Harry Potter and the Sticking Broom

Chapter 17: A Clearer View

Fred Weasley, you stink. I hate you, thought Angelina Johnson. She sat at the Gryffindor table, with her back to the doors of the Great Hall. She had chosen this spot to avoid the pitying or disgusted stares of the students who were coming down to breakfast. As she held the morning's post in her trembling hands, she was doubly glad to be facing away from the doors, because nobody entering the hall could see her face. A post owl had delivered a delicate scroll that was decorated with a floral border and smelled of lavender. What sort of daft old bat sends a letter that smells like my mum's underwear drawer? Angelina asked herself. She bit her quivering bottom lip, blinked the tears away from her eyes and reread the letter a third time.

Dear Miss Johnson,

We wish to advise that the Holyhead Harpies Quidditch Club has decided to withdraw its offer to employ you as our third reserve Chaser in the upcoming Quidditch season. My fellow directors and I have had the misfortune to view an Omniocular replay of some of your recent misbehaviour on the Quidditch pitch. We were appalled at the degree of brutality and foul play you countenanced as captain of the Hogwarts All School Team. We were scandalised by the profane and unladylike language you used. We were also, to be frank, amazed that you let the staff team win.

No doubt, there are other teams in the Britain and Ireland Quidditch League where your shenanigans will go unnoticed. The Holyhead Harpies Quidditch Club is, however, an association of gentlewomen. We do not believe that a young girl, possessing such a violent and uncouth demeanour as yours, could ever be a fitting representative of our club.

Yours in Quidditch,

Mrs Gwendolyn Griffud

Managing Director

Seventh year was supposed to have been Angelina's glory year. She had captained Gryffindor through an undefeated season and had held the Quidditch Cup aloft. Neither the great Charlie Weasley nor the even more illustrious Oliver Wood had done as much. The Hogwarts All School Team was going to be the showcase for her talents - a way of displaying her Quidditch prowess to the world. But now she was jobless and roundly regarded as a joke.

Fred had been the cause of it all. Angelina was certain of that much. Still, she could not stop herself thinking that, if Fred were with her right now, he would force her to laugh at this stupid smelly letter. If Fred were here, he would find a way to turn her shame into a triumph. Or at least, he would convince her that there was nothing so wonderful about being triumphant all the time. Fred Weasley, you stink, thought Angelina. You stink worse than Stinksap, worse than a troll's breath and worse than a hag's hairy armpits. But, I don't really hate you. Actually, I miss you. I could use a laugh right now.

As Lee Jordan took his place beside Angelina at the breakfast table, the Galleons in his pockets jangled. In the aftermath of the Quidditch tournament, morale among the students of Hogwarts was abysmally low. Even now, wretched groups of friends were discussing the result in hushed tones, shaking their heads in disbelief and casting disdainful glances at Angelina. But Lee was, in contrast, feeling chuffed. It had been a good week for the bookmaker.

Of course, one student had been reckless enough to back the staff team. But Lee felt no compunction to honour that student's bet. Fred Weasley's public reputation had fallen as low as an Ashwinder's belly. Fred had admitted that he was a contemptible cheat - in front of a whole stadium full of people, no less. No bookmaker in his right mind would feel obliged to pay Fred Weasley.

Lee's only regret was that Fred had apparently devised a brilliant plan for rigging the tournament, but had not bothered to let him in on the secret. In fact, Lee still had not figured out how Fred foresaw the result of the third match. But, it was obvious that he had. Maybe Fred consulted a seer?

If only Fred had told him about the scheme, Lee could have covered the bet with a bookmaker in Hogsmeade. The odds old Winston Lotterby had given for a staff team win were astronomical. Lee could have paid Fred and had handfuls of Galleons left over. Still, on such a marvelous and prosperous morning, Lee was feeling magnanimous enough to forgive Fred even this oversight, provided he didn't ask Lee for any money.

"Morning," Lee said brightly. "What've you got there?"

Angelina shoved the perfumed scroll up her sleeve and began to pick at her eggs and bacon. "Nothing," she said evasively. "Just a letter. From, er, home." She wished Lee would take his beaming smile and sunny breakfast attitude and go elsewhere.

"Only one more day and we'll be going home," Lee mused airily, as though home was his favourite destination. "Funny, to think we won't be coming back next year."

"Hilarious," Angelina growled. She hadn't thought of going home. Until this morning, her plan had been to stay at home long enough to collect her N.E.W.T.s letter and demand that her father sign her contract. Playing Quidditch was going to be her ticket out of a mundane life. Now, she would probably be stuck at home for months until she found another job. She would have to listen to her dad bang about, mending other people's cauldrons all day, and help her mum pickle salamander eggs. Worst of all, they lived in Birmingham, slap bang in the middle of all the Muggles. She wouldn't be able to fly. It was going to be hell.

She stuck her fork savagely into a crispy piece of bacon, which dislodged the scroll from her sleeve. The letter rolled onto the floor behind her.

"Here you go," said a familiar, but not entirely welcome voice. Fred and George, both trying to look grave, were standing behind her. With a sheepish smile, Fred offered her the scroll.

"You!" She couldn't believe he would have the gall to face her, let alone talk to her. She snatched back the letter. "I've got nothing to say to you. Clear off, before I do something that'll get us both expelled."

"But, I've got something to say to you," Fred insisted. "I'm not about to let you fly off to Wales, behaving like a Doxy with a toothache, before I've had a chance to say I'm sorry."

"I'm not going to Wales," Angelina replied bitterly. Fred looked shocked. Lee dropped his crumpet. Angelina unrolled the scroll and gave it to Fred. "Here, read it," she continued. "Have a good laugh. I'm not going anywhere. But, even if I intended to sit here looking at your idiot grin for the rest of eternity, I wouldn't want to hear a word you'll say."

Fred's ears turned pink and he pursed his lips as he read the scented letter. "The evil old crone!" he stormed, when he reached the final line. "Gwendolyn Griffud's a hypocritical cow. Her maiden name was Morgan. Notorious cheat." Fred gesticulated angrily with the scroll as he ranted. "Brutality?" he scoffed. "She's the one who clobbered that Kraut during the game against the Harriers! Unladylike language? She used to swear on the pitch like a Knockturn Alley tart." He checked the back of the scroll for the sender's address and an impish grin spread across his face. "Tell you what, Angelina - George and I'll whip up a batch of Weasleys' Bubotuber Bonbons for our Mrs Griffud. Let's show her what foul play really means, eh?" Fred slammed the scroll on the table. George, who had been very subdued, gave an earnest nod.

Angelina wanted to smile. It was good to have Fred on her side again. But, then she remembered, Fred had created this whole mess in the first place. With a steely looked, she reminded him. "It's a bit late to be supportive, isn't it?"

Fred's smile disappeared. "Oh. Yes. That's what I wanted to say." He shuffled uncomfortably and buried his hands in his pockets. "The thing is - you see - I'm sorry about that whole mess on Tuesday. Rotten business - but I swear I've got no idea how Malfoy's dad found out. George and I just wanted to, well - "

"Win over a hundred Galleons?" Lee interrupted.

"No," Fred said loudly. He was beginning to draw quite an audience along the Gryffindor table. "No way! I mean, how could I, anyway? Nobody saw what was coming yesterday -" His looked at Angelina, noticed that her cheeks were flushed with shame, and decided the less said about the ill-fated third Quidditch match the better. "I'd forgotten about that silly bet. I just wanted to help. Angelina, I couldn't bear to watch George behaving like a fool and sending you barmy -"

"Absolutely. That's Fred's job," George added, unhelpfully. Fred kicked his brother in the shins to silence him.

"George's playing - well, it wasn't going to improve," Fred continued apologetically. "I just wanted to give you a better chance of winning. But, when Mr Malfoy threatened Veritaserum, I knew the game was up. We've taken precautions against ordinary truth serums. You know that. But there's no antidote for Veritaserum. It's bloody strong stuff. And, if we started talking under Veritaserum -" Fred's voice trailed away to a halting whisper. "If they used Veritaserum - all the things we might say - we might never ... actually .... stop."

Angelina's brown eyes were boring into Fred's. She wanted to believe him. But she remembered all the lies that had brought them to this point. "That's not good enough," she said coldly.

"Oh, leave them alone!" Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet had been sitting a few places down the table, on the opposite side. It appeared that Katie had been following the argument with keen interest. She rose to her feet and continued to scold Angelina as she walked towards her. Alicia followed warily. "They're telling the truth," Katie said forcefully. "They did their best. And they didn't breathe a word to Lucius Malfoy. That was all my fault."

The jaws of every seventh year Gryffindor, with the exception of Alicia, dropped open.

Angelina recovered her senses first. "Well, I suppose that makes sense," she snapped. "Madam Hooch's pet. Bet you loved watching the staff team win."

"It wasn't like that at all," Alicia replied angrily.

"How did you know?" George asked Katie. He was looking at her intensely, as though he was trying to locate her in an especially thick smoke haze.

Katie's chin dropped and she mumbled into her chest. "I can always tell it's you, George. You don't seem a bit like Fred to me." Her fringe flopped into her eyes. She brushed it away and fidgeted self-consciously with her signet ring. "Since you gave me that potion - last year. You don't spend two days madly in love with a boy, without noticing everything about him. And when you laugh, or tell a joke, or even swing a bat - it's different to Fred."

In the previous year, Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes had decided to diversify its product range by manufacturing love potions. To test the potion recipe's efficacy, George had given Katie a free and unsolicited sample, without her knowledge. The two days that followed were what George would later describe as, "The most exhilarating days of my short life." When the potion wore off, Katie had given George a free and unsolicited sample of a black eye.

"But -" Fred's ginger brows had knitted into a confounded expression. "Why did you tell Malfoy?"

"She didn't," Alicia answered defiantly. "She told me."

"And - you told?" Fred wanted to know.

"I told my mum," Alicia explained. "So it wasn't our fault, see? My mum thought it was funny, and mentioned it to my aunt. That's when everything came unstuck."

"You aunt's a friend of the Malfoys?" George guessed. He squinted at Alicia.

"Not much," Alicia replied. "But she's besotted with Professor Snape. Worships the ground he walks on." Alicia grimaced with disgust at the thought of a Snape fancier in her family. "My aunt couldn't bear to think that somebody was cheating against her precious professor. So Auntie Euphemia - well, she knew Mr Malfoy was a big-wig at the hospital, and she reported it to him."

"Euphemia?" Fred's brows unknitted as he gradually solved the puzzle. "Not 'Howling for Her Hero' Euphemia?"

Alicia looked embarrassed. "Yes. I'm sure I told you. That's how my family got the tickets to the top box."

Angelina had no idea who she was supposed to be angry with now. It was vaguely unsettling. Having spent so long being furious with everybody, she had now discovered that her friends had remained loyal all along. However, ever a creature of habit, she decided to be annoyed with Katie for a little while longer. "Why didn't you tell me all this on Tuesday?" she demanded.

"I didn't think you'd believe me." Katie said with a shrug. "You've been so nasty about me and Madam Hooch."

"Well, you've practically been living in her office," Angelina said defensively.

"Yes, why is that?" Fred asked.

Katie decided that, as she had recently admitted to noticing the minutiae of George's ways, she had already sunk to the lowest ebb of humiliation. So one more confession would not hurt. "Madam Hooch has been helping me look for work," she calmly stated.

"But, you're only in sixth year," said Lee.

"And, after seeing the hell you lot have gone through with your N.E.W.T.s, there's no way I'm going on to seventh year," Katie said emphatically. "My parents said I could leave school if I found a good job first. I want to teach flying. Madam Hooch has been helping me get in touch with some of the past students of Hogwarts, the ones who played Quidditch. Quite a lot of them run flying schools, or work as flying instructors, or teachers in lower schools. We've written heaps of letters and I've already got some good offers."

"Well, at least one of us will have a job," Angelina said. She slouched down in her chair with a doleful sigh, and pushed the perfumed scroll across the table to Katie. "I suppose I could train Security Trolls," Angelina miserably murmured.

"Don't be so glum," said Fred, patting Angelina encouragingly on the top of her braided head. "You can come and work for us, when we get our shop. Can't hurt to have a pretty face behind the counter, eh George?"

"'Spose," George agreed, although he did not sound as enthusiastic as his brother. He seemed to be distracted. He had been rubbing his eyes vigorously for the past minute, but appeared unable to dislodge whatever was trapped beneath his lids. Looking up, he said, "She's got such lovely manners, too."

The group was staring at George in astonishment. George's eyes stubbornly refused to focus, so he was unaware that he had become the centre of attention. However, the other could clearly see that Fred and George Weasley were, as Katie had insisted, not alike. George's eyes had just turned an iridescent shade of violet.

* * * * * * *

Harry awoke to the faint smell of toast. He felt physically very weak, but he had a strong sense of indignation. As he tentatively touched the bandages around his aching head, he decided that Madam Pomfrey had undoubtedly been mistaken. Harry distinctly remembered the Golden Snitch fluttering in his closed hand. The Snitch had been caught. The match had ended. There was simply no way that the staff team could have won.

Maybe I misheard her, Harry thought. He certainly was not thinking clearly yesterday. A bizarre recollection that Mr Filch had been on the ceiling still disturbed him.

Poppy Pomfrey entered the infirmary carrying a tray. She placed Harry's breakfast on his bedside table and tapped her wand between his eyes. "Still a bit woozy, I see, Mr Potter," she pronounced. Harry's heart fell when he saw that she was smirking. Apparently, he had not misheard her.

"Still," said Madam Pomfrey, as she shone her wand into Harry's ears, "I suppose you can stay awake for a little while, if you promise not to exert yourself." Harry thought such a promise was a bit unnecessary. He did not feel capable of exerting himself at all. "You've got a visitor," the medi-witch stated.

But when Harry saw a huge, joyously drooling, black dog bound through the doorway, he sat upright in his bed with a bounce that set his head spinning. Remus Lupin, carrying his suitcase, followed the dog into the room and grabbed its collar.

"I thought I said that dog was to stay downstairs,' Poppy said reprovingly.

"Sorry, Poppy. I was going to leave him with Hagrid," Lupin breathlessly explained, all the while wrestling the hound to a halt. "But he's a bit busy. Peeves has untied Mr Filch from his chair again." Lupin held the dog firmly around its furry head. "Actually, Hagrid wondered if you could give him a hand down there."

Madam Pomfrey tut-tutted as she summoned a large jar of what looked like calamine lotion from a shelf. "I don't know what Argus was thinking. Playing Quidditch with something as dangerous as a jar of Billywigs in his pocket! He'll be levitating till next Tuesday." She gave Harry a stern look. "You, lie back down, at once. As soon as I'm back, I'll give you some more Sleeping Draught." She then marched briskly out the door.

The instant Madam Pomfrey's apron bow disappeared from view, Harry felt enormous paws knocking him backwards and a cold wet tongue on his face. An instant later, strong arms were hugging him and warm bristles were rubbing his cheek. Sirius Black released Harry from the embrace and surveyed him with laughing eyes.

"Good old Peeves, eh?" Sirius said.

"Although," Lupin added, breaking into a conspiratorial smile, "he wouldn't have been able to get into Filch's office if you hadn't removed that Imperturbable Charm." He discreetly drew the curtains around Harry's bed.

"Did she say Billywigs?" Harry asked, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on his godfather's face. After all his strange hallucinations, he hardly believed that feeling so happy could be real.

"Yes." Sirius was grinning like a naughty schoolboy. "Useful things, taken in moderation. Filch was supposed to release them one by one as the matches went on. You know - just enough to stay in the air. But then a Bludger smashed his jar." He pulled a funny, wincing face. "Eighty-seven stings, all at once."

"Hagrid thinks it might be some sort of record," added Lupin. He offered Harry and Sirius each some chocolate, from a block that he produced out of his battered case. Harry noticed that Lupin's hands were covered in deep scratches. His friend's eyes were also sunken and rimmed by dark circles. Remus Lupin looked far from well.

"How are you?" Harry mumbled with a full mouth.

Sirius shot Lupin a glance before replying. "We're fine. Busy, but fine."

The answer was evasive in so many ways that it made Harry cross. "I know about the Dementors," he said firmly. "Hagrid told me."

"He shouldn't have," Sirius said flatly. "The job's not finished yet, and the fewer people who know, the better."

Harry couldn't believe that Sirius had journeyed so far, and had risked so much, just to push him away like this. "But, I need to know." Harry insisted. "Because, I'm going to help you. I've thought it all out." Sirius raised an eyebrow, as though he thought Harry was not much help in his present condition, so Harry continued decisively. "I'm not going back to the Dursleys this summer. I'm coming with you."

"That ... can't happen." Sirius' words had a blunt tone of finality, but his blue eyes betrayed the pain he felt in making such a statement. "Remus and I need to leave very soon."

"Why?" Harry sat up, and immediately felt so dizzy that he thought he was going to vomit. "I'll be well by this afternoon," he said, unsteadily. "I can leave school early, if you like. In fact, I don't care if I leave school forever. I'm sick of staying here and being useless. I want to help." Harry could feel himself start to tremble, and desperately willed himself not to faint.

Sirius looked gravely concerned. "It's not that we won't need your help, Harry. In fact, we're going to need your help more than anything else, when the time's right." He gently helped Harry back down on his pillows and stroked the hair away from his forehead. Harry felt Sirius calloused fingers brush lightly against his scar. "But, until that time," Sirius continued softly, "the most important thing is to keep you safe."

"Safe?" Harry wanted to laugh at the irony, but still felt very queasy. "It hasn't exactly been safe here, this week." He grumpily added, "Why'd you bother coming, if it was only to tell me you were going away again?"

Sirius looked hurt, and Harry immediately regretted saying the words. Lupin stepped in to fill the awkward silence. "We came to see you play. You know how Sirius can't resist seeing you play."

Harry smiled guiltily and, from the corner of his eye, he saw that Sirius had begun to smile too. Harry wondered if Sirius was remembering the first time he had watched his godson play. That game had also ended in grim defeat, with Harry unconscious on the Quidditch pitch.

"It would have been be nicer if you'd let me watch you win. Just for a change," Sirius joked.

"So, we did lose then?" Harry realised how stupid those words sounded. "Er, Madam Pomfrey told me. But I hoped she might be wrong."

"I had a feeling you might want to see this," Lupin said as he pulled a pair of Omnioculars from his suitcase.

"She said something about the Sticking Broom," Harry muttered unhappily.

"Do you know what the Sticking Broom is?" Lupin asked.

Harry dumbly shook his head, which then began to throb. Sirius patted Harry on the shoulder soothingly, took the Omnioculars from Lupin and placed them in Harry's hands. "This might give you a clearer view. We'll need to split the viewpoint," Sirius said, as he turned the replay knobs, before holding the lenses up to Harry's eyes.

In the lens pressed against Harry's left eye, a tiny striped Professor Snape was hugging the Quaffle and flying with insane determination. Mordred Avery was desperately reaching to grab the long bristles of Snape's broom. However, Harry's right eye was looking at Angelina haranguing him. Across the bottom of both lenses were gold letters which read, "Score: Staff team leads, 160 to 20. Time: 1 hour 50 minutes 30.25 seconds." The golden writing flickered as the time elapsed changed rapidly. The overall effect was to make Harry feel cross-eyed, so he pulled the Omnioculars away from his eyes a little.

"I think we're coming to the part where Filch gets stung," Sirius said, as he reached for a brass dial on the side of the Omnioculars. "Just let me slow it down."

In the right lens, Harry saw Mr Filch slowly ascending. The caretaker's eyes were bulging and he was mouthing silent screams. Harry also saw himself in the Omnioculars, first staring at Filch and then sighting the Golden Snitch on the ground. The view in the Omnioculars followed Harry as he forced his Firebolt into a steep dive.

"You should really be keeping your eye on Professor Snape, now," Lupin advised. Like Sirius, he had crouched next to Harry's pillows and was stealing glimpses into the Omnioculars from behind Harry's shoulder.

In the left lens, Professor Snape changed his tactics dramatically. The instant Harry sighted the Snitch, which the golden letters showed happened at, "1 hour, 50 minutes 50.85 seconds," Snape made a charge for the scoring area. He left Mordred Avery far behind and swooped over Cho Chang's feeble attempt to block his path.

Once in the scoring area, Snape finally pulled the Quaffle away from his chest and flew right up to the middle goalpost. Merlin was already flying a Double Eight Loop, swerving in front of the three goal hoops at high speed to block the Quaffle. But, instead of shooting for goal, Professor Snape chose to do something so unexpected that Harry immediately reached for the Instant Replay dial.

Severus Snape stood up, held the Quaffle aloft and then jumped off his broom.

Not only did he jump, he pushed the broom away from him, so that it continued to rocket forward as the professor began to fall out of sight. Harry gasped.

"Watch the middle hoop," Sirius said urgently.

The instant replay showed Snape's leap again. The move, far from being an accident, was a deliberate act of agility. It reminded Harry of the Bromley Broom-a-batics, except that the acrobats had enough sense to jump from broom to broom. Snape seemed intent on doing nothing more than plummeting to the ground.

Merlin, apparently trying to grasp Professor Snape before he fell, hung from his broom in a Starfish and Stick defence. However, because Rhys-Jones had chosen to grip his broom by his wounded arm, he too fell off.

The long thin Nimbus 1200, still propelled by the momentum of Snape's kick, glided through the middle goal hoop. Harry blinked in disbelief as the Quaffle also appeared in the left lens. The ball followed the broom through the hoop and the golden letters flashed, "Goal: S. Snape, Score: Staff team leads, 170 to 20. Time: 1 hour 51 minutes 01.35 seconds."

"How did it - " Harry was too flabbergasted to finish his question.

"He threw the Quaffle just after he jumped," Lupin said.

"Keep watching the broom," said Sirius.

The riderless broom was slowing down on the offside side of the goal hoop. The Quaffle, which must have been thrown with considerable force, caught up with Snape's broom and stuck fast in its lengthy bristles. Suddenly, the viewpoint changed to a close-up view of Professor Snape.

He did not look afraid, even though his robes were billowing up like an ineffectual parachute as he fell. His face was transformed by a hideous, victorious smile. He drew his wand while he was falling and summoned his broom to him. Less than two metres from the ground, he caught the Nimbus 1200 and nimbly remounted it. He soared straight back up the goalpost and extracted the Quaffle from the bristles of his broom. He threw the Quaffle again. The golden writing at the bottom of each lens flashed again, "Goal: S. Snape. Score: Staff team leads, 180 to 20. Time: 1 hour 51 minutes 03.45 seconds."

In his right lens, Harry saw Merlin hit the ground. He saw himself standing on his broom, and watched his feet slip on his Firebolt's handle while the grass rushed underneath it. He flinched with the memory of severe pain when he watched himself reach for the Snitch and fall. The writing glittered, "Catch: H. Potter, Final Score: Staff team wins, 180 to 170. Time: 1 hour 51 minutes 03.65 seconds."

For a little while, Harry could do nothing but lie with his mouth agape. When he was able to speak, it was to voice his overwhelming sense of denial.

"That's not a legal maneuver. His broom went offside," Harry argued.

"But, Snape stayed within the boundaries of the pitch," Lupin reasoned. "The offside rule only applies to a player's position, not his broom's."

"Well - what about his wand?" Harry refused to believe that Snape had played fairly. "You're not allowed to use your wand in Quidditch!"

"You can't use a wand against opposing team members, or their brooms, or the referee, or any of the balls or any member of the crowd." Lupin said the words as though he had memorised them. Harry suspected this was not the first time that Remus Lupin had been called upon to justify the Sticking Broom. "Professor Snape used his wand for a Summoning Charm, on his own broom," Lupin explained. "That's quite legal."

"It - it can't be a fair move!" Harry sputtered. "It's so - stupid! It's suicidal!"

"Yes," Sirius sneered. "But, do you know anyone with less reason to live than Snivellus?"

"Actually, it's not a fair move at Hogwarts." Lupin's voice remained even and rational. "It was banned here more than twenty years ago. But I understand your tournament wasn't played according to school rules. The Sticking Broom is a legal move under the ordinary Britain and Ireland Quidditch League rules. Although, I don't think anybody in the league has ever been foolhardy enough to try it."

"Not even Dangerous Dai Llewellyn," Sirius agreed.

Harry dimly recalled that Oliver Wood had made some distinction about school rules and league rules. Had Oliver seen this preposterous maneuver coming all along? How could he? Unless -

"Snape's done this before, hasn't he?" Harry's question caused Sirius to shift uncomfortably in his seat on the edge of the bed.

Lupin cleared his throat. "Let us just say, you are not the first Seeker to be defeated by the Sticking Broom." Harry glanced at Sirius, whose eyes were determinedly downcast. Lupin continued, "Nor is young Rhys-Jones the first Keeper to be horribly injured."

"He did this to my dad, didn't he?" Harry already knew the answer.

"He wouldn't have if I'd kept my wits about me," Sirius said sadly.

"You were very young." Lupin consoled his friend. "We all were. Perhaps some things are better forgotten."

"No," Harry said. "I want to know what happened."

Lupin looked at Sirius, who nodded silently. With a small sigh, Lupin began to tell his story. "It all began with Sturgis Podmore's knees."

"Ah yes," Sirius said, wistfully. "I'd forgotten. But I guess that's what started it all."

Harry must have looked very confused. Lupin tried his best to place all the details in a logical order. "Gryffindor wasn't always the Quidditch powerhouse it is now. When we were in second year, nobody even wanted to be on the team. Sturgis was only a year older than we were, but he was the captain of Gryffindor, and the Keeper, more or less by default. But, then your dad tried out for Seeker."

"He turned things right around." Sirius' face lit up with the memory. "Never missed a catch. The rest of the team were still woeful, but if James was playing, we knew we could win."

"And so, Gryffindor made it into the Quidditch Cup final. For the first time since Professor McGonagall was captain." Lupin continued. "With James as Seeker, we all thought we had it won already."

"Even better, we were up against Slytherin," Sirius added.

"But, as luck would have it, three weeks before the final, somebody cursed away Sturgis Podmore's knees," Lupin explained. "He couldn't sit on his broom. Whoever did it had somewhat esoteric tastes in curses. And, since the school couldn't find the culprit, Madam Pomfrey had a terrible time trying to work out the counter-curse. She kept making things worse. At one stage, poor Sturgis must have been worried he'd be going home with no legs at all. Unfortunately, at this point, two students decided to take the law into their own hands."

Sirius chuckled. "Well, we knew the Slytherins were behind it, didn't we? So James and I decided we'd repay the favour. We made a little Portkey for one of the Slytherin Chasers."

"It was a cupcake, wasn't it?" Remus asked.

"Yes," Sirius said happily. "Vincent Goyle used to be as stupid as he was fat. Still is, I guess. He grabbed the cake and it sent him to a little flying carpet shop in Istanbul. I think it took six months for his family to find him."

"So, Gryffindor team needed to find a Keeper, and Slytherin needed a new Chaser, in time for the final," Lupin explained. "Sirius tried out for Keeper, and made the team."

"In second year?" Harry asked incredulously.

"It was nearly the end of the year. I was big for my age." Sirius gave a shrug. "And your dad practiced with me non-stop until the try-outs."

Harry rolled his eyes and asked, "No prizes for guessing who the new Slytherin Chaser was, I suppose?"

"Well, at the time it was quite a surprise," said Remus.

"No," Sirius contradicted him. "At the time, it was an enormous bloody shock. I mean, as far as James and I knew, Snape couldn't even fly. We had flying lessons in first year with the Slytherins, and little Snivellus couldn't get on a broom without being bucked off again. He made Florence Bjelke-Petersen laugh so much one lesson, she wet herself!"

"Sirius!" Lupin, who was all for candid reminiscences, appeared to think his friend had gone too far. To Harry, Lupin said quietly, "We think Snape might have had some private lessons outside school."

"We know that Malfoy bought him that ridiculous broom," Sirius said. "It wasn't the sort of thing a pathetic toerag like Snape could have come by."

Lupin nodded, and added, "Lucius Malfoy was in seventh year and captained Slytherin. He'd won the cup for them the two previous years."

"I'll never forget your dad's reaction when Snape followed Malfoy onto the pitch." Sirius told Harry. "James couldn't stop laughing. Snape's broom was head and shoulders taller than he was. Out came the scrawny weed, like a puny, weak lap dog trotting behind his master."

"His playing was anything but weak, though," Lupin said thoughtfully. Sirius snorted in derision, which caused Lupin to qualify his praise. "Although, he was certainly far more enthusiastic about the sport, than he was ethical."

"He was a grubby little cheat," Sirius said vehemently. "Not just ordinary fouls, either. There were jinxes and hexes flying all over the pitch. I still reckon he had his wand Spellotaped to his arm - "

"They couldn't prove anything," Lupin interrupted. "But he certainly had some unorthodox strategies for intercepting passes. And then, of course, he had the Sticking Broom. The Slytherins had even made a Sticking Broom banner. They waved it for the whole game, but nobody knew what it meant. Until the end." Harry wondered whether it was the same flag that had flown from the bell tower four weeks ago.

"It should never have happened." Sirius' voice was full of regret. "If I hadn't let them get so far ahead. I was hopeless."

"It was your first game," Lupin reminded him.

"Some first game! Getting beaten and breaking my back!"

Harry remembered how Merlin had fallen, trying to save Snape. He asked Sirius, "Did you try and catch Snape when he dived off his broom?"

Sirius gave a disgusted groan. "As if! Watching that git fall's my one happy memory from that whole dismal game! But then, I looked up again to see his broom coming for my head. It was like a javelin - aimed straight through the hoop. I tried to get out of the way with a Sloth Grip Roll, but -" His hands made an apologetic gesture. "Just - hopeless."

"You were barely thirteen," Lupin said kindly.

"Well, some good came of it all, anyway." Sirius seemed to be cheering up a bit. "Madam Parsons, she was our referee, was so horrified that she stopped Snape from playing for the rest of his school years. And the move was banned. I never thought I'd see it again." He smiled indulgently at Harry. "Bet you didn't even dream anything like the Sticking Broom was coming."

Harry felt slightly guilty. After all the warnings he had received, the Sticking Broom should hardly have come as a surprise. "Actually," he admitted, "I've had some warnings. Cryptic ones. But I knew the Sticking Broom existed. I just couldn't work out what it was."

Sirius looked concerned. "But, if you knew the 'Sticking Broom' existed, couldn't you have guessed it was a Quidditch move? What else would it be?"

"Er, I thought it might have been a nickname. Perhaps, for Snape."

"Nickname!" Sirius mocked loudly. "As if he'd have a grandiose nickname like that!" He began to laugh, but Lupin signaled him to stop. Madam Pomfrey's footsteps were audible just outside the doorway. By the time Poppy Pomfrey flicked open the curtains around Harry's bed, a jet-black wolfhound was panting and wagging its tail.

Harry hung his hand over the bed and patted the dog, while Madam Pomfrey poured a frothing potion into a small crystal goblet. "One more dose should do," Madam Pomfrey observed as she handed the goblet to Harry. "If you can rest till the afternoon, you might be well enough to come to the feast."

Harry's hand froze on the dog's head. He looked at Lupin imploringly. Harry couldn't believe that his time with Sirius had been so short, and that he had wasted nearly all of it talking about Quidditch.

Lupin seemed to understand what Harry was thinking. "We'll be gone before you wake again," he said gently. "But we'll write, er, I mean, I - " Madam Pomfrey had just shot him a very odd look. He continued fumblingly, "Er, I'll write to you soon. I'm sure our friend will, too."

Harry sipped from the goblet while the dog licked his hand. He didn't want them to be gone, so instead of swallowing, he held as much of the potion in his mouth as he could. Slowly, his tongue and back teeth began to go numb and his eyelids drooped.

Even though Harry was succumbing to the Sleeping Draught, he willed himself to still listen for Sirius' panting and Lupin's voice. But Madam Pomfrey was talking. "What were you telling the boy about Professor Snape's nickname?" she asked Lupin irritably. "I hope you didn't tell him that horrible name you boys called him."

"No, Poppy." Lupin's voice sounded most contrite.

"Oddly enough," Madam Pomfrey said, as though she had an interesting tale to tell. Harry desperately fought the drowsiness that was washing over him. Madam Pomfrey's voice sounded as though it was gradually drifting across a calm sea. "Severus did have another nickname," she continued. "Quite a strange one, too. They brought him up here one night - a dreadful accident with the willow." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "You were in the Shrieking Shack at the time. James Potter and Lily Evans found him. The poor boy seemed to be more shocked than injured - too insensible to speak - and Miss Evans kept talking to him." Harry lost his battle with the Sleeping Draught just as Madam Pomfrey said, "She kept calling him Perseus."