled Remedial Runes.

"What does Katie want all those Quidditch books for?" Harry asked, as he tilted his head to try and read the dates on the spines.

"Maybe you should ask her." Alicia's tone made it clear that she thought it was none of Harry's business. They walked into the common room together and Alicia kept walking directly to the girls' dormitory stairs.

Neville, Dean and Seamus had pulled the armchairs away from the fireplace again and were using the hearth as a goal for their football practice. This time, Dean was goalkeeper. As Harry walked to the boys' staircase, Neville got past Dean with a blinding kick. It bounced on the bricks inside the chimney, rocketed out again and was neatly headed by Neville back into the fireplace.

Seamus started to laugh. "Is that one goal, or two?" Neville asked.

Harry didn't care. Right now, as far as he was concerned, all sport was stupid. However, much as Harry disliked the fact, he had to get ready for Quidditch.

* * * * * * *

Because the tunnel leading to the Quidditch change rooms was one of Peeves' favourite haunts, it came as no surprise to Harry to find the poltergeist there. Peeves was twisting his transparent neck like a corkscrew so that, when he let go, his head spun giddily.

"Wheeee!" Peeves' wicked dark eyes whirled round and spied Harry. "Well, if it isn't Harry Potter, the cheating rotter!" he exclaimed happily, before beginning to sing:

"Oh Potter, you rotter, you cunning old thing,

You won that last game with a Snitch on a string!"

On a better day, Harry would have ignored this abuse. On a much better day, Harry would have fooled Peeves into believing that the Bloody Baron was behind him, or lured Peeves away with an observation that Filch was in a particularly vulnerable position to be taunted. But, this particular Tuesday was not one of Harry's better days. Harry was exhausted and anxious and confused. So, on this particular Tuesday, Harry made the grave error of showing the ghost how very annoyed he was feeling.

"You take that back!" Harry shouted, flailing at Peeves with his Firebolt. This made the poltergeist sing even louder and turn cartwheels along the ceiling. Harry chased Peeves down the dark hallway, yelling all the while that Peeves should, "Shut up!"

Peeves zipped through the change room wall and Harry charged into the doorway, bellowing at the top of his lungs "....I WISH YOU'D SHUT UP AND GET LOST!"

Peeves had done exactly that. The only person in the change room was Cho, who wore a look of mild surprise.

"P-Peeves," Harry panted.

"I don't think he's in here," Cho said calmly, looking about the Peeveless room. Harry noticed that she showed no evidence of her recent injuries. In fact, she was looking uncommonly pretty. Then, she patted the bench beside her. "But, I'm so glad you've come early," Cho said. "You can help me revise." Her scroll of strategic tips and a Rules of Quidditch booklet were already on her lap.

Harry sat next to her, still breathless. "Er, you know," he said, "you don't need to revise. It's not a test."

Cho's turned her large brown eyes to Harry imploringly. "Maybe it's not a test for you. You're out there playing as brilliantly as ever - playing in the position you know best. But this whole tournament is quite a test for me." She looked down at her delicate hands. Harry noticed how beautifully her long eyelashes seemed to fan over her now dewy eyes. "It's a test I know I'm going to fail," Cho whispered sadly.

"You shouldn't say that," Harry said quickly. "You were just unlucky yesterday. Today, well, it's got to be better, hasn't it?"

Cho gave a bitter little laugh. "Maybe I was lucky to get knocked out. I swear - I didn't have a clue what to do before that. Madam Hooch got around me like I wasn't even there, and Professor McGonagall could have flown me clean into the spectators' stands if she wanted to - and I don't know how to intercept a pass - and I'm not very good at scoring - and -" Cho's shoulders began to shake as she clutched at the papers on her lap. "Angelina thinks I'm useless and I'm beginning to wonder if she's right!"

"No," Harry said. "Of course you're not. You're just not used to being a Chaser."

"Harry," Cho said, much more steadily. "I bet you could do it. You're such a natural at Quidditch. I bet you could play any position."

"I've only ever been a Seeker."

"But you've got keen reflexes and good instincts. You see all the sorts of things I'm missing. You can read people so well." Cho leant towards Harry and gave him a look that made his stomach flip-flop. "Still, it's too much to ask, isn't it? Even though you've been my closest friend on this silly team." She gently stroked Harry's hand.

Harry's heart started beating as fast as a Snidget's wings. Her closest friend! So, that must mean Merlin Rhys-Jones was not her closest friend. Harry felt unnaturally chuffed.

"Of course, it was a surprise to me, you know," Cho continued sweetly. "Finding out that players could swap positions. But, the rule against substitutions and reserves doesn't say a thing against it." She leant even closer and her lips pouted. "And yesterday, I knew that if anybody could help me, it would be you." Harry wasn't sure what she was talking about - he wasn't even sure if he was still breathing. All his concentration was now focused on the perfect pink arch of Cho's upper lip. "I knew," Cho said with an enticing sigh, "the moment you told George that you wanted to stay with me."

Now Harry was certain that he was no longer breathing, because his lips had met Cho's in a kiss that was fleeting but soft and warm. Cho pulled back and smiled coquettishly. "So," she said. "Shall I tell Angelina?"

A substantial part of Harry's brain had apparently stopped working the instant Cho had asked him to sit beside her. And, as Cho kissed him, Harry felt his few remaining higher faculties engulfed in a blissful fog of delirium. But now, towards the back of his happiness-addled mind, something about Cho's self-satisfied smile caused an alarm to sound.

"How did you know?" Harry asked bluntly.

Cho giggled. "I've had my suspicions that you liked me. You did ask me to the Yule Ball, remember?"

"No," Harry corrected her. "How did you know what I said to George? You looked like you were out cold."

Cho seemed a little nonplussed. "Well, I wasn't going to get back on my broom and keep making a fool of myself, was I? It seemed an easy deception, and it saved me some dignity."

"That's dishonest," Harry said angrily.

"You're a fine one to talk," Cho snapped back. "You and Weasley and your little tricks."

Harry stood up and glared at Cho furiously. "And what exactly is that supposed to mean? What are you going to tell Angelina?"

"That you've agreed to play Chaser so I can Seek, of course."

"I - have - not." Harry couldn't imagine where Cho had gained such an impression.

"Oh, I like that!" Cho was on her feet now too, her eyes flashing fiercely. "Leading me on - letting me think I could rely on you. Harry Potter you're - you're just a cad!" Cho raised her hand to slap him, but then froze. Her perfect pink lips trembled and contorted and, when it seemed obvious to her that composure was impossible, she turned and ran into the girls' shower block.

Harry stood alone in the change room, trying with all his might to make sense of anything that had just occurred. He almost wished that Peeves would return - at least Peeves infuriated Harry in a way that Harry understood. After a few moments of wondering what to do, Harry realised that he did not wish to be standing alone when Cho emerged from the shower block. There was still some time before the Quidditch match. Harry decided to check the wind conditions over the pitch.

* * * * * * *

Walking to the Quidditch pitch did not provide Harry with the opportunity for quiet reflection he was hoping for. There was a great deal of activity in the castle's grounds, with spectators already forming a snaking line from the school gates to the stadium. Near the castle's entrance, the Women Who Run with the Wolves had commenced tea drinking and knitting in the chicken wire enclosure beside their truck, and many of them appeared to be less hairy and menacing than the day before. In fact, two ladies playing gin rummy looked positively grandmotherly. Harry doubted whether the group would need their muzzles at all by the end of the tournament.

A sizeable crowd milled outside the Brews-U-Like free samples tent. Out of curiosity, Harry approached a table at the tent's main entrance, where a harassed but impeccably groomed blonde witch was pouring potions for a rowdy group of Hogwarts students. He could see George leaning across the table.

"But, I need to see him today!" George shouted, trying to be heard over the clamouring of three Slytherin girls who were all demanding Veelapop.

The blonde witch, whose nasal voice was hardly as glamorous as her face, replied, "He's here to watch the Quidditch. Mr McManus won't want to talk to you. Send an owl to his office and make an appointment."

"I've sent heaps of owls," George complained at the top of his voice. "He never replies. Just tell me when he's getting here -"

"Oi, you there," the witch yelled, turning on a small boy who had pushed through the crowd. "Put that down! I can't supply you with Atlas Balm unless you can prove you're seventeen."

"But, I am seventeen. I would have thought it was apparent, even to an uneducated strumpet like you." The cold drawl of Draco Malfoy was recognisable even over the hubbub of the mob. Harry stood on tiptoe to see.

Draco was holding a golden tin of ointment and threatening the witch. "And, my father is a major shareholder in Brews-U-Like. So, if you want to keep your job, I suggest you open this tin."

"You don't fool me, sonny. You're too young," she said as she tried to wrestle the tin back from Malfoy. In the fight, a bottle of fizzing pink potion fell from the table and broke with a clash and a hiss on Malfoy's shoes.

"Sweet Merlin!" the witch exclaimed. "That's a whole bottle of WhatYouWishFor wasted!"

Malfoy let out a pathetic, whiney scream as his feet ballooned to the size of watermelons. The crowd stood back and most of the students began to laugh and hoot when they realised what was happening. Draco's feet had transformed into two multi-tiered birthday cakes, each replete with seventeen twinkling candles. He hitched his robes up to his knees in an attempt to stop them catching alight, but part of the hem had started to smoulder, causing him to shriek even louder. Some wag behind Harry quipped, "Helas, j'ai transfigure mes pieds!"

The flap of the red and white tent opened and Lucius Malfoy emerged, his grey eyes flashing their displeasure. Harry, along with most of the other students, decided this would be a good time to go. As the pack disbanded, Harry passed George, who he noticed had not yet changed into his Quidditch robes.

"Oh, hi, er, Harry," George said, most uncertainly. He was craning his neck to see what was occurring through the half-open flap of the tent.

"Aren't you going to get ready soon?" Harry asked impatiently. He was still in no mood to be pleasant to George.

"Ready?" George said vaguely. "Just - something - I need to check." His voice trailed off.

"Well, I'm going to check the wind at the pitch. You should change right away. You really don't need to give Angelina any more reasons to hate you."

"'Spose not," said George, but he made no motion to walk back to the castle. When Harry left him he was still gazing towards the Brews-U-Like tent.

Closer to the stadium, the queue of spectators was being entertained by an aerobatic fly past from the Bromley Broom-a-Batics. People gasped as the nimble fliers daringly leapt between speeding brooms, flew loops while holding on by their ankles and, as a finale, formed a human pyramid on the shoulders of a single wizard. The display ended just as Harry neared the Quidditch pitch and the fliers showered the crowd with glittering leaflets. Harry stooped to pick one up, but to his disappointment it was only a brochure, advertising a five Galleon discount on the purchase of any Firebolt 1000.

"All righ', Harry?" A large figure blocked out the sun over Harry. "Nice bit o' fancy flyin', that was. Don' think yeh'd catch me tryin' it, though."

Harry laughed. "I don't know," he joked. "Before yesterday, I didn't even know you could fly a broom. Maybe today you'll surprise us all again and fly by your ankles."

Hagrid's chuckles caused his whole body to quake and something inside one of his many coat pockets to quiver and buzz. "Blimey!" he said. "Must'a woken 'em up." From the pocket he pulled a shoebox that had been taped shut with Spellotape and which had several air holes punched in its lid. "Shhhh," he soothingly whispered as he rocked the box to and fro. "Back ter sleep with yeh." When the buzzing stopped, he gently put the shoebox pack in his pocket.

Harry knew better than to ask Hagrid what was in the box, as the question would more than likely solicit the name of a beast that was deadly, illegal to own, or both. Also, with so many unsuspecting families waiting to enter the stadium, Harry didn't want to give Hagrid the slightest encouragement to open the box and show him its contents. So, Harry pretended the box did not exist and said in a casual way, "I'm just off to check the wind."

"Jus' done that, meself," Hagrid said. "We've got a light nor'easter. Perfect fer play. So, yeh can walk back with me, if yeh like."

Ordinarily, Harry would hesitate to take the word of an opponent on a matter as critical as wind direction. But Hagrid had not so much as a disingenuous bone in his mammoth body. So Harry was happy to turn back to the castle and walk beside Hagrid in the sunshine.

"The gardens're lookin' lovely," Hagrid observed airily as they ambled across the manicured lawns. "Professor Sprout says it's all her lot's doin'. Maybe Hogwarts won't be needin' me back nex' year."

"No," Harry said earnestly. "Hagrid, you've got to come back -" He stopped abruptly when he realised Hagrid's beard was twitching with laughter.

"Course I'll be back," Hagrid said. "This is my home." He flung his arms wide and smiled broadly as he surveyed his domain. Harry was worried that such an expansive movement might start Hagrid's pocket buzzing again, but the coat remained quiet as Hagrid turned to take in the splendour of Hogwarts Castle. However, Hagrid's smile disappeared when his eyes fixed on a group of well-dressed wizards, including Lucius Malfoy, who were walking towards the stadium. Hagrid's bushy brows knitted into a frown and he growled, "An' there'll be work enough ter do here - fer the Order - once me job in France's done."

"I'm surprised the school let Lucius Malfoy come here," Harry said softly.

Hagrid leant towards him and spoke in a low voice. "Professor McGonagall was none too pleased. But, we're keepin' a close eye on 'im. An', if he's watchin' Quidditch at Hogwarts, he can't be getting up ter mischief elsewhere, can he?"

They had reached the path leading to Hagrid's hut by the lake. "Better go an' get me gear on," Hagrid said with a chuckle. "Mind, I feel like a great prune in those stripy things." He turned to go, but hesitated, before adding in a serious tone, "An' be careful out there today, Harry. Keep yer eyes open."

That's just what Ginny said,Harry thought. He walked the remaining short distance to the castle deep in contemplation. What was he supposed to keep his eyes open for? Did Hagrid know? Did Ginny know? Ginny seemed to know a lot of things that Harry didn't - for instance, she knew that Cho was a minx. Harry had been embarrassingly dim when it came to guessing Cho's motives. And, most worrying of all, Ginny had been adamant that Harry was in danger.

* * * * * * *

When Harry returned to the change room, George had not only changed into his Quidditch robes but also appeared to be boisterously dancing, with his arms about the waist of Vincent Crabbe. "So, you see Crappe," he said with uninhibited merriment, "if I get behind you thus," George twisted so that he stood exceedingly close behind Crabbe, "and if we swing together thus," he lifted Crabbe's arm and pretended to swing at a Bludger, "we'll be able to pull off a very passable Dopplebeater Defence."

Crabbe was blushing scarlet by the time George released him, but George ignored his discomfort. "Failing that," George joked, "we could always enter a tango competition. You're quite a nice little mover, Crappe!"

Angelina looked up from her fastidious broom grooming to shoot George a poisonous glare. Surprisingly, this did nothing to dampen George's spirits. He poked Crabbe in the stomach with his Beater's bat and demanded, "Now, show me your Bludger Backbeat."

"No, let's get down to the pitch. We've all seen enough of our idiot Beaters," Angelina said angrily. She snapped her broom grooming kit shut, tapped it three times and headed for the door.

Even though it seemed slightly too early to head for the stadium, Harry was relieved to be on the move. He had not wanted to wait in the change room with Cho. In fact, there was hardly anybody on the Hogwarts All School Team whom Harry could have happily sat next to for five minutes. But he particularly did not want to sit in the same room as Cho.

Oliver was waiting in the stadium tunnel for the team, pacing nervously under the watchful eye of a bulky and smelly Security Troll. He seemed anxious when he greeted them. "Angelina, er, you're early. Well, I guess that's good."

"We reckoned we'd wait here a bit," Angelina replied.

"Actually," Oliver said, "I need to make a couple of announcements before the game. I'll check if the staff team's ready to go. We might head out right away." Oliver hopped on his broom and nipped out of the tunnel. A chorus of girlish cheers greeted him as he crossed the bright expanse of the pitch to the opposite side. A moment later, he was flying back out to the centre, with the Hogwarts' Staff Team walking in single file behind him. Oliver gestured for Angelina to lead her players out too.

When they reached the middle of the pitch, Harry could see that Oliver was very nervous. He cleared his throat and gave a fleeting wave to Lee Jordan in the stands. Lee's amplified voice announced, "Welcome, wizards and witches, to the second match of the Hogwarts St. Mungo's Hospital Benefit Quidditch Tournament. Before we commence play today, our celebrity referee, Oliver Wood -" Lee's voice at this point was nearly drowned out by girls' screams, " - will say a few words."

Oliver had even more difficulty being heard than Lee. He touched his wand to his throat and said, "Sonorus," two or three times before he was audible. The celebrity referee's brow was glistening and, when his voice could finally be heard, it came out in a worried rasp. "Can you hear? Yes? I need to report the results of two protests arising from yesterday's game," he began. He then unstrapped an old school broom, which had been fixed to the handle of his own Chudley Cannons customised Nimbus 2001. "Yesterday, I - well, acting under the rules, I - er, requested a steward from the Department of Magical Games and Sports to inspect the broom flown by Mr Filch." The crowd murmured. It was obvious that Wood had not been the only person who found Filch's flying style suspicious. Oliver handed the broom back to Hogwarts' caretaker and said apologetically, "I, er, must have been mistaken. The broom's been declared clear of all extraneous enchantment. Sorry."

Mr Filch's pouchy face broke into a malicious grin. "Glad to hear it," he sneered. But Harry also noticed that Madam Hooch was studiously inspecting the grass at her feet during this exchange and, when she did lift her eyes, she looked almost ashamed.

"The second thing I need to clear up is the protest filed last night," Wood continued.

"What protest?" Angelina demanded. "Nobody told us!"

"You are being informed now," Professor Snape smugly replied. Luckily, his voice was not amplified, or the Women Who Run With the Wolves would have been provoked into a frenzy of howling. Equally luckily, Angelina's voice was not amplified, because her brief response was exceptionally rude.

"Now, everyone needs to stay calm," said Oliver, sounding anything but calm. "There was a protest filed after tea-time last night, Angelina, concerning a Snitchnip by one of your players."

Angelina's mouth opened to complain, but to Harry's astonishment George beat her to it. "Snitchnip!" George sputtered. "Now, look here Oliver - are you calling him a cheat? Because, he's - he's not. And I won't stand for anyone saying he is!"

Oliver pulled his Rules of Quidditch booklet from his pocket and turned on George. "Of course I'm not calling him a cheat," Oliver said, pointing to Harry. "How can Harry cheat by handling the Snitch? He's the bloody Seeker!" He flicked through the pages of the booklet and held them up to George's nose. "It's you that's been accused of the Snitchnip, you stupid git!" The stadium erupted in laughter.

George at first seemed confused, as though he had forgotten that he was the one who had inexplicably persuaded the Snitch to hover above his left hand just a day ago. "Me?" he asked. Then, hesitantly, he said, "Me. Oh, yes.... that was .... me."

Oliver's temper abated as rapidly as it had flared. Consulting his booklet again, he read, "A Snitchnip foul occurs when any player other than the Seeker catches or touches the Golden Snitch." He lowered the booklet. "Well, I've had a chance since last night to review the final minutes of the game on Omnioculars. And, as far as I can make out, George Weasley never actually touched the Golden Snitch."

The crowd buzzed and from the back of the stands somebody shouted, "Bollocks!" Professor Snape looked particularly disgusted. Angelina, who seemed to have forgotten all about the delegation from the Department of Magical Games and Sports in the stands, pulled a face and called the Potions Master something unrepeatable.

"However," Oliver continued firmly, "the behaviour of the Golden Snitch in that last game was definitely unusual. Snitches are supposed to be enchanted to evade capture, not to fly under Beaters' noses. So, I've taken the precaution of obtaining a secure Snitch from the League." He drew a small, black lacquered box from his robes, which caused the crowd to produce an approving hum. Professor Snape's expression transformed from irritation to complete satisfaction.

"So, if the captains would kindly shake hands," Oliver concluded, "we can get underway."

From the moment Angelina crushed poor Madam Hooch's fingers, it was clear that the game would be brutal. The players shot into the air, with the exception of Filch who bobbed as close to the ground as before. "Angelina Johnson in first possession,' Lee announced. "Look at her go, she's tanking up the pitch. But, here's trouble, Angelina!"

The three Hogwarts Staff Team Chasers had grouped into a Hawkshead Formation and were meeting Angelina head-on. "Using the Hawkshead to defend," Lee said, "unusual tactic, Professor Snape at the apex - Blimey! Hang on, Angelina! Penalty! Where's the ref? Blurting! That must be Blurting!"

Three members of the staff team had grouped into an arrowhead formation in front of their goalposts. Angelina, instead of trying to evade her opponents, had met them head on and locked handles with Professor Snape's broom. Snape had flicked the long handle of his broom straight up, causing Angelina to be pushed back in a series of somersaults. To her credit, Angelina continued to grip the Quaffle as she twirled backwards through the air. Oliver blew his whistle to award a penalty, but not before George sent an avenging Bludger hurtling into Snape's side.

"Penalty, Blatching," Wood yelled. "Professor Snape to take the penalty."

"A controversial call, Oliver!" Lee shouted, while Angelina swore and surrendered the Quaffle. "The referee, ladies and gentleman, has formed the opinion, Merlin knows how, that Angelina Johnson was flying with intention to collide." The crowd cheered and booed in equal measure. "When even a blind newt," Lee chided, "could see that Snape locked broom handles with no other purpose than to steer Angelina off course. Still, here comes Snape to take the shot for the penalty goal." Enthusiastic howling broke out in the top box.

To Harry's disappointment, Snape's shot was good. The Professor deftly feinted to the right and, once he had thrown Merlin off balance, threw the Quaffle at a sharp angle through the left hoop. After that, it was not just the hairy women who were applauding the Potions Master.

Despite the hostile nature of the game, it proved far more interesting to watch than the previous day's play. Angelina was combating the staff team with every weapon she possessed, supported ineptly but keenly by Avery. The student Beaters had also come into their own, and were monopolising the Bludgers with such skill that Filch was left with nothing to do but bob in the air and curse. Try as she might, Professor Sprout could not chase a single Bludger down, as George and Crabbe sent missile after missile rocketing into the bodies of McGonagall, Hooch and especially Snape. When Crabbe and George executed a faultless Dopplebeater Defence, Harry thought his Beaters' display was nearly as good as watching the Weasley twins.

Merlin's Keeping performance was as skillful as the day before, but his opponents were more ruthless. A battle of wits developed between Rhys-Jones and Professor Snape, the latter trying every diversionary tactic in existence to confuse the Keeper.

The only student on the pitch who seemed reluctant to join the fight was Cho. She sulkily skirted the perimeter, staying well away from the action.

The game wore on for nearly three hours, with the score climbing to ninety to seventy in the staff team's favour. In many respects, Harry was having an easy game. The competence of his Beaters ensured that he was able to Seek uninterrupted by Bludger fire. But, the Golden Snitch that Oliver had released from that black lacquer box was devilishly fast and virtually impossible to sight. On three occasions, Harry began to pursue the Snitch, only to find it vanished in thin air. Harry's frustration mounted, but the crowd did not seem to mind at all. They were enjoying the spectacle put on by Angelina, Snape and the others too much to care whether a Snitch was caught that day.

Harry was making a low pass over the ground, scanning as meticulously as he could, when something odd occurred to him. Professor Flitwick had disappeared. The little man was not in the middle with the struggling knot of Chasers, nor was he at either goalpost. He was not even floating by the stands, talking to his Ravenclaw students. Angelina wrested the Quaffle from Hooch and was speeding towards Hagrid, so Harry pulled his broom alongside Merlin to ask, "Have you seen Flitwick?"

Merlin mopped his brow with a spotted handkerchief. "He went up," he said.

Harry looked up, squinting into the sun. A minute red spot was dancing in the blue sky, higher than Harry had ever flown before. It was Flitwick, but what was he doing up there? Had he spotted the Snitch? Harry immediately wrenched his Firebolt's handle skywards and took off.

The wind whipped Harry's hair as he flew at full speed directly upwards. However, when he reached Flitwick, to his relief, the Professor was not Seeking at all. In fact, his attention seemed to be absorbed in sightseeing.

"Hello, Harry," the Charms Teacher said pleasantly, as though Harry had climbed to the stratosphere in order to drop by for a cup of tea. "Isn't it delightful up here? So much cooler than back near the ground."

"I 'spose." Harry was short-winded from his flying, and a bit perturbed to be sitting so dizzyingly high. The pitch below was a tiny circle of green that appeared no bigger than Harry's thumb.

"You know," Flitwick mused as he perused the horizon, "I think we can see all the way to Pitlochry from here. Look, I'm sure that glimmer is Loch Tummel. And there's a distillery chimney!"

Harry did not want to see Pitlochry, he wanted to find the Snitch. He looked for a glint of gold around him, but the air was still. So, he made up his mind to fly back down, and had said a perfunctory farewell to Flitwick, when he noticed that somebody else was flying up to meet them.

It was Professor Sprout. Her round face was beet-red, with a nasty bruise on one of her cheeks, and she was not at all cheerful. "You two, get back down," she shouted between puffs and wheezes. "Game's over."

Harry and Flitwick both looked at each other questioningly. Clearly, neither of them had caught the Snitch.

"Forfeit!" Professor Sprout yelled hoarsely, as though this explained everything.

"A forfeit?" Professor Flitwick asked excitedly, throwing his pudgy arms in the air. "Why, how unusual! How did it happen?"

"Who won?" was Harry's more urgent question.

But, Professor Sprout's answer was drowned out by the hysterical giggles of her Seeker, who began to bounce on his broom like a red and white rubber ball. "Oh my! Oh heavens! Oh, it tickles!" he said with much laughter. "Make it stop! Make it stop!"

The Golden Snitch had appeared from nowhere, and had darted up Professor Flitwick's sleeve.