It May Be Raining

Disclaimer: The characters and their settings belong to J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury, Scholastic and Warner Bros. No infringement was intended in the writing of this piece.

Author´s Note: If the quotations at the front of each chapter are starting to get a little confusing or you don´t recognize them, just sit tight. It will all explain itself at the end of the story. And now on with the show: we´ve got some Quidditch in this chapter. Dean can show his stuff and, of course, the Chess Champions are announced. Just to head you off at the pass--there is no Harry/Ginny shipping in this story. Enjoy.

A big thank you to Aly Teima. Your review was very encouraging. If you didn´t see my reply to your post, go to Chs. 5&6 of my story and read it. Thank you again, so much.

Chapter Seven

Naming of the Champions

"your pain and your hunger, they´re drivin´ you home..."

Harry laid the paper off to the side of his plate. His eyes lingered for a moment on the headline that screamed up to him from the front page: "Three Dead." He couldn´t suppress the sick feeling that began to rise slowly in his stomach. He felt responsible for this. It was because of him that Voldemort was back and regaining power. "Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken..." The words rang in his ears, causing his throat to close up painfully and his vision to blur. He couldn´t breath, the guilt was pressing down on his chest like a giant stone. The surrounding noise of a thousand chattering students in the hall vanished completely.

He caused this. This was his fault. Three people were dead and he helped Voldemort kill them. Even more would die in the months to come, Harry was sure of it.

He looked up to see Ron and Hermione staring at him with concern. He felt as though if he had tried to eat anything it would force its way up immediately. He pushed his empty plate away at the unappealing thought.

Sensing the unease Harry felt, Hermione spoke in a low voice. "Harry, this is not your fault." She held his gaze firmly, locked in a mental tug of war with Harry, who would insist that it was all his fault.

"I´m not hungry," Harry murmured after a moment of silence. Pushing himself away from the table, he got up and quickly left the Great Hall.

Harry had no idea where he was headed, but he walked briskly through the halls as if he´d had someplace important to be. He found himself in a length of dark stone passageway, he gathered, somewhere on the third floor. He couldn´t shake the image of the ruined house and the Dark Mark above it from his mind. It was like the image had been seared there, where it would remain, permanent. He´d had a hand in the murder of these innocent people, his head pounded with the realization of it.

"Harry, dear? Is something wrong?" a voice cooed from a shadowy antechamber off to the left of the corridor. It was a soft and calming, familiar voice, like that of Mrs. Weasley, but with a thicker accent.

Harry turned to face the voice, seeing that it was Professor Figg standing in the doorway of her Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, Crookshanks asleep in her arms. She made a gesture, insisting that he follow her inside. He followed. She lit the room with a careless flick of her wand and continued to the desk at the head of the class, where she turned to face Harry and sat on the edge of it. She seemed to discern his unease and smiled kindly, inviting him to take a seat at one of the desks on the front row.

Harry didn´t meet her eyes, just stared forlornly at his shoes. One of the laces had come undone, he observed, not caring one way or the other.

Professor Figg stroked the purring, ginger cat serenely and stared at Harry intently. Setting Crookshanks gently aside she spoke in a kind and genuinely concerned voice, which comforted Harry slightly. "What is the matter, dear? Why aren´t you at dinner?"

He met her eyes and was shocked at how young she was compared to the old and bent Mrs. Figg he had known years ago. The Professor Figg that sat in front of him now couldn´t have been much older than Professor Lupin. There were few wrinkles on her face. Where there were wrinkles, it was only around her eyes and mouth, evidencing the fact that she laughed a lot.

"I´m not hungry," Harry replied simply. He didn´t feel like delving into an explanation as to how he was found ambling in the third floor corridor.

"Is something bothering you, Harry?" She waited for a reply. Harry wasn´t willing to give one. "So you´ve heard about the attack, have you?" She raised her eyebrows knowingly. Harry quickly raised his eyes, looking directly into hers. That was amazing, he thought, how could she have guessed. It was the same with Dumbledore, sometimes he knew your answer before you´d have a chance to voice it.

She smiled kindly at his bewildered expression. "It was just a guess." She shrugged. She´d done it again. Harry was having the oddest feeling that she was actually reading his mind.

"I´m not reading your mind, Harry," she said with a shake of her head, taking off her hat and placing it next to Crookshanks. Harry noticed that her hair was a different color than he´d remembered it. It was red instead of gray. And in the place of the McGonagall-esque knot the old Mrs. Figg had worn it in, it was cropped very short, in the way Uncle Vernon would describe as decidedly unfeminine. This description would not have fallen far from the truth of Professor Figg. She had been an Auror. From the stories she´d told in class, Harry imagined that she was a pretty tough one at that.

"I´m reading your face, dear, your expressions," she explained. "Part of the job, I´m afraid. Force of habit."

Harry muttered a weak "Oh," in reply; glad that she could not, in fact read his mind. Coming back to the actual point of the matter Professor Figg stared at him hard and in an earnest voice assured him, "You are safe here at school, dear. You have no reason to be alarmed."

As if to evidence the fact that she could not entirely predict his thoughts, he contradicted her with, "No, I´m not afraid for myself one bit." Harry returned his eyes to the rogue shoelace that was draped defiantly across the ground between the two of his shoes. "Its just," he continued in the hopes that spilling his apprehensions to this strange-and-at-the-same-time-familiar woman would ease the aversion that he was feeling toward himself. "It´s just that those people, the three that died, V-," Harry stopped himself, remembering how no one in the wizarding world spoke the name. "He killed them, didn´t he?" He waited for an answer and got a penetrating stare instead.

"Don´t be afraid to say his name, Harry. He is not so dreadful, really. It is the fear of speaking the name that gives rise to the fear of the person," she said in a prophetic, Dumbeldore-like tone.

"Very well, Voldemort killed them and it´s my fault that he was able to." Harry spoke quickly, letting the words escape before he had time to stop them. If he was expecting surprise to light her face in any small way, it didn´t. She looked affectionately sympathetic and not horrified in the least. She must know, then, he reasoned. She must know everything that happened that night. Dumbledore probably told her.

"I knew Mr. Beckett. He was a friend from the ministry, Harry," she spoke slowly, "He was an important figure in the former resistance to the Dark Forces, nearly fifteen years ago. He was a friend to the headmaster as well and one of his most trusted ministry connections. Whoever was behind the attack on his family has ministry connections as well, Harry. They are the ones to blame, not you. You did not order their house burned while they were inside of it. You are not to blame in this matter, Harry. Far from it. So stop being so hard on yourself."

She heaved a sigh, looking him over once more as she continued in a new and unexploited vein, hoping to convince him of what she felt instinctively. "Harry, I know you think that none of this would have happened if you had done things differently, said something differently, taken a different turn, etcetera, but you have to understand that Voldemort would have come back with or without your help. He has many enemies--all he had to do was pick one of them. He happened to pick you. There´s nothing more to it." She smiled.

This smile comforted Harry and seemed to tell him that he was being childish to go on the way he was at the same time. It was a sort of tough love approach that any normal child would have recognized and appreciated, but it is well established that Harry was normal in no way at all. However, he appreciated her speech and it helped more than he could have felt at that moment. And at that moment what he felt was relief and assurance that the deaths of these three innocent people were in no way connected to him.

As hard as Professor Figg had tried to calm Harry´s fears, the one thing she couldn´t convince him of was this: Voldemort had found a way into the impenetrable Hogwarts castle three times now to get to him. The foreboding feeling that he would try again, killing scores of innocent people along the way, people Harry cared about, was rising up, uncontrollably in the back of his mind.

He pondered this likely possibility as he made his way from the third floor up to Gryffindor Tower. It was not a good feeling, he reasoned, to be the target of choice for a feared Dark Wizard, one who would apparently go to great lengths to see you destroyed. He thought with a sickening feeling in his stomach, of how many people he had come to love would be endangered by being around him. He pushed the thought aside. That was far more unpleasant than thinking about your own death.

He shrugged all thoughts of Voldemort off. Well he tried his best to, that is, and trudged up to the boys´ dormitory. He was alone at the moment in the dark room lined with five four-poster beds. It was far too early for bed, but he just didn´t feel like being around anyone right now. He climbed into his own bed and pulled the curtains around him, blocking out all light.

***

"Harry, eat something. Please," Hermione implored at breakfast the next morning. Harry didn´t argue, but shoved a piece of bacon into his mouth. "It won´t help any if you starve yourself." And after watching him crumple a whole piece of bacon into his mouth, not chewing it, with a deadpanned expression, she added, "It won´t help if you choke yourself either."

He promptly chewed, not taking his eyes from his plate of nearly untouched food.

"Stop nagging, Hermione," Ron snapped after watching the pathetic exchange between herself and Harry.

Harry was still thinking of the recent attack, but was resolved to blame himself no longer. He was, however, very mindful of how much danger his friends were in just by their association with him.

Mercifully, Ron brought him back from this depressing vein he´d wandered into. "We´ve got Divination first thing this morning." He said this as if the end of the world was coming and he couldn´t think of one single solution to this problem. He added as an amusing afterthought, "I wonder how you´ll meet your end today, Harry."

Harry gave a snort of laughter in spite of himself. It had become a sort of running gag between the two of them--Trelawny and her bogus predictions.

"Honestly, you two. I don´t see why you are wasting your time with all of that nonsense. You could take Arithmancy instead," Hermione suggested in all seriousness.

Ron scoffed and answered in a slightly annoyed tone, "Arithmancy is as equally stupid with twice the work involved. In Divination we can get away with rubbish for homework. Why would we want to switch out of it?"

Hermione set down her fork and stared unflinchingly at Ron. "Arithmancy is factual and dead useful." She raised her voice half an octave, watching Ron as he rolled his eyes and made a face. "It is useful, Ron. None of that tea leaves trollop that Trelawny passes off as some sort of rare gift." She seemed to have reached her point and so fizzled out, anticlimactically, taking a book from her bag and burying herself in it to avoid further ridicule from Ron.

Ron on the other hand, seemed triumphant in his small victory over Hermione and smiled. "I put my name down for Gryffindor Chess Champion after dinner last night," he informed Harry cheerfully. "Dumbledore picks the champions tomorrow after dinner."

"That´s great, Ron!" Harry said, his eyes lighting up in excitement for his friend.

"You´re sure to be picked," Hermione added confidently. Ron smiled brightly in her direction as she disappeared behind her book again.

Harry marveled at the seemingly effortless way the two of them fell in and out of rows. Not two seconds before this they were scowling at each other over something as trivial as telling the future through crystal balls or calculations, both of which Harry was skeptical of. It was exhausting listening to them, Harry thought. How could they keep it all up, and keep it all straight for that matter?

As Harry returned his attention to Ron, who had been jabbering on about Wizard´s Chess, he noticed that Hermione had set her book aside and was scanning the Gryffindor Table curiously. She broke into Ron´s soliloquy on the importance of the Bishop with, "Ron, where´s Ginny? She didn´t show up for dinner last night, either."

Harry looked up and down the table at all of the other Gryffindors as well and saw only Ron´s red head and Fred´s a few spaces down.

Ron shrugged carelessly. "Dunno, haven´t seen her." He thought for a moment and added, "I talked to her on Sunday, though."

"I´m worried about her," Hermione quipped gravely as Ron gulped his pumpkin juice and seemed not to hear her. "She´s been missing quite a few meals and she´s been looking off-color lately." Ron, predictably, made no reply.

***

After Divination, Harry and Ron hurried from the North Tower to the third floor Charms Classroom. As it was nearly on the other end of the castle, they walked brusquely through the halls dodging a troop of chattering second years.

"I can´t believe she predicted that I´d be thrown from a horse next month and break my neck," Harry laughed as he and Ron rounded a corner bringing them to the corridor down which, their next class was due to start in less than two minutes.

"She´s really scraping the bottom of the barrel now. She used to have a little more imagination. What happened to her?" Ron said, amused at Professor Trelawny´s latest prediction of Harry´s doom.

Harry shrugged as the two of them entered the Charms class and took their seats next to Hermione. "Where am I supposed to get a horse from? The only horse I´ve ever seen up close is Aunt Petunia."

Ron snorted his laughter into his opened textbook, trying to muffle the sound as Professor Flitwick began instructing his class on various color changing charms. Hermione quelled Ron with a stern look.

Harry found himself struggling to pay attention. The first few weeks of Charms class were always dreadfully dull. Professor Flitwick would use this time for an overview of the various Charms they were to be studying for the entire year. The fun part would come in the next week or so when they were actually allowed to practice these Texture Changing and Temporary Invisibility Charms on each other.

About ten minutes till the end of their Charms lesson, Harry, Ron and Hermione gave a collective jump of surprise as the doors at the back of the classroom burst open. Ginny rushed through them distractedly and toward the tiny professor who had been knocked off of his platform of books in surprise. She absently helped the wizard to his feet and began conversing with him in hushed tones.

"Class is just about finished up, Miss Weasley. If you´ll please wait in my office, I will be able to assist you shortly."

Harry barely heard Professor Flitwick mutter this small reply as Ginny thanked him and rushed through another set of doors off to one side of the room.

Ron and Harry exchanged baffled looks as Hermione expressed their bewilderment with, "What in God´s name do you suppose that was all about?"

Hermione had been right, Harry thought, to be concerned about Ginny that morning at breakfast. She was acting stranger than usual.

Professor Flitwick dismissed class moments later and the three of them filed out into the hallway.

"I´ve got enough homework here to last me a lifetime," Ron admitted with a sigh. "Shall we go to the library, then?"

Harry and Hermione nodded and the three of them retreated to the quiet study environment under Madame Pince´s ever-watchful eye until dinnertime.

***

"Ron, stop it, will you? You´re making me nervous," Hermione implored as she watched him play absently with his quill. All through class the next day Ron had taken to constant fidgeting and making distracted and non-committal noises whenever spoken to.

"Hmm?" Ron dropped the quill and looked to Hermione to repeat what she had said, obviously not catching it the first go `round. Hermione just shook her head and gave an exasperated squeak. Ron returned to his quill.

Ron hadn´t uttered one coherent sentence all day long, and the prospect of him doing so looked bleak. At least, Harry thought, one way or another, he would return to his normally talkative self after Dumbledore announced the champions tonight. Harry and Hermione were growing tired of his silent and distracted behavior.

Harry decided to try encouragement to bring him out of his stupor. "Really, Ron. You´ve got the best chance of being chosen for Gryffindor´s champion. No one can beat you."

"Well, I can´t stand this!" Hermione interrupted, ripping the battered quill from Ron´s grasp. "Ron, you´re driving me crazy."

"Huh?" Ron muttered in surprise. "Oh, sorry, Hermione. I´m just..."

"You´ll do fine, Ron," Hermione said confidently, handing Ron´s quill back to him gently.

"Well," Harry said, looking the part of a nervous best friend for Ron´s benefit. "It´s nearly time, shall we go then?" He glanced at Hermione´s watch as he said this and she checked it as well.

Ron seemed to go a slight shade of green and then resignedly nodded in agreement. The three of them got up and went down to dinner.

Harry and Hermione ate quietly while exchanging exasperated glances at each other as they watched Ron move his food around on his plate.

"What´s the matter Ron? Not hungry?" Ginny asked as she entered the Great Hall later than the rest of the students and sat down to eat hurriedly before the food disappeared. Ron didn´t even acknowledge her. "Are you all right? You don´t look well at all." Concern played on her face as she stared fixedly at her brother. She looked to Harry and Hermione when she got no answer.

"Dumbledore announces the champions tonight," was Hermione´s simple explanation.

"What about you?" Harry asked Ginny turning the conversation from the despondent Ron. "You don´t look so well yourself."

Ginny countered his curiosity expertly with, "Oh, well thank you Harry. What a kind thing to say."

"You know what I mean, Ginny," Harry replied unphased by her sarcasm.

Ginny shrugged simply and made her excuse. "Oh, its nothing to worry about. Not enough sleep is all. I help out in the hospital wing after classes and I´ve had a lot of homework on top of that. I´m fine really." She turned to her food to eat quickly.

Harry contemplated asking her about the scene in Flitwick´s class earlier, but decided he might have a better chance at getting a straight answer from her if he got her on her own. Besides, Dumbledore chose that moment to stand and call for quiet.

As he did this, the food cleared automatically from the plates. Ginny made a slight noise of protest and then explained that she hadn´t even touched her potatoes yet.

The students around the four house tables looked up at the wise, graying wizard expectantly.

"Here goes," Ron muttered under his breath.

"After careful consideration and assessment of the many talented students who wish to become one of the four contenders for the Wizard´s Chess Cup and One-hundred house points, I have chosen four worthy Champions to represent each house in this formidable competition."

Dumbledore paused for effect. This was worse, Harry thought, than waiting for the Goblet of Fire to return the three Tri-Wizard Champions´ names.

"The opening competition for this prestigious honor will take place on the night of Halloween following the usual feast." Dumbledore cleared his throat as if to say, "enough with preliminaries, on with the important bit."

There was no movement in the entire hall. The students were as rigid as statues with anticipation.

"Come on already," Ron seethed in silent impatience.

"And now... the champions," the headmaster smiled with a twinkle in his eyes. "When your name is called, please stand and be recognized by your fellow students and your housemates whom you are to represent.

For Hufflepuff House." He drew out a pause before announcing, " Mr. Justin Finch-Fletchley, fifth year. Please stand."

Justin reluctantly stood, a look of complete astonishment apparent on his paling face.

"Champion for Slytherin House," Dumbledore continued. "Mr. Draco Malfoy, fifth year."

Draco, Harry could see, didn´t need to be asked to stand. He stood gracefully at the Slytherin´s table. No astonishment touched his features in the slightest. He might as well have been informed that he had just received full marks on an assignment for Snape, for all the surprise that didn´t show on his face. The Slytherin table went wild with applause as the other three tables stayed politely silent. Draco took his seat with the same indifferent air in which he´d stood and Dumbledore continued.

"Ravenclaw House Champion, fifth year, Ms. Padma Patil."

Padma stood to the applause of her house and her sister at the Gryffindor table. Parvati stood from her chair and cheered loudly next to an agitated George who yanked the screaming girl roughly, back into her seat.

"Need I remind you that you are in Gryffindor House?" He furrowed his brow at her as she scoffed and flipped her hair superiorly, sticking her nose in the air.

Dumbledore found this scene quite amusing, for it took him several seconds to compose himself and continue.

"And, lastly. For Gryffindor House, fifth year..."

Ron moved uncomfortably in his chair. Harry new that if there was one thing that he wanted more than a place on the House Quidditch Team it was to kick Malfoy´s ass at chess in front of the whole school.

Harry felt his stomach tighten into empathetic knots for his friend.

"Mr. Ronald Weasley," Dumbledore announced with a grin.

Wild cheering and applause erupted over the Gryffindor table as Ron stood shakily from his seat. The Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws politely joined in as the Slytherins refrained from the celebration and resorted to glaring.

"See, Ron. We all knew you would be chosen," Ginny said excitedly as the applause died down enough for her to be heard from across the table.

Ron only smiled weakly in his sister´s direction, looking every bit as shell-shocked as he felt.

Dumbledore raised a hand to call for quiet again. "The first match takes place in two weeks. Hufflepuff versus Gryffindor, Slytherin versus Ravenclaw."

The students were dismissed and filed out into the corridors.

"Two weeks," Ron repeated darkly as he walked to the portrait of the Fat Lady with Harry, Hermione and Ginny.

"You´ll do fine," Harry assured him. "You´re playing Justin."

"You´re unbeatable," Hermione added, eliciting a smile from Ron.

The four of them entered the common room.

"Still," Ron said, unconvinced by the praise of his friends, no matter how well meaning. "I need all the practice I can get," he admitted claiming a seat by the blazing fire. "Want to have a go, Ginny? You always give a good fight before you go down."

Ginny complied good-naturedly, as she always had with Ron, and took a seat across the board from him.

Hermione came to sit next to Ginny with her large pile of OWL´s study materials on her lap.

Harry, although he wanted to watch Ron and Ginny´s game, decided that he should write Sirius as he had planned to keep him updated on a regular basis. Besides, Sirius would probably like to hear about the chess tournament and Ron being named Gryffindor´s champion. Harry thought with great relief that this letter to his godfather would only have to relate pleasant circumstances. He smiled at the thought.

***

Hours after Harry had finished his letter and crawled into bed, he was awakened by the same image of Peter mercilessly strangling a man with his horrible hand that gave an eerie metallic glint from some unknown light source. The other man in his dream was still, stubbornly indistinguishable.

Harry sat up, quickly clapping a hand over his throbbing forehead. His eyes were shut tight and he held his breath until the pain had dulled and then died completely.

He took a few calming breaths and then reached for his glasses, noting the time on his alarm clock as he did so. It was nearly four in the morning. Harry sighed as he threw off his covers. He leapt up and surveyed his scar in the mirror, which was thankfully asleep and therefore had no insults to sling at Harry.

Taking the letter from his desk, he sat down and unfolded it. His simple report to Sirius of the week´s uneventful happenings, he thought. He would have to tell Sirius. He was instructed to do so, and it was the right thing to do. With a resigned sigh, Harry reached for a quill and amended his letter. He wrote his assurances that he would see Dumbledore first thing, sealed the envelope and threw on his robe over his pajamas. Grabbing the book Hermione had given him for his birthday, he trudged, yawning down the stairs and into the common room.

He was stunned, upon entering the room, to find it occupied this early in the morning.

In the cozy chair nearest the fire, Ginny was curled up in a white dressing gown with her toes peaking out slightly from the hem. She was staring at him from over the brim of her book.

"Having trouble sleeping?" she asked with a sympathetic smile. Harry took the seat opposite hers.

"Bad dream," he admitted and then felt stupid, like a five year old. He opened the book on his lap. "You?" he added, filling an awkward silence.

"Same," she nodded, making him feel slightly better by appearing to be in the same boat. "It´s always the same dream though, so I´m getting a little more used to it." She elaborated this much and stopped. Harry had to fight the impertinent impulse to inquire further, but had a feeling he knew what sort of nightmares Ginny Weasley might have. He shuddered at what it might feel like to dream of the dark and dank chamber deep under the school, Slytherin´s secret lair, and Tom Riddle. He felt a wave of sympathy for the small creature that sat opposite him, diverting her eyes to the fire so she didn´t have to hold his gaze. He sensed that his looking at her made her uncomfortable somehow and quickly turned his attention to the large book he´d brought down with him.

She tucked her feet in under her and gave a small smile as she met his eyes again. He thought he might scare her away, she was acting extremely timid, but he had to know one thing.

"Er, Ginny," he said and she looked up from her book expectantly at him. "Why did you rush into Professor Flitwick´s classroom the other day?"

"Oh," she gasped in surprise. Her voice betrayed her. "I didn´t realize that was your class in there," she stammered. "I didn´t see you in there."

"Ron, Hermione and I sit towards the back," he explained evenly. He could tell there was something that she didn´t want him to know about her interruption into their Charms class the other day. He stared at her intently as she squirmed in her chair. He wondered what caused such alarm in her.

"It was nothing." She fidgeted nervously and headed for the staircase to the girls´ dorms and stopped briefly on the landing and whispered a barely audible, "Goodnight, Harry," before retreating to her room.

Harry sat there trying to think of a reasonable explanation to her erratic behavior. He knew that she would be less than forthcoming to his questions. She was the sort of person who kept to herself, usually. This he knew, but it didn´t account for her running off at the first harmless question he´d asked. What was she hiding?

Saturday morning came and went while Harry caught up on his lost sleep. After lunch he went, as promised, to speak with Dumbledore.

In front of the stony-faced gargoyle he met with Professor McGonagall who informed him that Professor Dumbledore was visiting the ministry on business.

After assuring the Deputy Headmistress that everything was fine and his business with the Headmaster was not urgent, Harry went to the Owlery to send Sirius´ letter off to the continent.

***

Harry was surprised to discover, one day as he walked to his usual table in the library, that October was nearly over. With all of the added homework that had been piled onto the fifth years (double the amount for Defense Against the Dark Arts), on top of Quidditch practice nearly every afternoon, no matter the conditions of the weather (usually bleak this late in the year). Hermione had also added a rigorous study schedule for the upcoming and ever-present OWL´s, to which Neville had also joined with Hermione´s encouragement. When Harry was not on the field or in the classroom, he was in the library, a place he was growing to hate more and more each day.

On the day that the Gryffindor House Team was to play Ravenclaw, Harry awoke to find the unpleasant flutter of nervousness had returned to his stomach, as it had before every game. However familiar the feeling was, it was equally unwelcome.

He dashed downstairs, after distractedly dressing, to find a nearly full Gryffindor table. Students were chatting noisily, eating breakfast and talking of the game while a squinty, bespectacled Ravenclaw bookie ran numbers as students from all houses placed bets on the two teams.

Harry took a seat that Ron had saved for him and stared at his empty plate.

"Honestly, Harry-" Hermione began her usual run of entreaties for Harry to eat before the game. They never worked.

"Not hungry," Harry said, cutting her off in the fashion of a person who knew what was coming before it was even said.

"You always say that, Hermione and it never works. Just leave him alone. He´s not going to waste away," Ron inserted, eliciting a venomous look from her.

***

It was a sunny, cool day, like it hadn´t been all week.

"Perfect for the first Quidditch game of the season," Harry mused as he walked out onto the pitch, accompanied by his teammates.

"Nervous, Dean?" Harry heard Angelina question a stunned looking Dean, who was clutching his broom with a vice grip.

"Can you tell?" Dean answered looking rather sheepish that Angelina had noticed his anxiety.

"Just do what you did at the tryouts, Dean," George said, trying to make their newest member more at ease.

"Yeah, if you can whomp our Chasers, then Ravenclaw will be a cinch," Fred added, managing also to duck a swat to the head from an aggravated Angelina.

"Hey, that was a compliment," Fred retorted, feigning hurt for Angelina´s benefit.

"You´ll do just fine, Dean," Angelina reassured him as they met the Ravenclaw team and Madame Hooch in the middle of the pitch.

Lee Jordan had just finished listing the names and positions of the Ravenclaw team, followed by Gryffindor. He was now receiving stern looks from Professor McGonagall for his commentary on the Gryffindor Chasers. "Well, they are the best looking Chasers in the school," Lee defended himself.

"I don´t want to have to remind you again to be objective, Mr. Jordan," Harry could hear Professor McGonagall threaten Lee somewhere in the stands of people.

"Shake hands," Madame Hooch commanded the two captains, as Angelina moved forward and gripped the hand of Roger Davies who glared competitively. Angelina merely smiled sweetly.

"I want a clean game. Mount your brooms..." And with a report from her whistle the two teams kicked off and the game began.

Harry immediately climbed high and surveyed the field. Terry Boot, Cho´s replacement for Seeker, did the same.

The Quaffle was caught by Angelina, who tossed it in Katie´s direction. She swerved a Bludger expertly. But, before Katie could get to it, the Quaffle was intercepted by a fast and agile Ravenclaw Chaser.

The Quaffle and the Chaser sped downfield and toward Dean.

Harry paused in his search for the Snitch to watch Dean´s first performance. Dean easily knocked the ball out of the scoring area, putting his teammates at ease. Harry resumed his search.

It wasn´t long before he heard the familiar whistle of an approaching Bludger.

"A spiffing save, that was! If he keeps it up, we have nothing to worry about," Fred commented as he skillfully sent the attacking Bludger in the other direction.

Angelina and Katie easily scored twenty points for the Gryffindor Team.

A dark haired and stocky Ravenclaw had retrieved the Quaffle and slipped past Angelina and Katie. Katie sped toward the hoops. Alicia had rounded the field and attempted to relieve the opposing Chaser of his burden.

The three Chasers scored another thirty points to Ravenclaw´s ten in the small amount of time that it took Harry to locate the pernicious Snitch.

Harry glanced over at Terry Boot and noted quickly that the green Seeker had not seen what he had.

He streaked away with amazing speed, keeping the Snitch in his sight. Terry finally caught on and began to tail Harry. Harry looked over his shoulder and caught sight of Terry right on his heels.

As he neared the Snitch, it shot wildly upward. Harry followed it as Terry pursued him. With his eyes fixed on the Snitch, Harry was not aware that it had led him into the path of a fast-moving Bludger.

Harry reached for the Snitch.

As he felt his hand close around the walnut-sized ball, the Bludger hit its mark. It slammed into Harry´s right side. The force tore his broom from his grasp and he wavered, fighting to keep his balance.

He returned his hands to his broom, steadying himself. Gripping the broom, he winced. He was almost sure that his arm was seriously damaged, it was throbbing and his fingertips were becoming numb and icy.

To his surprise the force of the Bludger had not caused him to lose his grip on the cold-metallic ball that was still wrapped in his fingers. He´d caught it. He´d caught the Snitch. They´d won the game.

As Lee was announcing this and giving the final score of 220 to 10, Harry descended.

Angelina went to the far end to congratulate Dean on his first win and on a game well played.

Fred and George ran over to Harry. "Sorry about that Bludger, Harry." George apologized guiltily, "If you hadn´t pulled up so fast, it would have hit its intended target." He glanced over Harry´s shoulder, indicating a rather disappointed Ravenclaw Seeker, Terry Boot.

"Yeah, that little git was right on your tail. We were going to take him out, but you´re just too good of a flyer, Potter," Fred teased and slapped Harry on the back.

This well meant but excruciating gesture reminded Harry of his possibly serious injury and he quickly congratulated his teammates and headed in the direction of the castle and the infirmary.

"We promise not to start the celebration until you get back," George called after him. Harry waved and trotted up the stone entrance steps, cradling his throbbing arm. He could hardly move his shoulder, it must be broken, he guessed.

"Harry," he heard a small voice call after him. "Are you alright?"

Harry slowed his pace and turned, already knowing whom his pursuer was.

Ginny hadn´t spoken to Harry since the night he´d inquired after her odd behavior. Harry smiled as he noted the change in her countenance.

Her face was pale with worry. As she neared, she slowed to a stop, catching her breath.

"It got me pretty good," Harry explained. "But I´m alright, I guess. I mean; I still have all of my bones, haven´t I? Even if they are broken." Ginny smiled at the reference to the ridiculous and incompetent Lockhart and Harry chuckled, but quickly stopped as it made the pain all the more acute.

"Let me have a look at it," Ginny insisted in a motherly tone that brooked no refusal. She placed a tentative hand on his shoulder and assessed that damage as gently as possible.

"It´s not broken," she determined. "But you ought to let Madame Pomfrey look at it." Harry nodded and turned to go, Ginny following closely behind him.