A/N: Okay, I know, it's been over a month, but I got it up!!! I know a lot of you are ready to kill me, sorry for the serious lack of updates, but I have been very occupied with my other story lately.
Okay, how about this irony? I wrote the first bit of this chapter about ten minutes before I read the truth about Mark Evans on JKR's website. And this comes in the chapter where I am trying to get more on line with cannon. <Shakes head at the unfairness of it all> So screw it anyway, Mark is important in my story, even if he won't be in JKR's.
I promise the next update will be quicker!
Oh, and on a side note, never, EVER go see the movie kill bill. Oh my god was that horrible, hugest waste of two hours in all my life.
Anyways, onto the story.
Go Cubs!
*****
Chapter 41
Finally the new term was upon them, and Harry wished he could be back to the carefree holidays. Unsurprisingly, Katrina - well, Kris, actually - did not return for the second term. It was the first night back, when the Victors were all up in the common room late, drinking butterbeers, when the question finally arose.
"Has anyone else noticed that Katrina wasn't here today?" Ginny asked, perking the interest of everyone in the room. Most heads turned to Harry and Hermione expectantly, as they all knew that they had been the last to see her.
Harry sighed. "He's not coming back, not that I know of. And that's all I'm saying."
Harry noticed with amusement that while Neville and Luna's eyes grew large, no one else seemed the wiser. Of course, that didn't mean they missed the wording.
"Er…Harry mate, I think you just said 'he'." Ron stated confusedly, giving Harry a bewildered expression.
"That's because I did. Anyways, Dean, when's your next game for West Ham?"
*****
For some reason, Harry couldn't sleep that night. He tossed and turned, but couldn't rest. What was keeping him awake? Voldemort? No, that couldn't be it, his scar wasn't burning.
Growling in frustration, Harry threw the covers of his four-poster off of himself and groggily walked down the stairs to the common room, where he could think by the fire. The stairs groaned under his weight as Harry descended the stairway, where he was met with the unsuspected sight of Mark Evans sitting on a loveseat by the roaring fire, clutching a letter tightly to his chest.
"Oi there Mark, what's that you've got?"
Mark seemed a little shocked initially, but managed a weak smile when he saw Harry. He motioned for him to come over, and Harry complied. Without a word, Mark handed him the parchment, obviously wanting him to read it.
Taking the letter with a mixture of confusion and curiosity, Harry turned his eyes from the young blonde Gryffindor to the parchment in hand.
To Mark,
I have invested myself deeply in the mystery of your bloodline, and I arrived at a satisfying conclusion. Mark, your father's name is Bradley Evans, as you no doubt already know. Your father's grandfather was Gerald Evans, a well-known muggle actor - an actor also known for being quite a ladies man. In his escapades, unbeknownst to him, Gerald gave birth to a son, named Earl Evans, the last name was given by the mother in memory of the father that Earl would never know. Late in Gerald's life, he settled down with a kind muggle woman, and they produced another son, Gregory Evans, whom you know as your grandfather.
Neither your great grandfather or your grandfather - or any member of your family, in fact, knew of your grandfather's brother, Earl.
Earl, I am sorry to say, is no longer with us. He was killed in a death eater attack many years ago, because his daughter, Lily Evans, was engaged to one of Voldemort's archenemies, James Potter.
That is where the blood connection between yourself and Harry Potter lies, you had grandfathers that were brothers, although neither knew that the other existed. So, as you no doubt have realized by now, Harry Potter is your second cousin.
I do hope that this resolves all of your questions, as I daresay I cannot offer any more information, as there is none to give.
Sincerely,
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore
Harry rose his eyes from the letter, smiling from ear to ear. Mark returned the smile, and before they knew it, they had enveloped one another in a bone-crushing hug. Harry put forth fifteen years of having no family into that hug, squeezing with all his might, only letting go when he was afraid that he may suffocate his cousin.
Harry took a step back from Mark and beamed at him. "You're the only blood family I have."
Mark laughed and shook his head. "No I'm not, you still have my parents and grandpa to meet, but I guess I'll have to do until then."
Harry laughed and sat down on the couch nearest the fire, patting the seat next to him for Mark. Turning, his body free of any form of fatigue, he smiled at Mark. "So, you know all about my history Mark. Tell me about yours."
It was a night of many laughs, and a few tears, but one of the greatest in Harry's life. For once, finally, he had what he had always wanted - a conversation with a member of his own bloodline.
Of course, talking with Mark had its drawbacks. One of them being a rather sore ribcage where Hermione had been elbowing him all day long during class. "Harry! You aren't going to become a better wizard by sleeping through our lessons!"
In response, Harry, not ever raising his head, waved his hand at the plastic bottle on the table in front of him and instantly transfigured it into a plastic stag. Hermione didn't talk to him for the rest of the day.
Harry's conversation with Mark had been…intriguing, to say the least. He had learned all about Mark's family…his family…and could not wait to meet them. Mark had apparently been terrified of Dudley ever since he was little, but had finally gotten even with him this year when he used an accidental emotional burst of magic to turn the whale of a child into a pig, literally. Dudley's memory had been wiped, naturally, so this was the first Harry had heard of it, and it made him laugh heartily.
Of course, without being able to talk to Hermione, Harry had nothing to do for the night, their traditional snogging session in the boys' dormitory obviously canceled. Instead he decided to take his Marauder out to the quidditch pitch to let off some steam.
It was a cool, winter night, as it was still early January, and snow had blanketed the quidditch pitch, making it a beautiful sight to behold. Harry shook off the beauty of his surroundings and instead took off towards the goalposts, twirling and corkscrewing the entire way.
Flying had always been bliss for Harry, and it always would be. Of all the things in his life, Harry cherished only his private time with Hermione more than private time with his broom - quidditch broom.
Of course, there was always one thing that could ruin his day - Draco Malfoy. As the pale-faced ferret rose to Harry's level, Harry wondered if the boy constantly spied on him just so he would know the perfect times to piss him off.
"Potter."
"Ferret."
Malfoy sneered at the nickname he had been christened with ever since Barty Crouch - who had been masquerading as Professor Moody at the time - had transfigured him into the furry animal in Harry's fourth year.
"So, I heard you and your mudblood got in a little tiff."
"For someone who supposedly hates me so much you sure do seem to take an interest in every aspect of my life."
"Well it is somewhat difficult to avoid the gossip surrounding the all-famous Harry Potter."
"Seems that you are quite interested in that gossip you hate so much if you followed me out here."
"I'd never follow you anywhere Potter."
"You see to do a lot of it in quidditch."
Malfoy's face reddened in anger, while Harry smirked. It was always fun to get the best of Draco Malfoy.
"Care to put a bet on that Potter?"
"What?" Harry asked, confused.
"If you are such a brilliant flier, and apparently you think you can duel as well, why don't we have ourselves a little air-duel?"
"Are you insane!?" Harry screamed at him. "If one of us fell from our brooms, we would die!"
Draco rolled his eyes. "You really are a dolt, aren't you Potter? Haven't you ever heard of a cushioning charm? So what of it? First man to fall from his broom loses."
"Don't think you can goad me into an ego contest Malfoy, I could care less about it. I don't need to prove myself better that you, I already know I am. Here's your proof."
With that Harry turned tail and flew back to Gryffindor Tower, not allowing Malfoy the pleasure of provoking him into a fight. Hermione would be proud. Harry smiled at the thought, which made his return ride all the more sweet.
Harry gave some thought to what Draco had said over the next few days, and came to a conclusion. Once again, the ferret had inadvertently helped Harry. Dueling on broomsticks was something that Harry would have never thought of, but would be very useful in combat.
So he confronted Dumbledore with the idea. "Very well Harry," The old man replied, a twinkle in his eyes. "I have a few acquaintances in that area, I'll owl them and we'll see what we can do."
That had been nearly a week ago. Since then, Harry had made-up with Hermione, even if their 'fight' wasn't all that dramatic. She had forgiven him for his fatigue the moment he told her about his late night conversation with Mark Evans.
The rest of the Victors, however, were more interested in their upcoming dueling on broomsticks lessons. Harry had taught them all how to create a great broomstick, and all were in the making.
Parvati had christened hers The Unicorn, while her partner in crime Lavender had opted for The Cosmo. Their Irish friend had named his broom after his homeland, calling it The Leprechaun. Neville's was aptly named Mother Nature, while Dean took a comic route and named his after a popular muggle movie, naming the broom The Spaceball. Ginny had The Fiery Feline, while Ron still had his Christmas present, The Firedrake.
Hermione had received many groans and rolled eyes for her broom, but she didn't care. Her broom, The Green Eyed Monster, was christened after her favorite emerald-eyed Gryffindor.
Dean, being the comic that he was, immediately pointed out Hermione's reasoning. "Come on guys, we can't be too harsh on the girl," He had said this almost sincerely, earning him many odd looks. "I mean, we all named our brooms after our favorite things, right? Well, obviously, Hermione's favorite thing to be between her legs is the Green Eyed Monster, so…"
His sentence was cut off when Hermione hurled a pillow at his face, blushing furiously. Harry's face had gone bright as well, but no one seemed to notice, as they were all rolling on the floor clutching their sides in laughter.
An owl flew into the room just then, dropping a letter at Harry's feet. "What the…"
Harry picked up the parchment and read it quickly, a smile blossoming on his face as he got further along.
Harry,
As I told you before, I have contacts that are experienced in the art of Broomstick Dueling. I have contacted them and they will be here tomorrow, at nine o'clock sharp, on the Quidditch Pitch for your first day of training. You will have two meetings with them a week, and three with the Order members for your dueling training, with now two days of rest. I believe you can tell the rest of your friends this, as I know doubt am sure they are in the room with you now and know of the impending situation. Good Luck.
Sincerely,
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore
Everyone was on the field at nine o'clock sharp the following night, ready for their first day of training. Only Harry and Ron were on specialized brooms, the rest were on regular brooms, as their specialized ones were not yet ready.
"Okay everyone," Said one of the two men who would be training them, a tall, handsome man with dark black hair and a trim figure. "My name is Biggs, and I will be your main flying instructor, while my mate Wedge here," He patted the other man, who was a bit shorter, and not necessarily dashing man, but whose eyes held a deep pool of experience that made the girls swoon. "…will be teaching you the finer points of dueling while flying. Take it away Wedge."
The man smiled and stepped forward, looking at each Victor in turn. "Dueling on broomsticks in one of the most dangerous types of dueling there is. At and moment a strong gust of wind or an ill-fated lightning bolt could end your duel without a shot ever being fired. I've seen many of my friends die over the years in battle, it is no easy feat to win a fight in the air."
He let the seriousness of their situation sink in before starting with the lesson. "Okay, the first thing you need to learn is the Broxal Charm. It gives your broomstick a long-lasting protego effect, allowing you to misdirect and block spells by using your broomstick as a shield. Now the incantation is…"
For the next hour, the Victors learned all kinds of techniques and abilities on the broomsticks. Ron and Harry were far ahead of the rest, but it could have been partially due to the fact that they were both riding superior brooms also.
The entire session went very smoothly until the end.
"Hey, you're name's Thomas right?" The man called Wedge asked of Dean as they were preparing to go, who shook his head in confirmation. Wedge gave him a small smile. "I flew with your father, a great duelist, he was, great with a broom and a wand." Wedge bit his lip, lowering his eyes. "I saw him die, taken down from behind by a death eater during the first war. If you ever want to talk about him, I'm here for you."
Dean looked positively shell-shocked. "W-What are you t-talking about? I-I'm a muggleborn, my dad lives at home with me mum. H-How can you say that he is dead?"
Wedge regarded the boy carefully. "What's that son? No, you look just like your father, I knew him, and he died in combat. Same battle as Porkins, what do you mean your father is a live?"
A single tear dripped from Dean's left eye. "I don't know what you're talking about," His voice was barely over a whisper. "My father's not dead, he's at home, with my mum…"
Wedge's eyes widened as the truth hit him. "Oh Merlin…she never…you didn't know?"
*****
A/N: Nothing like a nice little cliffhanger to welcome you back to my story huh? Please read and review! I'm in like, major review withdraw since my other story didn't get the response I had expected for it…but oh well, hopefully I'll start getting some readers over there as time goes on