Unofficial Portkey Archive

Wherein apologies are made, soup is served, Ron is impulsive, Draco plays puppeteer, another player emerges, Quidditch injuries occur, Harry catches the Snitch and the snatch, and vice versa, Hermione is traumatized and takes it out on some furniture, and Ron does something he shouldn't.

CAUTION: Aspects of this chapter may be disturbing to obligate Harmonians. I only ask that you be patient. The interlude will last no longer (and actually is a day or two shorter) than in HBP itself, and Harmony will prevail in the end.

Thanks once again to betas Mark Gardiner, Shane, and Mathiasgranger.

Disclaimer: I neither own nor claim any other rights in the characters and other concepts created by J.K. Rowling. I make no money, nor do I seek any commercial advantage from this work. As such it constitutes "fair use" as defined in 17 U.S.C. §107.

Chapter 79 - Fire And Ice

BRAAAAT. BRAAAAT. BRAAAAT.

Ugh! Harry tossed back his sheets and moved sluggishly to pound his alarm clock into submission. He had slept miserably - and too little.

The damn thing was not there.

BRAAAAT. BRAAAAT. BRAAAAT.

Where was it? Somewhere above him.

Damn.

Finally a memory poked through his woolly head.

Oh yeah…. Quidditch match today.

Last night, Harry had enchanted his clock with that special Quidditch day charm Hermione invented over a year ago. When its alarm sounded, the clock Transfigured into a pallid version of a Golden Snitch and started buzzing about his bed chamber.

BRAAAAT. BRAAAAT. BRAAAAT.

Harry nearly regretted having a brilliant fiancée.

Now to catch it. Harry opened his eyes and fumbled for his glasses, placing them infirmly on his nose.

Spotting his target, Harry pounced. The Snitch-like clock dodged. Harry lunged again, but the clock/Snitch zipped tantalisingly beyond his reach.

It flitted low and Harry dove for it. Got it….! But….

Oops.

Harry tumbled through his bed curtains and landed hard on the floor - in the dark.

Just what he needed, a broken elbow or something on the morning of the most important match of the year!

"Will you turn that bleeding thing off?" That was Ron.

"Go back to sleep, dammit, it's friggin' Saturday!" That was Seamus.

Harry routinely took the precaution of Imperturbing his bed, but he was no longer in it. Sheepishly he slipped back behind its spelled curtains.

It was Saturday. He had set the alarm insanely early. Was he trying to exhaust himself before the most important Quidditch match of the year?

No.

Leave that to Albus Dumbledore.

The Headmaster had exquisite timing. Not two minutes after Hermione ended their disputation over the cosmically important topic of Ginny Weasley's unsuccessful foray into Japanese cuisine by storming off to bed, the Gryffindor common room was the scene of an even more unusual event.

The Headmaster's head appeared amongst the fireplace's flaring coals - a first insofar as anyone present knew - with a personal request that Harry to join him in his office without delay. When he wished to meet with students, Dumbledore typically sent a scroll neatly tied with one of his violet and green ribbons.

Not this time. The Headmaster would not publicly reveal the subject that warranted Harry's immediate presence. Harry assumed that something of great import was involved.

Instead of finding suitable rapprochement with Hermione, Harry instead went speeding off - his mind brimming with foreboding thoughts - to meet with Dumbledore.

Important matters were discussed, but nothing, Harry grumbled, sufficient to warrant that extraordinary summons.

Dumbledore had another scrap of Pensieved memory - his own - of Tom Riddle in the unusual role of supplicant, seeking but not obtaining the Hogwarts Defence professor's position. Whilst interesting, the Headmaster could access his own memories at any time.

Dumbledore also revealed a possible Horcrux discovery, but it seemed little more than rumour. Again, that news hardly required immediate attention. Harry accepted the Headmaster's invitation to join him on an expedition should the lead pan out. That conversation could have been accomplished the next day - or the next week.

From the Headmaster's last bit of news, Harry believed he now knew someone capable of rattling Dumbledore's imperturbability. The old man had made the acquaintance of the inestimable Lilithu Mandelbrot, Imperatrix of the Sisters of the Moon.

"A most redoubtable individual," he had called her. They evidently discussed Harry's travelling to Bavaria to dispose of the Blacks' Nazi gold. It would occur on Muttertag - the German Mothers' Day - 11 May - next week.

Yes, Harry could stay overnight. In shared custody of the Sisters and the goblins, he would be perfectly safe.

And yes, Hermione could accompany him. The Headmaster offered none of his previous blather about mixing business with pleasure.

And no, Harry neither confirmed nor denied if the remarkable Ms. Mandelbrot had favoured him with additional prophecy. Unless otherwise instructed, any information would stay private between Harry and the powerful witch. It would not do to betray her secrets.

Dumbledore probed no further. If the Headmaster could ever truly be intimidated, Lilithu had accomplished the feat.

Shaking his head, Harry collected his toilet bag and ambled to the loo. His night had not been miserable because the Headmaster kept him late.

No, it was his unfinished business with his fiancée.

Ron perversely enjoyed arguing with Hermione. Harry did not. "Just being mental, that one," Ron had waved off Hermione's precipitate exit. "I mean, it isn't even bothering Ginny much. Why should Hermione get her knickers in a knot?"

"I guess it's the principle of the thing, Ron," Harry half-heartedly defended her.

Things had not progressed beyond that before the Headmaster's summons.

Harry had not resolved things with Hermione before bed.

He stared into the mirror; a gaunt visage stared back irritably.

The mirror observed, "You'd best fix whatever's eating you."

For once, Harry agreed with commentary passing through the looking glass, although only a grunt passed his lips.

His first order of business was to apologise to Hermione. Sure, she had been strident and not very tolerant of other people's opinions - particularly his. But Hermione was Hermione. That her delivery needed work did not mean she was wrong.

Hermione was very rarely wrong.

As the Room admitted him, Harry heard Hermione's violin. She typically arrived first and practised before their workouts to clear her mind.

Hermione's vantage point purposefully included the door. Upon seeing Harry, she carefully set her violin down and purposefully approached him.

Harry began reciting his prepared mental script. "Hermione, before I say anything … mmpf…."

She lunged her final steps, wrapped him in a vigourous hug, and kissed him hard.

When she stopped, Hermione gave Harry no chance to slip a word in edgewise. "Oh, Harry, I'm such a hag! I don't know what came over me! It's just … the Japanese was my idea, and I so wanted it to work, so I went all wobbly when you and Ron … and well, everybody, didn't like it! Why Ginny went with takoyaki and unagi instead of teriyaki and tempura, I don't know. But I'm sorry. That's her fault, not mine, and certainly not … mmpf…."

Harry returned the favour - kissing her soundly to bring her rambling apology to a close both premature and overdue. Once she stopped resisting and started enjoying herself, Harry made his own amends.

Gently, he lifted his lips from hers and substituted his forefinger.

"None of that's important, Hermione. What matters is you needed my support and I didn't give it. That was wrong, and I should have been more sympathetic. For that, I'm sorry."

Hermione could barely believe what she heard. "But … I wasn't just wrong, I was loudly wrong. Why should I expect your sympathy?"

Harry answered simply, "Because I'm your fiancé. It's the job description. You're the most brilliant person I've ever met, so even if you're wrong, I should…."

Her lips crashed into his again. All was certainly forgiven.

Whoever said, "Love is never having to say you're sorry," did not know very much about love.

Their impromptu, vertical snogging session lasted several minutes.

Harry's hands drifted lower. "Hermione, maybe we could…?" Their surroundings - the Room of Requirement - fluttered just a bit.

Hermione demurred. "Really, Harry, I'd love to, but if you slept as badly as I last night, you should save your energy for the match. With the team short-handed, you have to be at the top of your game."

She had a point - both about his lack of rest and the team - but he did not want to admit it. "Not even make up sex?" he whinged.

Her smile was soft, but her voice firm. "Not even for that. Making up shouldn't become an excuse for us arguing in the first place. I especially wouldn't want someone like Ron claiming that I hurt your performance today…."

"Aww … Hermione…."

"You couldn't hide it if you tried - your expression's always a dead giveaway. Let me do some planning, and I'll arrange something for tonight," she promised. "Number 48 can celebrate you catching the Snitch and winning the Cup."

With her promised reward, Harry gave in. "Do you really keep count?"

"I can't help it," she admitted. "It's just how I am. You just have to take the bad with the good."

"Nothing bad about it, believe me," Harry told her. "Care for some light sparring?" he flipped his wand into his hand. "To sharpen me up - for the match - but not to tire me out."

* * * *

Captain Katie specifically requested a "team only" breakfast because the team was so shorthanded (including her injury) that some members might play out of position. New player combinations, and even some new plays, had to be discussed. An underdog's "us against the world" mentality needed cultivating. With the Cup at stake, the rest of Gryffindor House - even (especially) the players' romantic interests - respected Katie's request for the team to bond in peace.

Almost the entire Gryffindor team were already bonding in earnest when Harry arrived in the Great Hall. The Chasers, or what passed for Chasers after the latest injury, were huddled with Katie Bell, formerly of their number. Katie's near-fatal injuries from that cursed necklace had finished both her year, and her career, as a player.

One Chaser down. Timing was the only silver lining to Katie's injury. Harry and Ron, the interim captains, did not have to rush to press Dean Thomas into Katie's starting role.

Demelza Robbins' injury was much less severe, but its timing was abysmal. She would quickly recover from her Potions accident, but for several days, including the Cup showdown with Hufflepuff, her webbed and scaly hands could not effectively grasp a broom. Two Chasers down.

Cormac McLaggen was the only short-notice substitute with any practice time as Chaser. He was better than nothing, but nothing could give him a run for his money. McLaggen was primarily a reserve Beater and Keeper, since his large, blocky build was better suited for those positions. Worse, his knowledge of Chaser plays and formations was rudimentary at best.

The team's Beaters were also revising tactics when Harry entered. Only Jazzy noticed his approach. Harry seemed edgy as he dropped into the seat beside his reserve. Skewering several Salisbury steaks lathered in gravy, he absently told her, "I've just talked with Ron. He'll be here momentarily. Be ready. If anybody else gets hurt, I could be switched to Chaser and you'd be in to Seek."

They chatted strategy for a bit - neither had a high opinion of Steven Summerby, the Hufflepuff Seeker - but Harry's attention was elsewhere. He watched the Chasers' scrum with interest whilst uneaten steaks cooled on his plate. He was transparently waiting for something.

Gathering her self-walking crutches, Katie rose, and the Chasers' buzz of conversation paused. That brought Harry to his feet - an apology on his lips.

"Umm … Ginny? I want to say `sorry' about how I acted yesterday. Hermione was right. I shouldn't have left you hanging. Japanese food can't be all that bad…."

Ginny's open-mouthed expression was one of frank disbelief.

"…In fact, if you have any, I'll try some right now - so … no hard feelings."

From blank and dumbfounded, Ginny's aspect blossomed into a smile so brilliant that it looked like Christmas, Halloween, and her birthday had all come at once. At first, she could barely speak, but after closing her gaping mouth, she recovered. "Why, of course, Harry. Thank you. I'm not…. Yes, I have some leftover miso soup I could…."

She fell silent as Ron loomed over Harry's right shoulder. His features were flushed and his face at war with itself. Ron worried his hair with his right hand a nervous mannerism.

Had he somehow found her out?

"Ginny … I, umm…. I think I should apologise too," he stammered.

Ginny let herself relax, until Ron went further. He could not help competing with Harry - however hopeless his efforts might be.

"It doesn't help much now, but I'll eat your Japanese stuff too…. Like Harry said, you needed us yesterday, and I didn't do squat."

Her prior sunny expression clouded over.

Merlin, what could she do now? All the raw fish was binned; along with that other rubbish she could hardly stand even though she prepared it….

"Thanks, Ron, but you really don't have to do that," she tried.

Her brother was not dissuadable. "Bollocks, Gin. If Harry's gonna do it, I oughtta too."

Inwardly, Ginny winced. With Ron insistent, she had only one option to keep the unexpected opportunity that had just presented itself.

"Okay, Ron," she agreed. "If you insist, I have a little takoyaki left. Hermione seemed to like it."

"Sure," Ron off-handedly. "How bad could it be?" He much preferred discussing Quidditch, with their match in a couple hours. It was probably best that Hermione was not around to warn about rehashed seafood and digestion.

"Then, I'd best be going." In a flash Ginny trotted out of the Great Hall before Katie and the other Chasers could protest. With a Billiwig in her bonnet, she was hard to stop.

Contrary thoughts swirling in her head, Ginny double-timed towards Gryffindor Tower.

"Hey, Reds. What's cooking?"

Ginny almost took flight without a broom. Her long red hair wrapped around her neck as she pirouetted, ending with her wand pointed straight between Draco Malfoy's grey - and at the moment quite wide - eyes.

"Phew!" she exhaled whilst pocketing her wand. "I didn't think you could possibly find me that fast. It isn't even a minute since I pressed my button. I hadn't looked for you, yet."

Draco kept his map a secret. "I was on my way to breakfast when your signal came," he lied effortlessly. "So I didn't have very far to intercept you."

It was a rational explanation, and Ginny accepted it. "I'm going to need more potion," she informed him. "I just had a golden opportunity practically fall into my lap." As quickly as she could, she explained the situation to Draco.

As Ginny talked, Draco's hopes rose. They had fleshed out plans a couple of days previous, when he gave her one of the four communication and rendezvous buttons he received through Burke (Cambo and Spott had the others). Ginny had laid out her scheme to dose the Mudblood with the Draught of Despair. He had recommended she check the library for other Japanese recipes even less appetising than the dross recommended by their unsuspecting victim.

He also agreed to prevent unwitting interference from Weasley's bake-off partner, Demelza Robbins, a task easy enough to accomplish. Pretending to restore himself to Slughorn's good graces, Draco volunteered for scut work around the dungeon. He arranged a relatively harmless potions accident, contaminating certain ingredients for the Fifth Years' next class with ground Ashwinder egg, and giving Weasley a bit extra for Robbins. The Weaselette used too much, though, and Robbins' Gillyweed concentrate exploded - leaving the girl with webbed and scaly hands for several days.

That knocked Robbins out of the match. Weasley had been furious, but it was her own damn fault. The blow to Gryffindor's Quidditch fortunes was just foam on the Butterbeer.

At the same meeting they developed contingency plans for the week-long window that the Draught provided. They both preferred a scenario that included Quidditch. It seemed more natural than, say, waylaying Harry Potter in the Room of Requirement.

Ginny's chance to have their target ingest an extra dollop of the Half-Blood Prince's special Love Potion shortly before everything went into motion was extra incentive to make the most of this unexpected opportunity.

"It just so happens I've been a busy boy, and here's some more," Draco smirked as he produced another two phials. "It needs curing, but not as long once you've dosed him with the really strong stuff. I'll be making more, but for Salazar's sake don't waste it."

"I won't," Ginny assured. "I'll just add a half-teaspoon or so to the soup I have. Then I'll be really frugal."

"Once you've succeeded, frugal him all you want," Draco joked. "But I'd strongly recommend treating just the tofu and other solid bits, if you're short on your best stuff. Then use Attractivus."

"That's a baby's spell," Ginny dismissed the idea.

"Precisely," Draco shot back. "You don't know how much he'll eat. With that spell, the bits you want will be attracted to his spoon - I assume you're planning to provide the spoon."

"Why, of course," Ginny managed to scoff, having not thought of that in the slightest.

"I also caught the other prop you wanted," Draco told her. "Stunned and Incarceroused, it's stashed in that big chest where Gryffindor keeps its practice equipment. By the time the match's done, it should be awake and plenty angry, so be careful."

"Don't worry on my account," Ginny replied. "I will be."

"Anyway, get on with it," Draco sent Ginny on her way. "Afterwards, if you get him first, let me know. If I have to move the Great Git along, I'll signal you. He'll suddenly remember needing to clear out his gear, like you mentioned."

Ginny hurried. Within fifteen minutes she was in and out of an entirely deserted Gryffindor Tower.

Appearing far calmer than she felt, Ginny sashayed back into the Great Hall, smiling broadly. She spotted Hermione, who had returned from wherever she spent her early mornings - usually with Harry, no doubt.

Suppressing an unpleasant expression, Ginny flashed Hermione her smile, hoping it appeared genuine. `They apologised,' she mouthed at the older girl whilst almost skipping to the Quidditch team's end of the table. She held up a soup container and another, foil-wrapped package so Hermione could see it.

Despite Hermione's obvious interest - Japanese food had been her idea - Ginny knew she was in the clear. Hermione was such a stickler for propriety that, short of a life-or-death emergency, she would respect Katie's desire for a team-only Quidditch breakfast.

She turned her smile on Harry, who had risen from his seat. "Here you are, Harry - the last of the miso soup." Ginny handed him a Warming-Charmed bowl with the handle of an oriental style soup spoon protruding from a Muggle plastic cover.

Her smile waned as she turned to Ron. She held thrust a foil-wrapped container his direction, half hoping that he would refuse. Its six takoyaki pieces were all she had left. They had not been intended for him.

Ron snatched it anyway, determined to follow Harry.

Both wizards tucked in as Ginny dropped into a seat beside injured Demelza Robbins. Ginny just wanted this over - so she could do something comfortable - like playing Quidditch.

Ron spoilt it. "Eggh," he managed through heavy chewing noises, what is this stuff?"

Ginny sighed. One last time, she tried dissuading her headstrong brother. "Octopus balls," she spoke the unvarnished truth.

"Ugh," Ron exclaimed, his face displaying most unapologetic contortions. "I didn't even know they had balls."

"No, Ron, not that kind…." She shut up as her brother ignored her, looking to Harry, calmly spooning soup and trying not entirely successfully to keep from laughing at Ron's predicament.

"To hell with it," Ron growled. For a moment Ginny let herself hope he would toss the remainder. Instead he grabbed a tureen of gravy and lathered the contents heavily over the takoyaki. Ron inhaled the rest of his octopus - balls or whatever - with barely a bite.

If Harry could do it; so could he.

* * * *

A Face Fogging Charm is an excellent addition to any dueller's repertoire. In a multi-wizard duel, it prevented opponents from reading one's eyes to know who was being targeted.

It had other uses, too - more mundane and more frequent.

During surveillance, a Face Fogging Charm prevents someone from appreciating that he or she is being observed.

Daphne Greengrass had employed Face Fogging Charms very frequently of late in her ongoing surveillance of Harry Potter.

Her mission began several weeks ago upon receipt of a terse note from her Aunt Lilithu, dated the very day she met Harry in Hogsmeade. Something was off about Harry's aura, Aunt Lilithu had written. Her aunt was an experienced aura reader. Viewing Harry's had convinced Lilithu that he was probably under the influence of some sort of Love Potion.

Her Aunt's observation was unaccompanied by any instructions. Lilithu had been content to trust Daphne's discretion in deciding how to use this information.

Daphne responded by watching Harry whenever she could.

This spying had nothing to do with Harry's aura. Daphne could not detect, let alone read, anybody's aura. Aura reading was a discipline so far post-N.E.W.T. that it might not even qualify as Divination. Instead, Daphne watched Harry Potter - specifically his interactions with anyone female.

Her first, most obvious, target had been Hermione Granger. She was Harry's current girlfriend and undeniably clever enough to brew any Love Potion known to wizardkind. Her choice was hardly groundless. The Prophet had broached similar suspicions quite strenuously back in fourth year.

For two weeks Daphne had scrutinised Harry, and even more so Hermione, like a hawk - or more aptly, a snake.

If only she could catch Hermione Granger in the act of dosing Harry. The Muggle-born would surely be expelled. Not incidentally, that scenario would position Daphne perfectly to pursue her own interest in the aforementioned Mister Potter.

After being shut up for so many years with Muggles, Harry's grasp of the intricacies of wizard society was woefully weak. With his new station - and a reputation that seemed to soar to new heights almost monthly - Harry badly needed a proper witch to assist him navigate the numerous potential social pitfalls he would encounter.

Daphne was Slytherin enough to believe herself exactly fitted for that role, whilst sufficiently un-Slytherin to shrug off the blood prejudices Harry despised.

Muggle-born or no, Hermione Granger was an impressive witch. She was not to be crossed lightly. Paired with Harry Potter, she was virtually unassailable.

Unassailable unless caught in the act.

Despite her best efforts, Daphne Greengrass failed miserably. Hermione Granger seemed purer than Cæsar's whole bloody family - not a trace of impropriety. Over those two weeks, Daphne was compelled to accept what her (fogged over) eyes told her time and again.

Harry's and Hermione's relationship was 100% genuine. Those two were in love with one another without pretense, and certainly without chemical enhancement. To a Slytherin like Daphne, watching them was so sweet as to be nauseating and so ingenuous as to be downright boring.

Daphne's eyes told her one thing, but Aunt Lilithu had told her another. Daphne chose to believe her formidable Aunt. If Granger were not plying Potter with Love Potion - and she was too clever to waste time on something so blatantly unnecessary - who else could it be?

And why?

Harry and Hermione's relationship needed no assistance from Love Potion. But if a witch with ulterior motives were using such a potion on Harry, said witch certainly was not having much luck.

After another week of studious observation, Daphne settled on Ginny Weasley as her prime suspect. That girl certainly had a motive. She had worn romantic interest towards Harry on her sleeve almost since she began at Hogwarts. Weasley was hardly alone in that respect - rumours swirled around that Vane bint - but Weasley stood out in Daphne's mind as one of the few also possessed of opportunity.

How much of an opportunity remained to be seen.

Daphne noticed Ginny supplying Harry with calcium supplements. Ginny was hardly the only girl using them.

Could that be it? When motivated, Daphne was no slouch in the library. She researched every Love Potion she could find. The verdict: No Love Potion was effective in the tiny daily doses administrable via a calcium pill.

No other observations in the Great Hall or the halls of Hogwarts answered Daphne's questions. Luna Lovegood was after Harry's friend, not him. Nobody else had sufficient access, at least publicly.

Unlike Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley, Daphne Greengrass was not a Quidditch player. She thought playing that game was stupid and dangerous.

She could observe though. Daphne's powers of observation made her a standout in Astronomy, the most observationally centered school subjects.

Professor Sinistra had started a project updating the Castle's sunrise and sunset charts. Almost five centuries had passed since their last revision. Daphne signed up - for a month's worth of sunset observations.

These observations were standardized - each taken from the same vantage point on the Astronomy Tower.

The Astronomy Tower overlooked, among many other things, the Quidditch pitch.

At dusk in the late Highlands spring, the various house Quidditch teams concluded their practices.

To calibrate Professor Sinistra's instruments properly took close to an hour. Daphne could be most meticulous when the occasion required.

It did, and so she was. Three of the four house teams delegated practice refreshments either to non-playing managers or the lowliest of substitutes. But one team's refreshments came courtesy of a star player, someone skilled enough to attract attention from professional talent spotters.

That team was Gryffindor, and the player was Ginny Weasley.

Despite all Daphne's observations, things did not add up. The ointment had a major fly - questions with no plausible answers.

If Ginny Weasley wanted Harry Potter so much she would dose him with Love Potion…?

If that girl would chance the wrath of a very powerful rival who had famously broken said Mr. Potter's leg in a duel witnessed by the entire D.A…?

Why in Merlin's name was Ginny Weasley also secretly trysting with Harry Potter's worst sworn enemy?

Too many coincidences - over a month of observations - convinced Daphne that Ginny was surreptitiously seeing Draco Malfoy. Entirely too frequently to be accidental, both went missing at the same time.

Things simply did not make sense.

Daphne was still mulling this conundrum when a golden opportunity appeared. Following an emotional exchange with Harry, Ginny Weasley fled the Great Hall. A short time later, she returned with something Harry immediately began eating.

Daphne had no appetite for crossing Hermione Granger, but Ginny Weasley was another story. If Ginny did the heavy lifting, Daphne would happily compete with her - especially with hard evidence of Ginny's perfidy to show Harry.

Daphne was Slytherin to the core.

Dumbledore came by a short time later and led Harry away somewhere.

Here was Daphne's chance. In short order the Gryffindor Quidditch breakfast broke up. Once it did - before any elves could tidy things - Daphne cast a Notice Me Not Charm on herself and strode past the Gryffindor table.

She exited the Great Hall holding the remnants of Harry's soup, intent upon testing that for every Love Potion known to wizardkind.

* * * *

The last Quidditch match of the season - Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff for the Cup. If that was not enough to get a Quidditch player's juices flowing, nothing was.

So it was with Harry.

Or not.

On one hand, Harry could barely wait to kick off. On the other, he felt a wave of nostalgia. Katie Bell's swan song - a "win this for me, because I can't" speech - reinforced it, particularly since Harry almost missed her speech and was frantically dressing for the match whilst his captain spoke.

His crazy schedule raised Harry's nostalgia for a younger, less complicated time. He had been happily engrossed in Quidditch discussions with Ginny and the rest, slurping his soup, when conversation faded away. Following his teammates' eyes, Harry turned and….

"A good morning for Quidditch, so it appears."

"So it appears, Headmaster," Harry answered coolly, sensing the end of his brief idyll.

It was.

"Miss Bell, might I borrow Mister Potter?" the Headmaster went through the formality of asking Captain Katie.

"Certainly, we were almost done anyway," Katie deferred breathlessly to Dumbledore. In that one sentence she spoke more words to the Headmaster than during her entire time at Hogwarts.

With an exaggerated sigh that betrayed his pique, Harry wordlessly rose and trailed after the Headmaster.

They reached what Harry sometimes called the "Goblet of Fire Memorial Alcove." Dumbledore turned, "I apologise for the interruption, but as you Gryffindor security liaison are I require your assistance in security matters pertaining to the match."

"You didn't say it would interfere with Quidditch," Harry grumbled.

"At the time, I did not believe it would," Dumbledore conceded. "But after the Beauxbatons débacle, surely you understand our concerns - which, you should know, are shared by everyone from Rufus on down. I had to parry suggestions to cancel your match altogether. It is the first major match conducted by any school in Europe since that disaster."

When put that way, Harry had little choice but to agree. "All right, let's do it."

"Very well," Dumbledore started moving again, and Harry resumed following. "Our consultations will conclude before the match. First, is a meeting with your fellow liaisons and the Aurors. I have seconded Mister Hooper to act in your stead during the match. More importantly, you will be meeting with the goblins…."

"Goblins?" Focused on the match, Harry had quite forgotten about them.

"They are here in force, Mister Potter," the Headmaster continued. "Due to wizard sensibilities and lack of interest in Quidditch, they will remain in the background. They insist, however, upon your approving their deployments, as they view you as their senior commander on site…."

Hermione also attended the goblin meeting. She was his logical second should their help be needed.

The two security meetings consumed all Harry's time before the match. He left appreciating the weight of his current responsibilities - that playing Quidditch would never be "just Quidditch" again - not for him.

Hence Harry's nostalgia.

Win or lose, Gryffindor's season would be over. A few of them - he, Ron, Ginny, and some from the other Houses - would continue. They had a match against what Ron, their captain, called the "Krum all-stars."

That reminded Harry. Since he was no longer captain, he should remove his stuff…. But for most of the Gryffindor team, today was the end.

Almost missing his captain's soliloquy brought everything home to Harry. This match could be his last for Gryffindor. Quidditch consumed a huge amount of time. With all his new responsibilities, he might not have that time next year. Eliza, rest her soul, had warned him about that….

"All right team; let's powder the `Puffs!"

Nostalgia or no, it was time to play Quidditch.

It was good Quidditch weather: temperature in the mid-to-high teens, a mix of sun and clouds, breezy but not blustery.

Harry shot up and almost immediately commenced his search for the Snitch.

Harry soon ascertained that Hufflepuff's Seeker was not much to worry about. A few dives and feints convinced him that Summerby would catch the Snitch only if Harry handed it to him.

The Snitch, however, was proving most elusive.

Whilst evaluating Summerby, Harry became painfully aware of something else - unless he caught the Snitch, Gryffindor was likely to lose the match.

With Demelza with injuries, and Katie unable to play, the brilliant set of Chasers that began Gryffindor's season was reduced to one - Ginny Weasley. Whilst the best of the lot, her moves often leaving her opponents (and Harry) mesmerised, Dean was little better than average. McLaggen, forced to play an unfamiliar position, was predictably horrid. In the match's first fifteen minutes, he repeatedly dropped the Quaffle, resulting in four turnovers to Hufflepuff before Harry stopped counting. As a unit, Hufflepuff's experienced Chaser trio of Smith, Cadwallader, and Hopkins outclassed Gryffindor's patched together lineup.

Still, with decent Beaters and Harry flying rings around Summerby, Gryffindor were still the favourite to win if Ron would Keep goal at his usual, nearly professional level.

Unfortunately, Ron was having a very off day. He had not been more tentative since mid-fifth year - seemingly afraid to extend himself for those spectacular saves that, all this year, he had made look routine.

Hufflepuff, ironically the greatest beneficiary of Harry's donation that equalised broom quality for all houses, led 40-20 after those first fifteen minutes.

Harry concluded he needed to do more than fly by Ron and yell encouragement.

Captain Katie noticed it too. She quickly called timeout. Telling Harry to try bucking up Ron, she took McLaggen aside and informed him that, if both Ron's and his subpar play continued, she might swap their positions, since McLaggen was the team's reserve Keeper, and Ron had helped create most of the Chasers' plays.

She withheld this possibility from Ron. From last year's bitter experience, Katie knew that Ron's confidence issues tended to feed on themselves.

Harry took advantage of the break to slake his thirst whilst trying everything he could think of - short of feeding Ron some Felix Felicis - to wheedle better play out of his best mate.

It seemed to help a little.

The match see-sawed inconclusively for the next half hour, with the score reaching 80-70 Hufflepuff. With the Snitch still nowhere in evidence, Harry spotted an opportunity and dove through Hufflepuff's Chasers, disrupting them and forcing a bad pass. Pulling up just before ground, he scanned the sky for the Snitch, but instead saw Ginny waving. She wanted to try the obstruction play they had practised.

Harry was game. He trailed her to the right hand side, trying to concentrate on the upcoming play, rather than on Ginny. She was rather distracting, particularly when followed closely.

Ginny gave the signal. Harry shot forward; they criss-crossed with less than two metres separation. Cadwallader, who had been marking Ginny, had to swerve violently to avoid colliding with Harry, and a Blatching foul, as the Gryffindor had the interior path. On cue, Dean flipped the Quaffle to an unguarded Ginny, who fired it through the 'Puffs' left goal to tie the game.

Harry exchanged hasty high fives with Ginny and Dean (McLaggen did not know the play and was only a decoy) before soaring skyward for another futile check on the Snitch. It was nowhere to be seen, but whilst searching Harry missed Zach Smith, the Hufflepuff captain, upbraiding his Beaters.

Harry was still fruitlessly searching when one of his Beaters, Richie Cooke, flew by, vigourously gesturing downwards.

For a blood-chilling second, Harry thought he had missed the Snitch, but Cooke had a message from Ginny. She wanted to run another play. Giving the heavens another quick scan, and spotting no telltale golden glint, Harry swooped in.

In seconds he was following Ginny on another run, this time only a metre or so above the grass. Suddenly, Ginny was knocked off course by a Bludger that shot in from their right. It hit her broomstick, barely missing her thigh.

Harry was incensed. Where were Gryffindor's Beaters? That brought home a drawback of these tactics. When Harry flew with the Chasers, nothing remained to distract opposing Beaters. His presence in the formation gave the 'Puffs more targets and left his mates with less room to manœuvre.

Harry was thinking too much and not paying enough attention. The next instant his right elbow erupted in fiery pain as a second Bludger caught Harry squarely on the point. He veered sideways from the line of play as his entire arm went numb.

Flying too low to compensate in time, Harry's right foot dug into the grass, flipping him over and slamming him hard into the turf. His left shoulder bore the brunt of the crash. He rolled over several times before tumbling to a halt.

Woozy from impact, Harry staggered to his feet the moment he stopped rolling, hoping by force of will to deny any serious injury. Unfortunately, that bit of grandstanding only confirmed the opposite. The dull throb in his left shoulder became excruciating when Harry tried raising his arm in a futile attempt to call his broom. Abandoning all pretense, Harry clumsily grabbed the shoulder with his still somewhat benumbed right hand, and trudged for the bench.

Katie immediately called an injury timeout and waved Jazzy into the game.

Ron flew in from his Keeper position. "Gotcha, mate," he grunted as he hauled Harry on his broom and flew him slowly to the sideline. Ginny followed with Harry's broom. Katie finally had Ron swap positions with Cormac McLaggen, since Ron at least knew the Chasers' plays.

Injury timeouts were not even recognised in professional Quidditch. Under intramural rules they were limited to thirty seconds.

Harry sat slumped morosely on the Gryffindor bench, an otherwise superfluous Gryffindor foul weather cape draped loosely over him. Breathing heavily, he sucked away on his (no longer accurate) captain's water bottle. Katie approached, discarded her crutches, and bent down to face him, her hand lightly on his arm.

"Mind if I take a look?" she asked. "I'm pre-Healer."

Harry winced, but agreed.

She reached for his left shoulder.

"Aaawwk! That hurts!" Harry yelped as she started manipulating it.

He hissed, but otherwise held his tongue, as Katie's probing fingers traced his pain.

"It's dislocated," she diagnosed within a few seconds. "Go get yourself Healed by Pomfrey. She's right behind us, in the first row. I think she assumes you'll get hurt…."

"Don't want to … not till the match's over," Harry resisted.

"You can't play with that," she told him. "Your day is done."

Harry gritted his teeth. "Maybe, maybe not. If I go to Pomfrey, I'm disqualified. I can't return, no matter what. We've no more substitutes. I don't want to cause a Gryffindor forfeit."

"We'll play short-handed rather than forfeit," Katie tried reassuring him.

"We'll lose," Harry replied flatly, standing (technically sitting) his ground. "They're too good."

"At least let me fix you up a bit," Katie offered. "Just what's allowed on the sidelines."

Harry gratefully agreed to whatever first aid Katie could manage. She patched him up for about ten minutes. First she wrapped Harry's shoulder tightly in magical self-slicing trainer's tape. Atop that Katie added a Muggle HypaCool for his bum shoulder and a magical heating pad on his opposite elbow.

McLaggen was, on this day, marginally superior to Ron in goal, and Ron was an improvement over McLaggen at Chaser. However, the other Gryffindors deflated after Harry's injury. Ginny seemed particularly dispirited, no doubt blaming herself for involving Harry with the Chasers' plays.

With all the Gryffindor team's other problems, it really needed Ginny at the top of her game. She was not, and over the next half hour Hufflepuff slowly pulled ahead on points.

Overhead, Jazzy and Steven Summerby battled each other. Harry's injury emboldened the Hufflepuff Seeker to take greater liberties with his replacement. As always, Jazzy responded to aggression on the Quidditch pitch (as elsewhere) with greater aggression.

All their bumping and Firebolt chicken games were a sideshow until the Snitch deigned to show itself. After another forty minutes, with the score favouring Hufflepuff 240-170, the elusive object at last made an appearance.

Jazzy saw it first, a split second before Summerby. The Snitch was on his side of the pitch, near the west stands, mostly occupied by Hufflepuff supporters. Neck and neck, the two streaked towards the Snitch, which fluttered erratically away from them. Summerby jostled the much smaller Jazzy and threw an elbow. The intense Kashmiri, not backing down an iota, ducked it. Hunched flat on her broom, Jazzy inched ahead. Her broom bore less weight and could fly slightly faster.

Sensing he was losing the race, Summerby tried cutting Jazzy off. As Jazzy attempted to fly over him, their slightly curved Firebolt broom sticks hooked at exactly the wrong angle, sending both out of control.

The Snitch flitted merrily away as Jazzy and Summerby slammed full tilt into the front of the west grandstands and fell to the turf with an ominous thud.

If Harry's accident was bad, this was worse. Neither Seeker was moving.

Madam Hooch, the referee, called another injury timeout - this one mandatory. That put both Seekers automatically out of the game, which changed nothing since neither was in any condition to continue. Already, Madam Pomfrey was running towards them.

Harry made a snap decision that would have done Oliver Wood proud.

Before Captain Katie could devise a response to this latest crisis, Harry tapped her on the shoulder. "Can you tape my left arm to my broom?"

"What!?!" Katie squawked unbelievingly. "You can't play one-handed."

"There isn't anybody else," he accurately replied. "I don't know the Hufflepuff reserve, but whoever it is must be worse than Summerby - and he wasn't very good."

Katie shook her head at Harry's insistence, but had no choice. It was either send Harry in one-armed or play short-handed - with no Seeker. With Hufflepuff already relentlessly moving ahead on points, the latter option was the moral equivalent of a forfeit.

"All right, Harry," she reluctantly agreed. "I hope neither of us lives to regret this."

Ten minutes later, Katie had used up almost all her remaining trainer's tape. Three rolls thoroughly covered Harry's left arm, from his shoulder to his fingertips. His hand was triple-taped to his Firebolt's broomstick in a death grip.

Madam Pomfrey escorted both downed Seekers off the field on Self-levitating stretchers. Whilst working on Harry, Katie received word that Jazzy had a concussion and two broken arms. Summerby was in even worse shape, with dangerous back injuries as well as a concussion. In that sense only, Jazzy had won.

Madam Hooch blew her whistle, and the teams kicked off. Harry staggered at the beginning, almost flipping upside down, but soon got the hang of flying with but one functional arm.

The Hufflepuff reserve Seeker, Virginia Valentine, had never played a minute in an actual match. Even in practice, she served mostly as a stand-in Chaser.

Mostly to test the limits of his own mobility, Harry tried a couple of fancier moves. He then made a run at the Hufflepuff. Her consistently tentative response indicated that she was utterly in awe of his reputation. If Harry could simply locate the Snitch, he was very likely to beat her to it.

The Snitch continued its elusive ways.

Time was not Gryffindor's ally.

An hour passed, and Hufflepuff's unscathed front line of experienced Chasers inexorably pulled further ahead. The score ballooned to 370-240 - a 130-point margin for the yellow and black. Harry's left arm ached and itched beneath its impermeable coating of trainer's tape. The sun slid steadily towards the northwest as shadows began advancing across the Pitch.

Then he saw it - a gold flash a few dozen metres to the left of the Hufflepuff goal hoops. Valentine was between him and the Snitch, but completely oblivious to it.

Harry dove almost straight down, slightly away from the Snitch's position. Valentine followed, but Harry flipped into a descending Immelman turn. Suddenly he was flying in the opposite direction, his damaged shoulder throbbing from the strain of the turn. By the time Valentine righted herself, Harry was rushing headlong towards the Snitch. This time it did not disappear.

Harry had the inside angle, but it hardly mattered. He concentrated so intensely on the Snitch that free magic crackled blue-white between the fingers on his right hand. That show alone intimidated his inexperienced competition. At the last second the Snitch veered left, but Harry was ready. He pulled up, flipped upside down, and caught the Snitch in his right hand.

Gryffindor won the Cup 390-370.

That final move nearly removed Harry's arm from its socket. With his body inverted, the trainer's tape binding his left hand to his broomstick carried his upper body's full weight.

Without magic, Harry managed to approximate the sensations of the Cruciatus Curse more closely than he thought possible.

Barely aware of his surroundings through a haze of pain, Harry floated to the ground, slumped over his broom. One hand clutched the Snitch whilst the other remained bound to the handle. But for his teammates' alert actions, he would have been mobbed by a horde of Gryffindor supporters doing their best Lindbergh-at-Le-Bourget stampede.

Ron led a charge of broom riders to protect Harry. Landing just before their winning Seeker would have been swarmed by jubilant fans, the Gryffindor team had to link brooms to hold back the surge.

Ginny tried helping the exhausted and injured man of the moment to his feet, but Harry could barely move with his hand stuck fast to his broom. Unwilling to risk a Diffindo with Harry's fingertips covered in tape; she did something she had wanted - under different circumstances - to do for a long time.

She bucked Harry as far forward on his Firebolt as he could comfortably go and slid on the broom behind him. Awkwardly, she kicked off. Keeping one hand firmly around Harry's waist to prevent further damage to his shoulder, she slowly flew him over the surrounding crowd straight to the Hospital Wing.

Whilst airborne with Harry, Ginny noticed a disheveled Hermione fighting through the mob to where she thought Harry was. If her luck held, Ginny thought, Hermione would not be doing such a thing again.

* * * *

Temperamentally, Draco Malfoy was a strutter, not a skulker. But his Master was impatient for results, so today he did what was necessary. If all went well, he would have favourable results to report.

All was not going well. From this morning's apex - when the Weaselette brought news of her opportunity to slip the Great Git an extra dose - everything had been downhill. Unanticipated complexities overwhelmed his hopes of a simple, single-target afternoon.

Sod's law was more than a Muggle concept.

The worst was Potty getting himself injured. For once Draco had hoped, vainly, that the Git would ignore all that rah-rah Quidditch blather. No chance, and with the Mudblood watching, his heroics were particularly nerve-wracking.

If the wrong traumatic event triggered her Draught of Despair, the entire plan would collapse - irreparably.

The worst did not happen - thanks to the Great Git's theatrics after hitting the turf. But if Scarhead did not catch the Snitch, he might not pull his usual hiding-out-in-the-Quidditch-clubhouse routine that they were counting on. According to Weasley, Potty hated the house party adulation he always received as winning Seeker.

The Draught of Despair's one-week window mandated their most promising scheme - Quidditch. Essential to that scheme was the Great Git's following his usual post-game pattern. His detour to the Hospital Wing required improvisation.

At least Scarhead caught the Snitch - the first time Draco had ever rooted for that result. Then it was straight to the Hospital Wing, where Potty had been ever since.

So Draco skulked in an empty classroom just down the hall, Disillusioned, staring at dots on his map of the Castle.

His own moment in the limelight was imminent. The Mudblood had finally left, meaning Potty was just about Healed. She had fallen in with Finnegan, Blyth, and Brown, no doubt the Gryffindor "Quidditch booster" group - every House had one. Boosters consisted mostly of boyfriends, girlfriends and hangers-on who organised after-match parties when their teams won.

Pansy used to do that for him.

However much a planner Pansy was, Potter's Mudblood was undoubtedly ten times worse. Surely, she had some surprise - of a private nature - planned for the Great Git later that evening. She would be itching to get him alone to tell him about it.

That hunch drove Draco's second Remembrall.

When the dot marked "Luna Lovegood" joined the Mudblood's group, Draco's suspicions were confirmed. His map had shown him interesting things about his foes - such as Looney recently spending a great deal of quality time alone with the Gryffindor Keeper.

Lovegood, indeed.

His button flashed green. The Weaselette was in place and signalling her readiness - now to get the Git to the Gryffindor clubhouse. Then, he would wait half an hour before sending along the Mudblood. To accomplish all that, Draco charmed two inflatable Remembralls, the remaining two kept in reserve in case of accidents. He only had to puncture them somewhere in the vicinity of their intended targets.

He knew exactly where Scarhead was, and the Remembrall would remind him.

Now, it was time - if not to strut - at least for Draco to perform. He ended his Disillusionment.

"Diffindo," Draco sliced the palm of his left hand with the spell, giving himself an obvious reason to visit the Hospital Wing.

* * * *

Harry's shoulder looked and felt fine, but he needed to satisfy himself that he was well and truly Healed. As the acid test, he stood and windmilled his right arm as hard as he could, whilst recounting for the recently Ennervated Jazzy the match's twists and turns after her early and unfortunate departure. She faced a longer confinement, with compound fractures to both arms, a concussion, and severe facial lacerations, the consequences of flying full tilt into the grandstand's façade.

"…and the 'Puffs' replacement had no playing experience at all…."

The door to the Hospital Wing creaked open, and in walked Draco Malfoy, his left hand bleeding profusely. He was obviously - perhaps too obviously - in distress.

"Madam Pomfrey!" Malfoy wailed. "I need Pomfrey. I've been hurt!"

"Get in line. You'll find no sympathy here," Steve Summerby ragged the former Slytherin Seeker. Summerby was recovering from his own concussion, a shattered scapula, and several burst vertebræ. "This place is for really injured wizards, not you Malfoy … tis but a flesh wound."

Scowling, the haughty Slytherin returned the insult. "The day I need sympathy from a pathetic powder 'Puff is the day I'll kill myself. Madam Pomfrey, please!"

"Don't hold back on my account…."

"Shut it, all of you!" Intervention came from the on-duty pre-Healer, Emmanuelle Elphick, a seventh-year Hufflepuff. "Madam Pomfrey's getting more Skele-Gro at the main Floo. You'll have to make do with me. Now, what happened to you?"

"I was practising spellwork with my mates," Draco explained, "and one of them messed up."

Elphick Tergeoed away the blood on Malfoy's injured hand. His palm had quite a slice.

"A likely story," Harry quipped, not caring whether it was likely or not.

"You've got your bloody D.A." Draco sniped. "I've got mine."

"Draco's arseholes," Jazzy jumped in. "`D.A.' can mean different…."

"You'll go far, bint. The sooner you start, the better…. OWWWWW!" Draco screeched and stomped his foot when Elphick probed his cut rather more vigourously than perhaps necessary. His exclamation drowned out the simultaneous soft "pop" from his overstressed Remembrall.

"What a wimp," Summerby commented loud enough to be sure Malfoy heard. "It's amazing anybody thought he could ever play Quidditch."

Draco glared at the Hufflepuff but restrained himself, as Elphick Healed his nasty gash.

"Well, I'm all Healed, so I think I'll be off," Harry announced. "I've stuff to clean out of the Captain's office, since I'm not captain anymore."

Jazzy rolled her eyes. Harry was just making excuses. He would avoid the House post-match party as long as possible. She knew he detested being fawned over after winning a match, but by making himself scarce, Harry only ensured that everybody fawned that much harder once he finally arrived.

Harry was obviously planning to hide out. If he took too long, the House would just send Hermione to collect him. That always worked.

Excuses or no, Harry trotted to the Gryffindor clubhouse.

He itched.

Harry looked forward to changing into his own clothes. When the team brought him to the Hospital Wing, Ron thoughtfully conjured Harry new underclothes to replace his rather ripe set from the almost five-hour match. Ron saved Harry the embarrassment of having to ask before a crowd of people, but his conjuring was not the best.

The clubhouse door was unlocked; not unusual for a match day, but the lock seemed broken. That could be a security problem….

Security … yet another thing on his to-do list. As their technical commander, Harry had to dismiss the goblins who guarded the match. They would not leave without his say so.

So many responsibilities.

Next year, would he even have time to play Gryffindor? Or had he just finished his last Quidditch match?

Distracted by six - no five, since fourth year had none - years of Quidditch memories, Harry changed and began packing his gear in desultory fashion.

His mind wandered to a quite recent Quidditch memory. That moment just before his most recent injury … flying in tandem with Ginny, her ruddy tresses streaming behind her - towards him - like a welcoming carpet. He was jealous….

No, he should not be thinking that. He had a post-match party to endure.

Everyone in the House would be waiting to tell him how….

Actually, not everyone. He heard someone still in the shower. Harry was grateful his privacy was not disturbed….

"EEEEEEEEKK!"

Shite! That scream? It sounded like Ginny!

Hastily snatching his wand from the Captain's desk, Harry bolted out the office door.

"EEEEEEEEKK!" Ginny screamed again. "NO! GET AWAY!"

Harry tore around the corner into the showers. Sliding to a halt on the wet tile floor, Harry spotted a thoroughly riled, foot-tall Bowtruckle, clicking madly, advancing on an Obscurused person he presumed was Ginny Weasley.

The thing jumped at Ginny. Harry fired - "Stupefy!" - but the Bowtruckle dodged. Fortunately, that meant it missed Ginny.

The Bowtruckle kicked off the back wall, launching itself straight at its attacker's face. Harry raised his arm in time, but suffered received forearm slashes from the beast's sharp talons and fangs.

"AAHHHH!" Harry yelled, as he flung the thing away. The Bowtruckle flipped into the main clubhouse and skittered for the door. Harry aimed again.

"Reduc...!" He never completed his incantation as the thoroughly terrified little creature shoved the door open and fled.

"Pesky little bugger." Harry resheathed his wand and turned to the nasty bleeding gashes on his arm. "Damn…."

"Oh, Harry, thank you. You saved me again." The grey blob that was Ginny approached from the showers. "Where could that horrid thing came from?"

"Door won't lock," Harry commented. "Saving's hardly what I would call…."

"Oh, dear, you're hurt," Ginny exclaimed, noticing his arm. "Here, let me…."

Ginny quickly reached into her locker for her wand.

Harry extended his arm and felt Ginny's soft touch. "Episkey! There. All better."

His arm felt warm and wonderful - especially where Ginny held it. Instead of letting go, her hand slid upwards. "Umm…. Thanks Ginny. That was…."

POP!

"Ginny!"

Not two feet away from him, she ended her Obscurus Charm. There she stood - starkers - her long fiery red hair dripping from her shower.

Ginny breathed, "When I've needed you, you've always been there for me…."

Before Harry could react, she closed the narrow gap between them. Ginny had every bit the magnificent, lithe body Harry had imagined on those occasions - more frequent of late - when he thought about how she would look naked. From her head, down to her…. Oh, my!

"…I think it's time I'm there for you." In a single graceful motion, she wrapped one arm around Harry's neck, the other about his waist, and pulled her lips to his.

`I shouldn't be…,' Harry's mind frantically tried to process what the rest of him was feeling.

`This isn't what I….'

"And I need you, too," she murmured into his mouth.

`This is seriously … oh Merlin … wonderful….'

"Nobody else is here, Harry. You know you want it."

He should flee, like he did at the ball. He should Banish her to the opposite end of the clubhouse. He should do something, anything, to put a stop to this….

But something inside held him back.

Harry's will, capable of defeating the Imperius when properly motivated, never slipped into gear, or perhaps pointed him in a different direction.

Harry relaxed. A red curtain of intense lust descended and eclipsed his higher mental faculties.

Ginny was right; he did want it.

This time, Harry went with the flow.

* * * *

Ron, Seamus, and the rest headed for the kitchens to nick food and drink for what would surely be a raucous after-match party celebrating yet another Quidditch Cup. Hermione begged off, having other plans for later that evening.

She had the L.O.S.S. room ready.

Although Professor Binns had no further use for his bed, that did not make it useless - not at all.

Dumbledore's new directive, post-Beauxbatons massacre, about goblins in the Castle was rather vague. Was the school "in session" during a Quidditch weekend? Maybe Harry could ask a couple of goblins to stay behind and provide their cloaking magic.

Speaking of Harry….

Hermione wondered if he was in the common room. The post-match party could not really start without the Seeker of the hour. Exiting L.O.S.S.'s little cul de sac hallway, Hermione tried raising Harry on her D.A. mirror.

No luck. He probably left it in his dormitory rather than take it to the match. She tried Ron and Luna with no better results. They might have theirs shut off. Whilst they had made no public announcement, Hermione knew from Luna that they were seeing each other.

Finally she contacted Neville whilst walking down a side corridor.

No, Harry was not back.

Typical Harry.

Reaching the corner with the main third floor hallway, Hermione heard footsteps. Turning the corner, she tensed as she saw Draco Malfoy striding towards her. Her hand was flexed, ready to flick her wand from its holster at the slightest provocation, but Malfoy passed quietly, without a word, not even the usual insult.

Like so much background noise, in a minute Draco's passage was forgotten.

Hermione remembered something else far more important.

Before reaching the staircase, Hermione had a plan. She had not informed Harry of this evening's preparations. Almost surely, he was dawdling in the Gryffindor clubhouse.

She would have to retrieve him.

A lovely Scottish May sunset painted the sky turquoise and pink as Hermione reached her destination. She pushed open the unlocked clubhouse door, calling out, "Harry, I know you're in there, I'm coming…. Erk…."

Confronted with her worst nightmare, Hermione's words died in her throat. No, this was worse than her worst nightmare, because she would never have dreamt Harry would do such a thing.

Harry, wearing nothing below the waist, stared straight at her, his mouth gaping in surprise and shock. He was upright, leaning against the back row of lockers. His face blushed spectacularly red, remnants of his prior bliss fading rapidly as his glazed eyes attempted to focus.

For a long moment, Hermione stood there, dumbfounded, her hand frozen on the doorknob, silhouetted in the gathering gloom.

"Hermione, I'm…."

On her haunches in front of him, was Ginny Weasley, naked as the day she was born. Her long hair flowed chaotically down her back almost brushing the floor. The back of her head bobbed rhythmically. Hermione did not need every gory detail to know exactly what she was doing. Hermione was no stranger to the act, but never … such a submissive….

Hermione's heart dropped leadenly. "Harry!!" she wailed. "What are…?" She stopped abruptly, feeling physically ill. Not since the London fire, had Hermione felt the ominous thrum of spontaneous magic. She must escape!

Without further word, she turned on her heel. After one step, she heard….

"Hermione…."

Her name on his lips drew Hermione up short. Forcing down her gorge, she turned back to the awful sight. Ginny had not even bothered stopping.

Steeling herself with a deep breath, Hermione uttered the only thing that popped into her head. "I promised you a chance to explain anything."

Silence.

Tears glistened at the corners of Hermione's eyes. "I'm waiting."

Damn that Ginny Weasley. Could she at least give it a rest?

Harry was barely coherent. "I…. You see…. Umm. I ... don't have any…."

That was it. This relationship ended, not with a whimper, but with a bang.

"You bloody BASTARD!!"

Hurt, rage - and despair - collided in Hermione's mind. She slammed the door as she howled an anguished cry that would have done the wildest Banshee proud.

Through the window, a blazing orange flash briefly overpowered the clubhouse lights, and was gone.

Ginny finally paused. She looked up with soulful brown eyes. "Don't worry about anything, you're with me." Then she redoubled her previous efforts.

Harry was hers. Her worst fear - a powerful, even deadly, curse to the back of her head - never came. Ginny proved herself right. With enough nerve, almost anything was possible.

Outside, in the fading light, Hermione had managed a half dozen staggering steps before falling to her knees, bursting into tears, and setting loose a burst of fiery, spontaneous magic that scorched everything within several metres.

Sobbing uncontrollably, she looked back. Her last, forlorn hope shrivelled up and died. The door stayed closed. Harry did not come for her.

Hermione's urge to flee this awful spot - to escape, somehow, those ugly almost Dementor-like feelings - reasserted itself. Picking herself up, she screamed again, this time in pure despair.

She ran all the way to the Castle, needing to erase what she had seen, to numb what she was feeling. Her first choice was physical debility.

Up the hill she streaked, then across the Castle's wide side lawn.

She burst through the doors from which she had emerged but a short time before - in such a different mood.

She sprinted through the Castle ignoring, or more accurately oblivious to, stares from everyone she encountered.

The hallways, then the stairs, echoed Hermione's racing footsteps. Reaching the staircase to the Gryffindor common room she cursed herself for being in the best physical shape of her life. Again, it was Harry's fault. Dur to their training, she could not even pass out from sheer exhaustion.

Oh, Circe, the party!!

Behind that door, the entire House awaitied her return with their victorious Seeker. How could she tell everybody what just happened - where their bloody, sodding Seeker really was, and who with? How could she tell anybody?

Hermione was wrong. The whole House was not beyond that door.

Hearing chatter behind her, Hermione turned and saw, just starting up the stairs, Lavender, Parvati, and Romilda Vane. Hermione was not in the mood to encounter anyone, but those three insufferable gossips were at the absolute bottom of any list she might make.

She was trapped, like a rat surrounded by Kneazles.

Like a cornered rat, Hermione bolted. "Lions rule, snakes drool!" she yelled out the current puerile password. She burst through the portrait hole so forcefully that the Fat Lady yelped and fell over backwards. Hermione tried for the privacy of her dormitory, hoping to push through the celebratory crowd before anyone could react.

No such luck. Seamus, Dean, and Ken Towler (somehow they always managed scrounge up something alky) were operating an open bar a few metres inside the entrance, and Hermione nearly piled into that great oaf McLaggen.

"What the hell?"

"Hermione, what in Merlin's name happened?"

She looked an absolute fright - half out of breath, robes askew, and her face beet red.

Hermione spun around, recovered her bearings, and encountered the next obstacle between her and the stairway to the girls' dormitory.

Somebody had persuaded the elves to prepare a great cake celebrating five years of Gryffindor Quidditch supremacy. It rested on a large table in the middle of the common room. The cake's centre was hollow, hiding a stool or some such on which perched the Quidditch Cup. Decorating the top of the cake, all about the Cup, were the Twins' Crystal Confetti Candles.

Beside the cake, occupying one of the common room's red comfortable chairs, was Katie Bell, the House's disabled Quidditch Captain. She was chatting with Leanne Blyth and Marona Zelandowicz when a frantic Hermione pelted into view. At the disturbance, they all looked up.

"Hermione, we're ready to cut the cake," Katie said. Where's Harry? What the…?"

Hermione had her wand out, and aimed at the cake. "Ignitius!" she incanted, and all the candles - a proud 3W product - exploded simultaneously, blasting confetti and multi-coloured sparks everywhere.

The suddenly erupting cake distracted everyone, and Hermione swerved in the opposite direction, making for the staircase and desperately sought solitude.

Hermione's misery, and miserable luck, continued.

A crowd of jubilant House Quidditch fans barred the girls' stairs. In their midst stood Ron and the two Beaters, Richie Cooke and Jimmy Peakes. All three were regaling their fans with tales of Quidditch derring-do - and in Ron's case, excuses for missed saves. Now, they were jostling to see what was happening to the cake.

Ron stepped out front. "Hermione, what's that all about? Where's Harry? Hermione…!"

The irony was too much. Losing a battle to silence herself, Hermione angrily shouted back, "Why don't you ask your own frigging sister!?"

Unable to reach her dormitory, Hermione lurched rightward and fled up the stairs to the boys' dormitory.

"Hermione!" Ron called again, before giving chase. Close behind trailed Luna and Neville.

"Stay the hell away!" she yelled over her shoulder.

Pursued by her best remaining friends, Hermione took the tower stairs two at a time. With no destination to run to, Hermione was just running. Chance - a hot-and-heavy snog session between Geoff Hooper and Patty Stimson blocking the landing to the uppermost, seventh year floor - made Hermione's choice for her.

She darted into the sixth year boys' bedroom.

Ron bounded after her and nearly drew back a nub.

"Diffindo!" she cursed, and Ron dropped to dodge a Cutting Curse that sizzled into Dean's bed curtains, ripping them cleanly in half. "Stay away from me! I'm warning you! A-huhk! Huhk! A-huhk! Urrhk!" Hermione had finally had too much. A coughing fit overcame her.

"Ron, get back!" Luna ordered. "I've seen this before. I'll handle it - with Neville. Guard the door and don't let anybody up until we sort this out."

Ron gawked incredulously at his girl friend. "But she's my best friend. I need to know what's happening, too. I think she said something about Ginny…!"

Hermione, still coughing heavily, clung to one of Neville's bedposts simply to stay upright.

Luna fished something from her robes and tossed it to Ron.

Ron reached out and caught a set of Extendable Ears.

"Now go bar the door," Luna repeated, in a no-nonsense voice she rarely used.

"But what about Neville?" Ron protested.

"You're bigger and stronger than he is," Luna shot back.

Ron's chest swelled a bit with pride. Luna had a point.

"Now go!"

Ron went - a good thing because half the House had followed them up the stairs, several of their heads intruding.

BANG! POW!

"Back off!" Ron ordered, brandishing his wand to give off loud, but harmless, blasts accompanied by bright flashes. "Nothing to see here. Outside you go!"

Ron forced the crowd into the stairwell and slammed the door. Almost at once the Extendable Ears slithered past the sill.

Meanwhile, Luna conjured a paper bag and informed Hermione that, as in the "Goodbye Gryffindor" incident, she was hyperventilating. Most of the fight had vanished from the distraught girl. Soon Hermione sat on Neville's bed, leaning on Luna, and softly sobbing.

Under gentle, but repeated questioning about what had gone wrong and what had happened with Harry, Hermione finally opened up.

"He's … with Ginny. I saw it with my own eyes…. I couldn't believe it…. How could he….?"

"Well, we'll just go get him," Neville offered.

"NO!" Hermione shrieked. "I mean he's with her, with her, dammit…. The backstabbing slut…."

Their eyes bugged out - Luna's more than normal - as they realised what Hermione was saying.

"You mean Harry's cheated on you…?"

"With Ginny…?"

Nodding miserably, Hermione started wailing louder.

It took a couple more minutes to coax Hermione into saying anything more. She was bitter. "I'll bet, they're probably shagging each other's brains out by now." Haltingly, but more coherently as her breathing returned to normal, Hermione recounted the sorry tale how she encountered Harry and Ginny in flagrante delicto - because Hermione hoped to tell Harry about her preparations for similar activity (now out of the question) later the same evening.

She described the state of those two, how no doubt existed over what they were doing, and most tellingly - she had offered Harry a chance to say something, anything, to excuse his behavior. He admitted he had no excuse.

She had turned and fled in tears, but had tripped and fallen before getting very far. She had suffered a magical accident - her own uncontrolled charmonic emission.

He must have seen, heard, or felt it, but had not come for her. He stayed with Ginny Weasley - in Ginny's … embrace, such as it was.

Hermione warmed to her predicament. "I didn't ask for that," she spat, her depression blossoming into rage. "A simple fling would have been fine, if that's all he wanted. I only wanted what he could give…."

She stood abruptly, and paced to the dormitory window. The last glimmers of daylight tinted the horizon. Somewhere out there, Harry and Ginny were enjoying one another.

"I didn't ask for forever," she sighed. "Sure I was overjoyed when offered, but we're so young. So damn, bloody young…." Hermione turned from the window and found herself facing Harry's bed.

"If not mature enough to keep that commitment," Hermione muttered to nobody in particular, "he should never have offered it."

Nearby, sitting stock-still on Neville's bed, Luna stared mutely, alongside Neville. When Neville started to respond, Luna put her index finger firmly across his lips.

"But he did, and like a fool, I said `yes,' despite my better judgment," she growled. Hermione's audience could practically feel her incandescent anger.

Better rage, Luna thought, than bottling everything up. If Hermione lashes out, maybe she will clear her system. As an empath, Luna had some feeling for auras, and something about Hermione's seemed off. She again motioned for Neville to stay quiet.

From Hermione's words, Luna concluded that the relationship that just exploded in her best female friend's face had been more than the Ravenclaw had ever dared hope.

Hermione did not disappoint.

"I wanted to believe," Hermione mused. "Hell, I did believe. I'm having a devil of a time not believing…."

She stared stonily at Harry's close-curtained four-poster bed. "You know, we did it there," she hissed, her wand drawn and its tip flashing dangerously.

"More than once, in fact. Once…."

Hermione's wand flashed with her diagonal slash.

A spell both Neville and Luna recognised as a silent Diffindo cut across Harry's bed, dropping a piece of the bed curtain.

"Twice…!"

Her wand sliced the air in the opposite direction. The spell's second iteration sliced into Harry's thankfully vacant bed, partly splitting one of its bedposts.

"Three times…!"

Hermione's third Diffindo scarred Harry's cornice, splintering the fascia and causing the canopy to sag.

"And our first time, in that flat where I laboured so long - sharing the suite with effing Ginny Weasley - trying to save your sorry arse…. Four!" Hermione's curse split the headboard asunder, scattering Harry's toilet kit. "Because you, of all people, wanted to wait."

Within seconds, Hermione was at it again.

"…All those times in the Château, including in the pool - five!" Another slash and one entire side of the hangings fell away.

"And in the pool again - with the bloody landing lights - six!" Hermione shifted position until the only the wall was behind Harry's now rather worse-for wear bedstead. Another piece of the curtains fell, and with an audible yelp, Godric Gryffindor abandoned his post for some other portrait not under siege.

"And in the Proprietor's Suite - every morning and night, and occasionally other times…."

And so on, and so forth.

To Luna's and Neville's increasing amazement, Hermione proceeded to list every time and place she and Harry had made love, all the while reducing Harry's four-poster bed to a shattered collection of rags and splintered wood.

Neville would never look at a Muggle snooker table again without blushing.

Only once did they intervene - when Neville rescued the "Death or Glory" cavalry pennant. Hermione made no move to stop him. She appreciated the pennant's personal value to Neville, not to mention its historical significance.

Neville now wished he could somehow rescind his gift. Anybody who could do what Harry just did to Hermione - and in that manner - he no longer thought worthy.

It was, however, an unconditional transfer.

By the end, Hermione was visibly flagging. "…And finally, our last time, just two nights ago, in the Divination tower classroom…. Forty-seven!"

The sole bit of Harry's bed remaining upright at the conclusion of Hermione's outburst was a chunk of scored and mutilated headboard, and only because the house-elves had affixed it solidly to the wall.

Hermione's next move left her friends even more shocked and appalled.

"It's over, Harry Potter," Hermione addressed harsh words at the absent author of her current heartache. "Do you hear me … over!" With a grunt, she tugged something from her left hand and tossed it on the bed.

The goblin-forged ring Harry had given Hermione was charmed to be invisible on her finger, but the charm ceased when she removed it. The gold ring, set with three gemstones (two 5-carat rubies on either side of a 25-carat diamond) glittered where both Luna and Neville could see it. That extravagant souvenir of the Black estate completely overshadowed Harry's Auror partner's ring, which likewise lay, discarded, on the remains of his bed.

"My word, Hermione, that's some rock you're tossing away," Luna commented before thinking better of it.

"Screw it! I don't want it anymore," she replied coldly. "I promised to remain his friend, but that's all from now on - and even that'll be plenty hard. I never thought Harry would…."

Neville stood, his face grim. "Hermione are you saying that you and Harry were…?"

Tears returned to Hermione's eyes as she mutely nodded.

"…and that two-timing bastard still did that?" Neville, normally placid in almost all situations, looked absolutely livid. "I'll kill him! That's the ancient wizard penalty for adultery, anyway…."

"Oh, Merlin, no!" Hermione loudly and immediately responded. "Not that, we were only … engaged." Nervously, she tossed a stray strip of Harry's thoroughly sliced bed linens over the rings to conceal them from casual discovery. "But … please don't tell…. Oh, Hell, did Ron…?"

Whilst Hermione was revealing her greatest former secret, Luna had moved towards the door.

"Hermione, Ron's not out here anymore," Luna reported, "just the loose end of my Extendable Ears."

"Oh, bollocks!" Hermione exclaimed. "You don't think…?"

"I don't think, I know," Luna cut across Hermione. "Ron's promised me to have…. Ha-ha-ha. Ron asked Harry to give him a `brother's talk' on my behalf," she revealed. "Ron said he did the same for you with Harry and threatened mayhem if he…."

"Damn everything to Hades!" Hermione swore, catching the other two by surprise. "He's on bloody probation. If Ron gets into another fight, for any reason, he'll probably be expelled!"

Swept with a new sense of purpose, Hermione dashed out the door and down the stairs, with Neville and Luna once again in hot pursuit.

The rest of the House had been milling about in the common room, not sure whether to party, pack things in, or start searching for Harry and Ginny, neither of whom were anywhere to be found.

They stared bewildered as first Hermione, and then Neville and Luna, rushed down the stairs and for the portrait hole.

"Where's Ron!" Hermione demanded from the bystanding crowd.

"You don't want to find him right now," Dean Thomas told her. "He left maybe fifteen minutes ago, and he was not a happy flier."

"That stupid, chivalrous sod!" Hermione exclaimed, and plunged through the portrait hole - sending the Fat Lady sprawling once again.

Prefect Geoff Hooper stepped forward. "What in Merlin's name is going on? It's getting close to curfew."

Transparently falsely, Neville answered, "Nothing, nothing at all." He and Luna piled through the portrait hole after Hermione - followed by half the House.

Hermione heard the commotion on the stairs. Drawing herself up, she turned and told the rest of Gryffindor House, "Everyone stay here. That's an order. I'm not kidding. The goblins are under orders to detain anyone outside the Castle, save the three of us - and I remind you that goblin custody isn't known for its creature comforts."

Every word she uttered was a lie, but Hermione delivered them quite convincingly.

* * * *

Ronald Weasley was furious, but it was a cold fury. He was a man on a mission. That mission was to beat the living magic out of Harry sodding Potter.

Harry Potter - whom Ron had been pleased to call his best mate until a few minutes ago - had cheated on Hermione Granger with his own baby sister.

Hermione Granger was the most amazing girl - no, woman - Ron had ever met in his life. Harry had cast her aside like yesterday's Prophet for to rut with Ginny, a bloody fan-girl. Sure, Ginny had lots of good points, although Ron was hard-pressed to remember them at present, but her overt fawning (and lusting) over the Boy Who Lived was not one of them.

"Bigger and stronger" Ron had done what his girlfriend and Neville had wanted, because it would help Hermione. Hermione had been in a right state - close to her outright psychotic break over the summer. She needed help, and Ron knew he was pants at comforting Hermione when she was like this.

He would only say something stupid and make things worse. That was the story of his life in respect of Hermione Granger.

So he had barred the door. He had shoved half the House - even poor Seamus and Dean, who lived in the dormitory room Ron guarded - down the stairs. Ron threatened to hex anyone loitering in the stairwell. Ron knew his share of nasty curses from the D.A. and elsewhere. Nobody tried anything. He must have looked like he meant it.

He did.

Now, he would try some of those nasty curses on Harry sodding Potter.

Already upset with whatever had devastated Hermione, Ron had listened intently to her conversation with Luna and Neville. He eventually understood that Harry Potter had cheated on Hermione with his baby sister!

Potter had been an utter cad, doing it when and where Hermione could catch them in the very act.

From what he heard, Potter did not even pretend he was sorry.

When he first learnt that Harry and Hermione were together, Ron sat Harry down for the "big brother" talk. He had to settle for that role, so Ron played it to the hilt. In true big brother style, he threatened to thrash Harry if he ever hurt Hermione.

Honestly, he had trusted Harry and never expected to have to redeem that promise. But Harry had betrayed them both - cheating on Hermione … with his baby sister!

When due to the unfathomable workings of her great brain, Hermione started listing every time she and Harry had shagged, Ron had had enough. He threw Luna's Extendable Ears to the floor in disgust and stormed down the stairs.

His housemates were in a tizzy. They asked if anything had happened to Harry - had he somehow been hurt again; to which Ron had replied, "Not yet."

He declared that, no, Harry was not missing, nor was Ginny, and that he - Ron - knew where they were and would bring them back. He did not add, "unharmed."

He told everyone that, no, he desired no help, and that anybody trying to go with him would only delay matters.

So, fists and wand ready, Ron sought out an unscheduled rendezvous with Harry sodding Potter. He started running, but in the dark, had to slow down. Nor did he want to be tired and out of breath when he arrived.

What in Merlin's name could Potter be thinking? He already had everything anybody could want.

Ron always thought, and sometimes even vocalised, that compared to the Great Harry Potter, everything he owned was rubbish.

Harry was the "Boy Who Lived," even the bloody "Chosen One." Ron was … not.

Harry was the Gryffindor security liaison so when it counted, he could order Prefects about. Ron was no longer a Prefect, having yielded the position, he thought, to Harry.

Harry was rich beyond anything reasonable. In comparison, anything Ron had, even after his father's big promotion, was insignificant.

Harry had two second-class Orders of Merlin, compared to Ron's one third-class. Whilst earning his second, Harry had rescued….

That also rankled Ron. Harry always seemed to by rescuing people. Last time, he had to be rescued … because of Chang. But Chang would never have happened but for Hermione turning him down flat … because of Harry sodding Potter.

Hell, Hermione even turned down Viktor Krum for Harry sodding Potter.

And Potter had betrayed her … shattered her … binned the best thing ever to walk into either of their lives.

All so he could shag my baby sister!

Reaching the Gryffindor Quidditch clubhouse, Ronald Weasley had worked himself into a towering rage. Predictably, the lights were still on.

Some bleeding fool had left the practice bin wide open. Ron reached inside and felt the satisfying heft of a Beater's bat. Somebody was going to take a beating tonight.

He could hear them - those sounds he knew from being with Chang. Merlin! Those two lacked even the elementary sense to use a Silencing Charm.

Or even to lock the bloody door.

Ron violently shoved the front door open, its glass window shattering when it slammed against the wall.

If Ronald Weasley had not been in a blind fury when he burst into the room, the scene would have scarred his retinas for life.

"PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!!" he roared. The bolt from his wand struck Ginny squarely between her perky bouncy tits - tits that nobody else had any business seeing.

The hex worked instantly. Ginny's legs snapped together. Harry howled with pain, as Ginny toppled, and rolled helplessly away.

"DEPULSO!!" Ron's next spell slammed into Harry, sending the already pain-addled sod crashing into a row of empty lockers. Disarming proved unnecessary because Harry had not reholstered his wand.

Harry hit the lockers with, to Ron, a gratifying thud, and slid to the floor. He was barely conscious and in agony from his fortuitous injury from Ron hexing Ginny.

"Bugger you, you bloody bastard!" Ron screamed. He advanced on Harry and aimed the hardest kick he could muster. Harry rolled sideways at the last instant, and caught Ron's foot in the arse. The blow slammed Harry noisily into the lockers once again, upsetting the bright blue Snitch search simulator. It rolled wobbily across the floor.

"Ron … I…."

"Don't say a bloody word, you git!" Ron growled. "Just fucking fight!" Reaching down, he grabbed Harry by the hair with his left hand, and clocked him in the face with the Beater's bat.

Harry's unbreakable glasses (yes, he had kept them on, even with Ginny) partially cushioned the blow, but he saw stars, and blood began seeping from a half dozen facial abrasions.

"Fight back, you fucking piece of shit!" His wrath unabated, Ron grabbed Harry under his arm, swung him 360, and flung the lighter boy into the cabinets where the Firebolts were stored. Two of their glass doors fell to pieces on impact, and a broom dropped out. Harry grabbed it, whilst Ron paused to catch his breath.

"AAAAAHH!" Ron charged with the Beater's bat, intent upon further havoc. Ron's pause had let Harry recover some of his senses. He parried Ron's bat with the broom handle, and rolled out of the way.

This time Ron crashed into a wall.

Harry staggered to his feet, bloody, battered and bruised, but at least upright.

"Look, Ron, I don't want to fight…. I guess I deserve this…."

"You don't have a bloody choice!" Ron hurled the Beater's bat at Harry, and drew his wand.

Harry tried dodging, but clumsily. The bat struck his hip only a few inches from his dangling manhood.

Ron kept taunting. "Maybe you should have thought about that before cheating on Hermione with my baby sister! Hornetentious!"

Harry's skin felt the stings of a dozen angry hornets.

"Owww! So that's what's going on?"

"You bleedin' reckon?" Ron sneered. "I swore I'd kick your ruddy arse if you hurt her! Flambus!"

A fire hex was serious magic. Harry dodged more quickly, and was only slightly singed. He slide-stepped away from Ron and towards the Captain's office, where his clothes were. Where was…?

Harry nearly tripped over Ginny's rigid body. "Look Ron, at least let Ginny out. This is between us, not her…."

"Fuck her - you sure were!" Ron was tired of his whingeing. "Langlock!" But Ron stumbled a bit on a loose shoe just as he fired the spell. His incantation nearly hit the defenceless Ginny, missing her by centimetres.

"Stop it, Ron!" Harry raised his voice. "I said I don't want to fight."

"Then don't, you pathetic berk," Ron spat. "Either way, I'm fighting you!" Ron charged again and grabbed at the broom. Whilst they wrestled over it, Ron kneed Harry in the stomach and shoved him and the broom against the broom cupboards and their broken doors' sharp glass.

"Accio wand!" Harry performed that spell, of course, wandlessly. His holly wand shot into his hand from a bench on the opposite side of the room.

"Pugilicus!" Ron got Harry with a Punching Hex. Harry staggered.

"You … don't want … to duel me," Harry panted his warning. "The Aurors … taught me … really nasty spells. You can't even begin…."

"Screw you, Potter," Ron howled. "Then squash me into a frigging grease spot. Like you did to Hermione - with my baby sister! Nauseo!"

Harry blocked Ron's latest hex. "I'm warning you…."

"Harry Fracking Potter, thinks he knows every bloody curse…!" Ron pointed his wand away from Harry. For a moment Harry relaxed, thinking he had finally gotten through.

"Kinitecus!" Ron swept his wand across entire back of the clubhouse. Everything not nailed down - every discarded Quidditch pad, every half-empty drink bottle, every bit of stray trash strewn on that side of the messy, post-match clubhouse - Ron put it in motion and hurled it at Harry.

"Protego physica!" Harry hastily erected a protective shield against physical objects, so at least the Snitch simulator bounced off. Still, he was pelted by most of the first wave of rubbish.

Until then, Harry had avoided pointing his wand at Ron. Almost knee-deep in refuse, he felt he had little choice.

"Look, Ron, you need to stop! Somebody's going to turn up looking for us," he pleaded. "Look at me! I'm already thoroughly thrashed. This can't go on…."

It sounded to Ron like he was being condescended - talked down to by the Boy Who Cheated On Hermione With My Baby Sister. "You effing bastard! You think you can just walk away after what you did?! Think again! You're a stuck up git! Think you can walk all over everybody! The great rich famous fucking Harry Potter!!"

"Santorini!" Ron cast a surprise spell at Harry. A stream of frothy offal squirted from his wand, but splashed harmlessly off Harry's shield.

"Ron, you can't duel me."

"The hell I can't!!"

Ron was plainly working himself into a fresh fury.

Harry felt he had no choice. He reluctantly aimed his wand.

"Orgas…!"

For once, Ron was quicker.

"SECTUMSEMPRA!!"

Harry did not recognise or react to Ron's unfamiliar incantation. His Protego - cast shielding only against physical objects - offered no protection.

The curse stuck Harry broadside, from mid-thigh across the opposite shoulder; narrowly missing his exposed bits.

Ron's eyes went wide as Harry keeled over and collapsed.

He had no better idea than Harry what the spell would do. All the Half-Blood Prince had written was, "For enemies."

Suddenly, a familiar voice shouted from behind. "Ron, don't! You're on probation. You'll be expelled!" A frantic Hermione Granger charged into the room.

"Oh … Merlin! What on Earth did you do?"

* * * *

Author's notes: Haven't involved Harry's alarm clock in a while

The arrangements for Bavaria will change significantly

Through the Looking Glass is a Lewis Carroll novel

Ginny's Japanese substitutions achieved their goal

Wrong/loud wrong is a saying from my youth

The love/sorry phrase was from "Love Story"

In Lori's Paradigm of Uncertainty Series, H/Hr kept count of their "I love yous"

Takoyaki is accurately described

The buttons will come back to haunt our conspirators

The Draught requires a traumatic event to gel it occur within a week

The potion Draco will make has unexpected consequences

Daphne's Face Fogging Charm was mentioned in Ch. 77

Critically, the HBP/Snape Love Potion is not know to wizardkind

The phrase "purer than Caesar's wife" is from Plutarch

Yes, I know Gryffindor-Ravenclaw is usually the last match

The concept of a mute swan singing one time just before dying is Greek, and factually incorrect

This is the room off the Great Hall Harry entered immediately after his name emerged from the Goblet of Fire

The goblins' presence is key to the following chapter

The Eliza conversation was in Ch. 10

A HypaCool is a chemical cold pack

The "moral equivalent" is from Gerry Ford's "Moral Equivalent of War" abbreviated MEOW

Harry learned the Immelman turn in Ch. 12

Charles Lindberg landed at Paris' Le Bourget field after his 1927 trans-Atlantic flight, and was almost mobbed by admirers who toppled fences a headlong rush

Sod's law = Murphy's law

In the prior chapter, Malfoy made a version of the Marauders' Map

Boosters in the US are college alumni who pay for access to their old school's teams

Draco got the inflatable Remembrals in Ch. 75

Tis but a flesh wound is from the Monty Python Black Knight sequence in "Holy Grail"

Elphick is from a famous wizard card; Emanuelle is a semi-porn franchise

The Obscuro Charm is how witches and wizards share the same Quidditch clubhouse

At the ball (Ch. 57), Harry avoided drinking the Lust Potion

The L.O.S.S. room was discovered in Ch. 32

Goblin cloaking magic was introduced in Ch. 67

Hermione's prior spontaneous magical emission was in Ch. 28

Hermione regretted letting Harry explain about the Cho Chang porn in Ch. 26, and in Ch. 42 vowed never to do that again

Whimper/bang is a line from T.S. Eliot's "Hollow Men"

Ginny's "nerve" thought repeats her statement in OOP Ch. 29

A rat was surrounded by Kneazles in Ch. 46

The Twins' candles debuted in Ch. 22

Drawing back a nub means losing (usually) fingers

Luna helped Hermione with hyperventilation in Ch. 22

En flagrante was mentioned in Ch. 10

Charmonium is discussed in Ch. 9

Hermione had voiced "too young" worries in Ch. 46, when Harry proposed

The 47 is for my daughter at Pomona College

The damage done to the Gryffindor portrait will have consequences

The snooker incident was in Ch. 66

Harry will wear Neville's pennant (given in Ch. 22) in the story's final battle

Hermione received the diamond ring in Ch. 67; the Auror ring goes back to Ch. 5

Ron's "talk" with Harry was in Ch. 48

Langlock is a precursor

Santorini is a Greek island; the spell conjures santorum, a gross substance

Harry was going to use Orgasimos on Ron

As the Half-Blood Prince in this fic, Ron gets to use Sectumsempra

65

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