Harry Potter and the Sticking Broom

Chapter 15: A Rotten Quafflehog

"Stop jiggling about like a St Vitus Bean," Professor Sprout scolded. She grappled with her colleague in a clumsy attempt to unbutton Professor Flitwick's robes. After much wriggling, the little man was stripped to the waist, revealing a string vest. But the Golden Snitch slipped lower and began tickling the Charms teacher's thigh.

"Oh, my stars! Merciful Merlin!" Flitwick squealed between fits of giggles. Harry might have found it funny, except for the fact that both teachers were perched on brooms at a precarious height. And, Harry was impatient to know which team had just forfeited the Quidditch match.

"Professor Sprout," Harry interrupted, "the Quidditch match - who won?"

Professor Sprout stopped grabbing at Flitwick's legs. "Why are you still here, boy?" she asked sternly. "Professor McGonagall wants to see all of you at once. She's most unimpressed." Professor Flitwick momentarily lost his grip on his broom, causing him to hang like a blithering sloth. "Filius!" Sprout exclaimed. Harry decided it would be easier to ask somebody else.

Spiraling down to the ground, Harry's hopes for victory diminished. The first clue was Lee's commentary, which rose up to meet Harry, audible over the continuous low grumbling of the crowd. "A cheat, that's what he is!" Lee was shouting. "If he thinks I'm paying out so much as one Sickle to him after this blatant cheating, he's got another thing coming! It's match fixing, and no bookmaker in his right mind -" At this point, Lee's broadcast was abruptly terminated, perhaps by a friend who thought Lee had told more than anybody needed to know about the illicit activities of Jordan's Betting Shop.

Harry descended close enough to recognise several of the people standing on the pitch. Hagrid and Filch were off to one side, with Madam Pomfrey attending to Madam Hooch close by. Most of the student players were in a huddle, except for Angelina and the Hogwarts All School Team's red-haired Beater. The latter two were facing Wood and Professor McGonagall in the centre circle of the pitch, and Angelina's arms were gesticulating angrily. Behind the referee stood two figures who were not players - a fat wizard whose shiny head and robes were flaring in the afternoon sun and an expensively dressed wizard with long blonde hair. The sense of foreboding that had been growing within Harry solidified into an unpalatable certainty. If Lucius Malfoy had come onto the Quidditch pitch, the outcome could not possibly be good.

It was not Mr Malfoy, but the fat, bald wizard, who was talking loudly as Harry landed behind Angelina. "It's not the sort of publicity we were after, Professor," he declared. "We didn't pay all those Galleons to see the Brews-U-Like Corporation's name dragged in the mud."

"It was my understanding," Professor McGonagall turned and replied icily, "that you didn't pay all those Galleons for publicity at all. That money was supposed to be donated to the hospital." She redirected her severe gaze to Angelina. "Now, Miss Johnson, what have you to say about the allegations Mr Malfoy has brought against your team?"

Angelina looked so enraged that Harry half expected her to blow steam from her ears. However her response was, for Angelina, surprisingly lucid. "They've proved nothing. They can prove nothing. I won't forfeit unless they prove it."

During this whole exchange, Oliver Wood had been flicking frantically through his Rules of Quidditch booklet. He looked up and said, in exasperation, "I can't find a precedent for this anywhere. Veritaserum has been authorised in the past - there's an old case where somebody cursed a Keeper's feet off, and they needed to find them again. But it hasn't been used - not for - this."

Lucius Malfoy gently took the booklet from Oliver's hands and casually leafed through it. "This has been a serious fraud on paying spectators," Malfoy drawled lazily. "The game of Quidditch, not to mention the good name of a reputable corporation -"

"Well, Brews-U-Like is quite welcome to pack up and go," McGonagall retorted.

Malfoy ignored her. "The reputations of a responsible, law abiding corporation, of Hogwarts School and of St Mungo's Hospital, have all been besmirched. If Veritaserum has not been authorised in the past, I see no reason why it shouldn't be authorised now." He handed the book back to Wood and gave an ingratiating smile. "I'd be happy to help you obtain the necessary approval from the Ministry."

"You can make him drink a bucket of Veritaserum if you like!" Angelina exploded. "Because, that Beater is not Fred Weasley!"

The Beater in question had been growing visibly paler as the various parties argued their cases. Now, he said in a tiny whisper, "Well, actually, I am Fred."

It was only Professor McGonagall's quick working of an Impediment Jinx that prevented Angelina from seriously injuring Fred. While Angelina stood transfixed, her open mouth unable to utter its inevitable profanity, Fred ducked for safety behind Harry. A second later, Angelina swore and her frozen, raised broom came smashing down in the place where Fred's head had once been. Angelina looked around, disconcerted, and was about to make another lurch in Fred's direction when Professor McGonagall intervened. "Miss Johnson," McGonagall commanded. "You must forfeit the game."

"Merlin's arse! Fred - you - I can't believe it." Tears had begun to stream down Angelina's flushed cheeks.

"It wasn't supposed to go like this," Fred said quietly. There was an entirely unfamiliar undertone to Fred's voice, something Harry had never heard before. Fred Weasley sounded guilty.

"A forfeit's the only way we can deal with it," Oliver said, almost apologetically. "The rule against substitution's not the sort of thing I can just give a penalty for."

Angelina wiped her face on the back of her sleeve. The buzz of the crowd had died down and everybody appeared to be waiting on her answer. Her eyes remained fixed on the grass at her feet as she spat out the words. "All right. We forfeit."

"Very well, Miss Johnson." Professor McGonagall's voice resonated with severity, making it plain that she considered the charges against the Hogwarts All School Team to be extremely serious. "Madam Pomfrey has requested that I return with her to the hospital wing. She's still in some doubt as to how many of my ribs you have broken. But, in half an hour, I expect to see your entire team, and Fred Weasley in my office." Hogwarts' acting headmistress walked stiffly from the ground, assisted by Madam Pomfrey and leaning heavily on her broom.

Oliver announced the result of the game to a disgruntled crowd. A prefect was dispatched with Fred to locate George Weasley. Angelina communicated McGonagall's order to the rest of her team, then mounted her broom and flew to the castle alone. The players of both teams departed the ground, feeling a mixture of dejection, indignation and confusion.

Harry waited until the rest of his team was already out of the playing area before he moved. A large part of the crowd began to boo loudly, making it fairly embarrassing to remain in full view of the spectators, but he had no desire to walk back to the castle with Cho or the Slytherins. So he stood, wondering how Lucius Malfoy was able to do what nobody else at Hogwarts could do. How had he determined that Fred was not George? Hagrid and Filch were loitering close to the tunnel's entrance when Harry left the pitch. It occurred to Harry that Hagrid might be able to throw some light on how Mr Malfoy had gained his information.

As Harry approached, Hagrid and Filch backed into the tunnel. Hagrid was gripping the back of Filch's robes, in exactly the same way he had done the day before. When Harry reached the tunnel, his large friend was already striding through it. Hagrid bumped Filch, whose feet barely skimmed the ground, along in front of him. From Harry's perspective, it looked like Hagrid was holding some invisible handle on the caretaker's back and resolutely carting Filch away. Because each one of Hagrid's steps was longer than three of Harry's, it would be impossible to catch up, particularly as Hagrid seemed to be in no mood to be caught. Harry called out to Hagrid, but Hagrid did not stop.

Harry gradually came to a halt, perplexed and annoyed by the fact that Hagrid was so obviously trying to avoid him. As he stood, with the low rumble of people leaving the stadium echoing from above, Harry also heard a voice. Surprisingly, the voice seemed to be coming neither from the pitch behind him nor the exit ahead. Instead, the speaker was standing somewhere on Harry's left, in a low, shadowy area underneath the first tier of spectators' seats.

Looking into the darkness, Harry could see three wizards gathered, including Professor Snape's garishly striped figure. The Potions Master was bent over double and breathing hard, apparently still suffering from many Quidditch injuries. Harry could not suppress a vindictive smile. If Snape was badly hurt, then Harry considered that some good had come from an otherwise disastrous day. Snape managed to stand by using his long, thin broom as a crutch. He then shook the hand of the same fat, bald wizard who had been standing with Lucius Malfoy on the Quidditch pitch.

"So, you're the potions guy," the wizard said. "I've gotta say, you don't look half as good as you do in all those magazines." He laughed loudly at his own joke, and gave Snape a manly slap on the back, which caused the professor to emit a muffled groan.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr McManus," Snape replied. However, his remark was followed by such an agonised grunt that, rather than experiencing pleasure, Snape seemed to be enduring a painful ordeal.

"Hey, call me Declan," McManus continued, oblivious to Snape's discomfort. "We don't go in for all that formal hooey at Brews-U-Like. And, I'm telling you, if you can brew half as good as you can play Quidditch, there's a place for you on my team."

"Yes, Severus," added Lucius Malfoy, who was the third person standing in the shadows. "You played remarkably. It's gratifying that you've remembered everything I taught you."

Malfoy's voice dropped to a level that ensured Harry could no longer hear what was being said. Mindful of his appointment with McGonagall, Harry decided he would not stay, even though he desperately wanted to know if the three wizards were discussing Fred Weasley. Instead, Harry slunk out of the stadium, trying to ignore comments such as, "Shameful!" and, "I wasted two Galleons to watch that rubbish!" which were randomly directed towards him by the passing, unhappy Quidditch fans.

As he began to trudge back to the castle, something that resembled a red and white flag fluttered from the sky and landed in his path. It was only as Harry stepped over the striped fabric that he realised it was not a flag at all, but Professor Flitwick's Quidditch robes.

* * * * * * *

Harry climbed the stairs to Professor McGonagall's bell tower office with no small degree of trepidation. She had made it plain that the Hogwarts All School Team should expect the worst, which was remarkably unfair since only one member of the team (along with one member of the team's brother) had ever played dishonestly. Harry thought George and Fred Weasley should be made to share the blame, but he wondered if the acting headmistress would see any point in punishing two students who would be leaving Hogwarts in a mere three days.

The heavy oak door with the cat flap was ajar, and most of the team had already crowded inside McGonagall's office by the time Harry entered. Harry shifted a toy mouse from the arm of the chair that Merlin Rhys-Jones' was occupying and leaned against it. Nobody was talking, but a portrait of a cock-eyed wizard, with a Creaothcaenn cauldron strapped to his head, intoned ominously, "Here's a sorry gathering of lads and lassies. Looks like you're about to meet your doom."

Angelina was sitting, hunched over, beside the desk. Her attention seemed to be fully absorbed by a framed photograph of an elderly witch in an anorak, who was waving as she stood under a signpost for John O'Groats. However, Angelina's red nose and eyes showed that she had shed many tears.

Footsteps and loud voices on the stairs preceded the entrance of the Weasley twins, who were being roughly escorted by a Hufflepuff prefect. The prefect puffed out his chest and announced to Hogwarts' Head Boy, "We found him among the Mandrakes in Greenhouse three."

Merlin looked disapprovingly at the Weasleys. "Righto. I'll keep an eye on them from now," he said to his housemate, who departed. Fred and George shuffled along the wall until they found a spot to stand in front of a bookshelf.

"McGonagall hasn't come back yet?" asked Fred, who was still wearing George's Quidditch robes.

"We're to wait for her here," Merlin answered gruffly.

Fred laughed, exultantly and entirely inappropriately. "I thought Pomfrey would need to take her time with her. We gave the professor a fair walloping, didn't we Crappe?"

Vincent Crabbe gave a low growl in agreement, but Merlin cut him off. "I don't see what you're so happy about," the Head Boy said, glowering at the twins. "It's a ruddy disgrace. All those people, coming along to help the hospital. Everyone - working together for a good cause. And you two try and wreck it all."

"It was just for a lark," Fred replied confidently, but Harry noticed that Fred's eyes kept seeking out Angelina's. He seemed to be trying to justify his actions much more to her than to Merlin. "We thought it was worth a try -"

"- Fortune favours the bold, and all that," George piped up in corroboration.

"And we didn't think for a moment we'd be caught -" Fred began. Angelina's head sunk into her hands.

"Worth a try?" A vein throbbed in the side of Rhys-Jones' thick, sun burnt neck. "So, you thought you'd bring down the good name of your school, just for a lark?"

Fred's confidence wavered somewhat. "Well, maybe we took a risk, but -"

"A risk! Is that all you think it was?" Merlin folded his muscular arms and slouched back in his armchair. "Typical bloomin' Gryffindors," he grumbled, causing Modred Avery to snigger appreciatively and Cho's previously sulky face to break into a simpering grin. The Head Boy continued, "You all think you're so brave. But you take brainless risks. You're nothing but a load of reckless loonies."

Harry found himself liking Rhys-Jones a lot less. How could Merlin, who had sung Men of Harlech while standing on a table in a pub, have the effrontery to call Gryffindors loonies? Angelina's head snapped back up and it was clear that she too took umbrage at the insult to her house.

"That's enough, Puffleduffer," she snarled.

"You tell him!" Fred said encouragingly.

Angelina's swollen eyes narrowed as she turned to Fred. "Shut-up, you stinking Skrewt," she ineloquently began. "You devious - you two-faced - I could understand it if you just wanted to play. I mean - you played bloody well, actually. But, telling Malfoy's dad? Why?"

"We didn't tell him," George protested. "We haven't been anywhere near him."

Fred added, "Come off it, Angelina! Why would we?"

Angelina's voice grew louder and steadier as her sorrow turned to rage. "Because Lee tells me you'll collect one hundred and seventeen Galleons, ten Sickles and twenty-five Knuts if you can rig two wins for the teachers."

The accusation hung in the air like a cloud of poison, striking everyone in the room dumb. But the silence was soon broken by the brisk click of Professor McGonagall's heels on the stone stairs, and the acting headmistress entered the room with a fearsome spark of asperity in her eyes.

McGonagall's reprimand to the student team was predictably harsh, but the consequences that flowed were more in the nature of admonitions than punishments. However, she made it clear that the Weasley twins were receiving their final warning. "It will make no difference if you are three days away from completing your education at this school," she threatened as she glared at Fred and George. "It will make no difference if you are three minutes from leaving Hogwarts forever. If either of you gentlemen break a single school rule again, you will be immediately expelled."

Harry thought the professor's treatment of the twins was completely justified. Because he knew that George Weasley, who he had seen waiting for Lucius Malfoy at the free samples tent just that morning, was lying.

* * * * * * *

Most of the team headed for the showers after the meeting with McGonagall. Angelina looked as though she intended to drown herself there. Fred and George snuck away as soon as they reached the bottom of the bell tower stairs and Harry was not sorry to see them go.

Harry, who faintly hoped that Hermione would have finished her essay, went straight to the Gryffindor common room. The room showed all the signs that it had been recently occupied by messy, idle, young people. Books, magazines, playing cards and parchment littered the tables. Gobstones were set out in intricate formations on the floor. A football rested on the mantelpiece and a sign with the words, "We Love You Kirley," emitted a faint whirring noise as it hung above the fireplace. But, except for Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell, who were sitting at a table in the corner, the room was deserted.

"Where is everyone?" Harry asked.

Alicia gave a bored sigh. "That potions mob is packing up today. They're giving away their whole stock of samples before they go." Harry looked out the window to the castle lawns, where an unruly mob of students jostled around the red and white tent.

"Have you just come from McGonagall's office?" Alicia asked.

"Yeah. I think Angelina's gone to the showers, though," Harry replied.

"What did McGonagall say?" Katie asked in a wavering voice. "She didn't - you know -" She bit her lower lip and tears welled in her pale blue eyes. Harry had never realised what close friends the Gryffindor Chasers all were. Katie appeared to be distraught at the prospect of her teammate being punished.

"She didn't do anything, really. Just gave us an ear-bashing," Harry replied. He realised he should be relieved to be saying these words, but still felt he had been treated unfairly. "But she promised she'd expel the Weasleys if they step out of line again," he added bitterly. "Serve them right if she does."

Katie made a choking, sobbing noise and buried her face in her handkerchief. While Alicia consoled her, Harry backed away. The girls continued to whisper to each other as Harry pulled an armchair closer to the window ledge, sat down heavily in it, and tried to think. He looked down on his fellow students outside, who were laughing and shoving and merrily breaking bottles over each other's heads in the June sunshine.

June was not Harry Potter's favourite month. Of all the months in the year, June was the month most likely to see him face to face with Voldemort, or battling a Basilisk, or being attacked by a werewolf and a cohort of Dementors at the same time. June was the month that Harry would typically assume his responsibility to protect the entire wizarding world, vanquish evil and then wind up in the hospital wing.

But, this June had been different. This June, Voldemort was "out there" somewhere and Harry was safe at Hogwarts. This June, better and braver men than Harry had taken up the fight. This June, the wizarding world no longer needed Harry to lead them into battle. In fact, the wizarding world couldn't even be bothered letting Harry know where the battle was, or how it was going.

Harry swung his feet and angrily kicked at a pyramid of Gobstones, sending them rolling under the nearest settee. It was frustrating to be told so little by Hagrid and it was worrying to be told nothing at all by Sirius. Above all else, it was humiliating to be wasting his time at school, playing idiotic games of Quidditch, when there were so many more important things Harry should be doing. And despite this, Hagrid and Ginny seemed to think Harry was in danger. Harry stood up with resolution and walked to the boys' staircase. If he could do nothing else, he thought, then at least he could change out of his stupid Quidditch clothes.

In contrast to the common room, Harry's dormitory was a paragon of tidiness. Bedspreads had been smoothed and pillows positioned with geometric precision. Books had been placed in orderly rows on the shelves next to each boy's bed. Not one scrap of parchment or one dirty sock remained on the floor and each school trunk had been packed and closed. The house-elves had done their job.

It was the stark neatness of everything else in the dormitory that made Harry's pillow appear incongruous. Somebody had left some Honeydukes sweet wrappers there. Not only had they left them, they had uncrumpled them and laid them in a neat row of nine small, waxed paper squares. As Harry moved towards his bed, he also saw that each wrapper had a word written on it in tiny, spidery handwriting. The wrappers' message read, "Harry Potter Must Not Be Forgetting The Sticking Broom."

He was in no mood for the infantile jokes of his roommates. Harry picked up the pillow and threw it against a wall, which sent the sweet wrappers fluttering in all directions.

* * * * * * *

Harry spent the remainder of the day firstly sulking in his dormitory and, an hour later, pounding on the steadfastly locked library door. Apparently, Bunty believed she was entitled to hold her beloved Miss Hermione Granger prisoner for the remainder of the school year. Harry wondered how Ron was coping in there, having to tolerate the assistant librarian's incessant lectures on elfin pride.

Dinner was every bit as awkward as Harry expected it would be. Cho had surrounded herself with an intimidating number of girls at the Ravenclaw table, all of whom kept shooting dirty looks at Harry. On the Hufflepuff table, Merlin held court with his prefects, no doubt lecturing them on the importance of school spirit and the need to quash all forms of recklessness. The Gryffindor table was a cheerless place for Harry, with Angelina and Katie holding a "most miserable countenance" contest. Fortunately, the Weasley twins were nowhere to be seen.

The Slytherins were unusually quiet - Draco Malfoy had not yet arrived. However, he entered the Great Hall halfway through the main course, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. As Malfoy cast a contemptuous eye over to the Gryffindors, his lip curled into a sneer. "No Weasleys at the dinner table, I see," he announced maliciously. "Still, their mother and father should be grateful if the school expels the lot of them. Then they can go out and earn some money."

Draco was mistaken. There was one Weasley at the Gryffindor table - a slight, short girl with fiery red hair and a fierce temper. She pushed back her chair and had drawn her wand before Colin Creevey grabbed her arm. A prefect moved down the table to discipline Ginny, while Malfoy laughed openly at her. "Look, Goyle," he mocked. "The runt of the litter wants to duel with me."

Harry was not prepared to let Malfoy's insults go unpunished. Whatever he might feel about Fred and George at the moment, the Weasleys were the closest thing to a real family that Harry had. Without even bothering to look at Malfoy, he shouted, "Hey, Draco, I heard it was your birthday today."

The students of Hogwarts had obviously all heard about Malfoy's potions mishap that morning. Many of them began to laugh. Draco's face reddened as his grey eyes searched for Harry along the table. Harry began to sing, "Happy Birthday To You," as loudly as he could manage and, to his immense gratification, most of his fellow students joined in. Nearly everybody was laughing uproariously at the conclusion. A boy with a booming baritone voice on the Hufflepuff table even decided to lead another verse. At this point Malfoy did an about face and left the Great Hall, with much speed and little dignity.

Harry was still grinning broadly at Malfoy's retreat, when he noticed Ginny. She was not smiling as she looked directly at Harry. Instead, her brown eyes were burning with wounded pride. Self consciously, Harry looked back down at his lamb chops, although he didn't feel hungry any more.

* * * * * * *

For the second night in a row, Harry waited for Hermione and Ron to return. Once again, he lay awake, listening to Neville Longbottom snore and Dean drowsily mutter something incoherent about own goals. But eventually, exhaustion got the better of Harry and he drifted into restless sleep.

An angry, orange sun was shining in his eyes, causing him to blink fitfully. He was sitting in the highest seats of the stadium, seemingly miles from the ground, watching Quidditch. Or rather, he was watching Cho. She was gliding through the air with the sunshine forming a halo behind her. It shone through her translucent, diaphanous robes as she gracefully reached out to gather armfuls of Golden Snitches. Harry had never seen her looking more beautiful and he found his breath coming urgently and quickly as she flew right up to him. To Harry's surprise, Cho dropped the Snitches into his lap. But, as she did they turned to sweet wrappers, which had the message, "You cad!" written on them.

"I thought I told you to keep you eyes open!" a shrill voice nagged. Harry turned around to see Ginny sitting in the row behind him, holding a buzzing shoebox. Harry wanted to explain something to Ginny, but the words refused to come out of his mouth. Instead, he reached out to take the box away from her. He didn't want her to be hurt by it. However, as his fingers touched the lid, the shoebox burst into flames. His hand recoiled, his voice returned to give a startled cry, and the next thing Harry knew he was blinking his eyes at the bright ray of sunshine streaming through his dormitory window.

Fire, Harry thought. Lucius Malfoy's going to set fire to the hospital. Harry sat bolt upright in his bed and was seized with a panicky urge to run to the library and blast the door from its hinges. It was then than he noticed a long, freckled arm hanging over the edge of the bed next to his.

Ron had not bothered to put on his pyjamas, or even to pull back the covers. But he had managed to remove his shoes and robes. He was laying on his back, spread-eagled on the top of his bed, wearing only a T-shirt, a pair of possibly charmed underpants and a reeking pair of maroon socks. His hair looked as though it had not been a combed for days and sparse, orange stubble covered the lower half of his face. He was sound asleep. Harry thought that, Cho's translucent robes notwithstanding, Ron was the best thing he had seen all morning.

Harry grabbed Ron's arm and shook it, trying to rouse his friend. Years of sleeping in a noisy, crowded house had given Ron the ability to remain unconscious through most major disturbances. Harry remembered how Sirius had once joked that he had chased Scabbers under the blankets, and demolished most of Ron's bed, before the boy had even stirred. Harry yanked harder on the lanky, spotted limb and Ron murmured, "Ermy-nee - bloodyelf - Irides Violetta."

"Wake up, Ron," Harry said loudly. Seamus poked his head out from his covers and swore.

"Whazza - wha - gerroff," Ron replied, half opening his eyes and hitting away Harry's hand. Then Ron closed his eyes tightly and rolled over.

Harry was not deterred. He shook Ron's shoulder violently, and Ron grimaced as he begrudgingly reopened one eye. "Ron!" Harry leaned over so that his mouth was inches from Ron's ear. "Are you going back to St Mungo's today?"

Ron's eye snapped shut again, but he growled, "No. Mynee's riding allday. Gonna elper." His breath smelled putrid.

"Don't go back to the hospital. It's not safe. Promise me."

Ron curled his knees up and edged away from Harry. "Allrigh', sure," he yawned. "Jus' lemme sleep." Within moments, Ron was sound asleep again.

Harry was awake, alert and feeling unexpectedly glad. Ron and Hermione were safe, Hermione would be able to finish her essay and hopefully that would bring the Brews-U-Like Corporation to account for all its wrongdoings.

The sun had barely risen, but Harry felt an overwhelming desire to be outside, alone and soaring freely. He didn't need breakfast - he found a couple of Chocolate Frogs in his school trunk and ate them instead. He didn't want to see Angelina, or anybody else, before the next Quidditch match. He dressed in his Hogwarts All School Team robes, straddled his Firebolt and flew out the window. He had no intention of touching down before it was time to play the final game of the tournament.

* * * * * * *

The past four weeks had predominantly destroyed Harry's enthusiasm for Quidditch, but not his love of flying. He flew over the lake, nearly skimming the surface with his heels and frightening a family of Grindylows. He climbed high over the trees of the Forbidden Forest, all the way to the craggy mountains, listening to mournful Augurey song piercing the morning calm. He circled the castle lazily, watching people making their trek from the school's gates to the Quidditch stadium like a row of busy ants.

Harry felt as though he had been uncaged, and he realised that he never wanted to relinquish his liberty again. He was forming a plan - the details were alarmingly sketchy but the objective was clear. Harry decided that he would not return to Privet Drive this summer. He would find Sirius, no matter how dangerous or problematic that might be. He didn't care about the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery. He would be an outlaw, just like Sirius. He didn't even care if he had to leave Hogwarts for good, as long as he could to find his godfather. Harry was going to find Sirius, and live with him, and help him fight Voldemort.

Hagrid, of course, was critical to this scheme. Hagrid was the only person who could tell Harry exactly where Sirius and Professor Lupin were. Despondently, Harry decided that he would have to play one more game of Quidditch after all, if only to give him the chance to talk to Hagrid. He spun his Firebolt towards the stadium and was surprised to see that the stands were full. The third match was due to begin.

The Security Troll gave a shocked yowl as Harry flew swiftly into the stadium tunnel. Angelina made a noise that was part of a curse and part of an expletive when Harry came to a shuddering halt in front of her.

"Well, well, Mith Chang," Avery observed in a singsong voice. "Looks like you won't be Theeker today, after all."

"You're an irresponsible mound of Bowtruckle puke," Angelina snapped at Harry. "If we weren't already one player down, I'd set fire to your broom. As it is - you're Seeker. Chang, you're Chaser." Cho pouted furiously, but said nothing.

Harry counted the line of student players. There were indeed only six of them - George was missing. Perhaps guessing what Harry was thinking, Rhys-Jones whispered in Harry's ear, "Wood's given George Weasley a three match suspension."

"Three matches!" Angelina's face was turning as purple as her left sock. "The bloody idiot knows we've only got one more match to play."

"Still," Merlin tried to sound cheerful and reassuring, "if we all pull together and do our best -"

"Our best?" Angelina hit her broom against the wall with such force that Avery gave a nervous squeal. "Bugger that!" she continued. "We need to win. But - if we can't win -" Her ferocious features transformed into a terrifying grin as she recalled her favourite motto. "If we cannot win, let us break a few heads," she quoted, then led her team onto the field.

The teachers were already standing around the centre circle of the pitch. Professor McGonagall's spectacles flashed forbiddingly at her opponents. Even Madam Hooch's mouth, which normally twitched at the corners as though it fully expected to smile, was set in a grim line of determination. Only Hagrid seemed pleased to see the students.

When Harry took his position, Hagrid strolled over and stooped down to speak softly to him. "Bin lookin' fer yeh everywhere this mornin', Harry," Hagrid said happily. "I've had a coupla visitors who wanted ter catch up with yeh." Hagrid's great shaggy head nodded towards the top box of the Quidditch stadium.

In the seat previously occupied by the Chairman of the Brews-U-Like Corporation sat the regal and serene personage of Albus P.W.B. Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts. The old man noticed Harry and gave an indulgent wave. Then Harry recognised the wizard sitting next to Dumbledore as another old friend - Remus Lupin had returned to Hogwarts. But Harry's spirits soared like a Phoenix when he realised that a hulking, black wolfhound was sitting to attention in the seat next to Lupin's. Lupin held a pair of Omnioculars up to the dog's eyes and the animal appeared to be barking with delight.

Hagrid was chuckling. "Young Sirius reckoned there was no way he'd miss seein' yeh play today." Hagrid patted Harry on the back and lumbered back to the staff team. Harry was too overjoyed to say anything.

Before Harry knew what was happening the Golden Snitch was released and thirteen players were in the air. Harry didn't even care when Professor McGonagall scored first. Sirius was back, Sirius was here, and Sirius had come to watch him play. Madam Hooch spearheaded a Parkin's Pincer that caused Avery to drop the Quaffle, and McGonagall scored again.

"It's all the staff team's way so far," Lee Jordan announced. "Don't let them get too far ahead, Angelina!"

It dawned on Harry that, if Sirius had come to see him play, it might be preferable that Sirius also see him win. Angelina thundered up the pitch and rocketed in a shot for goal, that unfortunately lodged in Hagrid's beard.

Then it was Professor Snape's turn to swoop the length of the ground, leaning against the long, dark handle of his broom. Curiously, no howling greeted the Potions Master's charge, only enthusiastic cheers. The Women Who Run With the Wolves appeared to be much tamer, and comparatively saner, although Harry wondered whether any group of people who adored Professor Snape could ever be truly regarded as right in the head. The only animal noises that came from the spectators' stands were the unfriendly barks of a large black dog. Snape outfoxed Rhys-Jones with a Reverse Pass to Madam Hooch, who in turn stormed the scoring area and sent the Quaffle spinning through the centre hoop. The score was thirty to nil, but Harry had not sighted so much as a glimmer of the Snitch.

A Bludger smashed through the bristles of his Firebolt. Harry looked down to see Argus Filch's evil leer. The caretaker had resumed his tactics of the first match, by hovering close to the ground and collecting both the Bludgers that Professor Sprout sent his way. Filch was now redirecting the Bludgers towards the student team with murderous accuracy. Vincent Crabbe was doing his best to head Professor Sprout off, but his best was woefully inadequate. Slytherin had always chosen their team's Beaters for their thuggery rather than agility or speed.

"Get out of range," Angelina commanded as she hurtled past, with blood oozing from a cut above her eye. "You're no use to us if a Bludger cracks your skull!"

Harry rose higher, but he could not sight the Snitch. Merlin received a direct Bludger hit to his shoulder, which caused his right arm to hang limply, yet he still managed to save at least as many goals as he let through. The Hogwarts Staff Team seemed to be pulling away to an unbeatable lead when Angelina scored two goals in quick succession. Harry wondered whether Hagrid was just feeling sorry for them all.

Then Professor McGonagall shot through the centre goalpost again, bringing the score to one hundred and sixty to twenty. "The only way the students are winning this," Lee declared, "is if Harry Potter can catch the Snitch right now."

This announcement heralded what, in later years, would be remembered as one of the most peculiar episodes in Hogwarts' long association with the noble sport of warlocks. Mordred Avery called for a pass from Cho but, predictably, the Quaffle slipped from his grasp. Professor Snape dived below the ball, scooped it up greedily and hugged it to his chest. He then steered his broom, not towards the goalposts, but to the outer reaches of the pitch. The three student Chasers set off in pursuit.

Snape flew rapidly but erratically. He swooped around the perimeter for several laps. He zigzagged across the middle of the pitch in an almost balletic Woollongong Shimmy. He refused to pass the Quaffle when Madam Hooch and Professor McGonagall called for the ball. He made no attempt to score. He appeared to have no other motive than to fly fast and to force the other players to hunt him down.

"They're not going to catch the Professor, he's tanking down the pitch. He makes Avery's Firebolt 1500 look like a bundle of kindling!" Lee enthused when the chase began, but as the minutes wore on, the spectacle became far less exciting. "Hogging the Quaffle - I can't call it anything else," Lee began to yell, as the spectators voiced their mounting displeasure. "He's nothing but a rotten Quafflehog!" Lee shouted.

Harry stopped Seeking in order to view the cause of everyone's annoyance. Professor Snape was an unsettling sight. He was low on his broom, the Quaffle gripped so close that it was obscured in the folds of his robes. His limp hair streamed behind him, his crooked teeth were bared in a hateful smile and his dark eyes shone with the rich glint of lunacy. But perhaps the most unnerving thing about the Potions Master was that, no matter how he ducked and weaved or where he flew, his maniacal gaze remained fixed on Harry.

Angelina and the other student Chasers were doing their best to strip Snape of the Quaffle without conceding a penalty, but unfortunately this strategy depended on catching him first. The frustration was causing Angelina to shout increasingly bloodthirsty orders to her players. In an unanticipated stroke of luck, Vincent Crabbe crossed the Potions Master's path at precisely the right moment, and Angelina bellowed, "Thump him, Crappe!"

Crabbe did exactly that, bringing his Beater's bat down on the Potions Master's ugly, hooked nose with a crunch that could be heard clear across the Quidditch pitch. Wood blew his whistle and shouted, "Penalty!"

Instead of returning to the centre of the pitch to take his penalty shot, Professor Snape stayed exactly where he was. Oliver flew alongside him.

"It's a penalty, Professor," the referee explained, wondering if Snape had possibly been concussed by the blow.

"Dere's no reason for a benalty," Snape replied evenly, through the river of gore that was running down his chin.

Wood had seen some strange things on the Quidditch pitch, but he could not fathom this. "He hit you square in the face," Wood countered. "You can take a shot for goal."

"His bat must hab slibbed," Snape responded in an authoritative voice. "I will blay on."

The crowd groaned as Snape resumed his aimless circumnavigation of the pitch. The Quaffle seemed destined to never leave his hands. And, Snape's battered, malevolent visage seemed destined to never cease staring at Harry Potter.

People started to throw Butterbeer bottles at the players. An elderly wizard tried to aim a long range Stunning Spell at Professor Snape, but the Security Trolls overpowered the wizened spectator and hauled him away. But, the anger of the crowd was insignificant compared to the fury of Angelina. She abandoned her chase long enough to locate Harry, who had soared above the field of play. "Find the bloody Snitch!" she screamed like a Banshee. "If you don't - end this game - I'll -"

Harry never found out what sort of unpleasantry Angelina had in mind. He had been watching the air like an eagle seeking its prey, but the Snitch had eluded him. However, at the exact moment that Angelina had made her threat, Argus Filch let out an almighty wail. An instant later, the caretaker shot into the air like a rocket, gathering speed as he zoomed past Harry and headed for the sun. Amazingly, his broom did not blast off with him. It had clattered onto the grass of the pitch.

The Golden Snitch was hovering next to Filch's broom.

Harry dived desperately, willing the Snitch to remain where it was. It flitted along the ground but Harry kept his eyes trained on it, as he pulled up and flew parallel to the grass. The crowd was cheering madly; Harry supposed it was because of him. But what if they were cheering Snape? Had the Potions Master decided to play for a draw? Harry did not have time to consider this - the Snitch was just beyond his fingertips. He stood on his broom, reaching for the Snitch with both hands. Then the crowd gave a horrified gasp.

Harry's eyes moved from the Snitch long enough to see Merlin Rhys-Jones fall from the sky. His hand was about to close on the Snitch, but the sight of Merlin's lifeless body on the grass threw his balance. He made the catch, but at the same time his feet slipped from his Firebolt and his forehead collided heavily with the turf.

Everybody was cheering. The crowd was hysterical. But the last thing Harry heard, before he blacked out, was Angelina Johnson shouting, "MERLIN'S ARSE!"

* * * * * * *

Harry was in a hospital bed. Just the same as nearly every other June, he reflected bitterly. His head throbbed and he was certainly hallucinating. Hagrid was standing at the foot of Harry's bed, holding an airborne Argus Filch by the ankles. The caretaker was floating like a sinister, cursing kite. His grizzled head collided with the rafters of the infirmary. Harry's eyes closed again.

Harry's eyes reopened to see a burly Muggle, wearing a bright red rugby jumper and a Hufflepuff scarf. He was crying into a spotted handkerchief. A tiny, thin witch sat beside him patting his arm.

"Don't take on so, Maldwyn, love," the little witch said soothingly.

"She said his neck was broken, Glennys," the great Muggle blubbered. "He'll never walk. He'll never play blindside flanker again!" The man was engulfed in convulsing sobs.

"He's in good hands," the witch said matter of factly. "Madam Pomfrey can mend him. He'll be walking out of that station on Friday." Harry's eyes closed again.

The Muggle had gone when Harry next awoke. The curtains were drawn around the hospital bed closest to the window. Harry heard harsh voices coming from that direction.

"Stop squirming, Severus," Madam Pomfrey was scolding. "If you don't hold that poultice still, your nose'll be even beakier than it was before."

"I see no boint in remaining here," Professor Snape protested. "I am berfectly cabable of brebaring this boultice myself."

"Rules of Quidditch," Poppy Pomfrey declared, as if this settled the matter. "All grievously injured players are to be attended to by a qualified Healer. Now, sit there and be quiet." She flicked the curtains back and moved towards Harry, who looked at her with half-open, unfocussed eyes.

"Another dose of Strengthening Solution for you, I think, Mr Potter," said Madam Pomfrey. She poured a smoking potion into a glass on Harry's bedside table. "And Sleeping Draught, you need to rest."

There were so many things Harry wanted to know, so many questions to ask. But, as he felt the warm brew begin to do its work, just one question came to mind.

"The Quidditch match," he whispered.

"What's that, boy?" Madam Pomfrey asked briskly. She was busying herself straightening Harry's bed.

"The match, " Harry slurred sleepily. "Did we win, or ... was it ...a draw?"

Madam Pomfrey's features blurred and swam before him. Her voice echoed fuzzily through the approaching fog. "You lost, of course," she said. "The Sticking Broom saw to that."

Behind the curtain of the bed nearest the window, a low voice was laughing.

Strangely, all Harry could think of, as he lapsed into unwelcome sleep, was how pleased Fred Weasley would be.