Additional note to teganii. While Harry did indeed Apparate with Dumbledore at the end of HBP, it was his first and only actual Apparation apart from his lessons. Harry's stated purpose here was to master the skill until it was as easy as walking across a room. My purpose was to write the scene in which Harry Apparated into the frog pond to help Ron. We both achieved our goals.
As previously stated, this chapter contains the last flashback adapted directly from HBP. If only it had gone this way for real.
Tuesday morning found Harry in the "Room of Requirement," a simmering cauldron on one hand and a table heaped with an odd assortment of bottles, vials and tins on the other. When purchasing his potion ingredients along with his other school supplies, he'd paid scant attention to what items the proprietor was bagging for him. He'd merely handed the wizard the list he'd got in his envelope from Hogwarts and paid the required sum after. Following his talk with Hermione on the subject of healing potions, Harry had sorted through his papers to find his potions list and looked at it properly for the first time. And, true to Hermione's assertion, his list, like hers, bore two signatures of authorization - in this case, Minerva McGonagall and Horace Slughorn - granting Harry the right to purchase various substances otherwise banned from sale to the general wizarding populace (and especially to students).
Harry could well understand why the ingredients he was combining today were controlled by the Ministry. The potion he was brewing was good for nothing but causing pain and misery. Unfortunately, those elements popped up often - too often, Harry mused - in the course of an Auror's duties. If Harry completed the steps properly, the potion bubbling in his cauldron would force a prisoner to reveal his deepest secrets to anyone, even his greatest enemy - but at a terrible cost to body and mind.
It was not Veritaserum. That was nothing more than a truth potion, albeit the strongest of its kind, and also controlled, though not so stringently as Harry's concoction. The substance seething in his cauldron was nothing less than liquid torture. Anyone who swallowed a single mouthful would fall into convulsions as agonizing as those created by the Cruciatus Curse (but without the inherent risk of a life sentence in Azkaban). The spasms lasted for no more than ten seconds, but they were, according to the text in Harry's book, the equivalent of ten eternities to the drinker. But that was not the true horror of the potion. The spasms recurred every few minutes, each time worse than the one before. None was known to have endured more than an hour of this fiendish torture without dissolving into total, irreversible madness. Few ever suffered that fate, however. Most would pour out their most intimate secrets in exchange for the antidote long before that ultimate phase engaged - but not before they suffered in ways that would haunt their memories, waking and sleeping, for the rest of their lives.
Harry was thoroughly revolted by the very thought of using this potion on a human being, even a Death Eater. He might make an exception for Snape, but that was all the concession he would grant. But if he were to pass his preliminary Auror courses, this was one of the potions he would have to demonstrate his ability to brew to Horace Slughorn's satisfaction. If he brewed it now, Harry reasoned, he could present it to Slughorn in his first class, receive his passing mark, and quickly forget that it existed.
There were, of course, many other potions, not to mention spells, that he would have to learn in order to receive his certification. He smiled unexpectedly at this thought. Only a short time ago, he'd been keen to go off and put his life in danger to sort out Voldemort, and all other considerations be damned. He still intended to make Voldemort's destruction his immediate goal upon leaving school. But Hermione had reminded him that the two of them had a long life to share if they came out of their mission with whole skins. She was preparing herself for a career as a Healer. However valiantly she threw herself into Harry's mission - and he knew she would withhold nothing - still she fully intended to survive, and thereafter to live a full life as a contributing member of wizarding society. And hearing her voice this so calmly yet strenuously, Harry knew that he would settle for nothing less than to stand next to Hermione in this promise, even as she would stand next to him when they set off in search of Voldemort's Horcruxes.
To this end, he, like Hermione, intended to master his chosen craft not for grades, nor even to accomplish his avowed goal of destroying Voldemort (though, indeed, that purpose was as much a part of him as the scar graven on his head). He had chosen his career path even as Hermione had chosen hers. He was determined to become an Auror, to join the honored ranks peopled by such as Tonks and Moody and Kingsley Shacklebolt, who served the wizarding world by keeping honest witches and wizards safe from the menace of Dark mages like Voldemort. It was a noble profession. Nor was it an easy path to walk. Many who set out on that road stumbled before reaching its end. Harry would not be one of those. He would be an Auror! He would survive his confrontation with Voldemort to live a long, rich life. And Sibyll Trelawney's prophesy had no part in his decision. He was doing this for himself. And for Hermione.
Checking his book again, Harry saw that he could not add the next ingredient until the potion had simmered for a full day. He checked the bluebell flame under the cauldron. It was burning steadily, maintaining the exact temperature the potion required. Nodding, Harry stepped back and waved his wand over the cauldron. A magical shield appeared around it, guaranteeing that the potion would not be disturbed until his return. The spell had been cast over the cauldron by Hermione shortly after their arrival. She knew that Harry would likely be following her example by brewing a few potions in advance, and as she had already cast the same spell on her own cauldron, she immediately set about to safeguard Harry's cauldron in like manner. Harry had wanted to cast the spell himself, but Hermione wouldn't hear of it.
"Remember the Ministry owls," she'd said moments before enchanting the cauldron with her customary ease. "You can activate and deactivate the barrier yourself with a wave if your wand and a simple mental command. They can't send you an owl over that."
"In two more days," Harry muttered, "the Ministry can ruddy well shove their owls up their collective arse."
With the protective barrier in place, there was nothing left but for Harry to close the door. The automatic locking spell set by Fred and George would not activate when the room was empty; their mother had allowed them their privacy in terms of actual occupation, but when the room was not in use, she expected to be able to enter at will, as was her parental right. Harry was tempted to use an ordinary Colloportis spell on it - Mrs. Weasley would not have begrudged Harry this, given the use to which she knew he was putting the room - but he decided it wasn't worth the bother. He and Hermione had already cautioned their hosts about entering the twins' room. Ron might have been a worry once, but after the near-incident on Sunday, and their follow-up chat, Harry doubted it. Ron was determined to remain worthy of Harry's trust, and Harry was sure that his mate would be as good as his word.
With Ron on his mind, Harry entered their shared room, finding it empty. He walked to the window and pushed his head through the curtains, which were floating on the warm breeze drifting through the room. Looking down, Harry saw no sign of a tall figure with blazing red hair. But that was not to say that the back garden was empty (nor lacking in red-haired inhabitants). Mrs. Weasley was talking with Hermione. Their wands were out, and Hermione was watching carefully as Mrs. Weasley demonstrated a series of wand movements.
"What's doing, then?" Harry called down from the high window. Hermione looked up and waved, smiling.
"Hi, Harry! How's the potion coming?"
"Okay so far," Harry said. "How about you?"
Hermione looked to be drawing breath to reply, but Harry saw Mrs. Weasley silence her with a look. Casting her eyes up again, Hermione said, "Come on down!"
"Okay!"
Harry hurried down the stairs and into the back garden. Hermione hugged him while Mrs. Weasley looked away politely. As they were pressed together, Hermione spoke softly into Harry's ear.
"Mrs. Weasley doesn't think it's proper to hold a conversation shouting back and forth between the garden and an open window. I expect she's right."
Backing away from Hermione, Harry asked in a normal voice, "What are you doing, then?"
"We're casting spells in preparation for the wedding," Hermione said.
"What kind of spells?"
"Well," Hermione began, "we'll have to set up a load of chairs in neat rows. And it's going to be hot all week, so there'll be a great awning to keep the sun off everyone's heads. Then there's all the food and drinks to be prepared and served, and tables to put them on. And we won't want insects buzzing about, annoying everyone. Everything will be organized by a series of spells. By doing the work and planning now, we'll be able to set everything up on Sunday in a fraction of the time. With the spells in place, it will only take a few simple commands to activate them as needed."
"Excellent," Harry said. "Can I help?" Hermione's bright smile dimmed slightly, and Harry's followed a moment later, a comprehending (and, by now, weary) look in his eyes. "Oh, right," he said, forcing his diminished smile to remain in place. "Magic."
"I'm sorry," Hermione said. "But there'll still be loads to do from Thursday on, and you can be a big help. I'm counting on you, in fact."
"Right," Harry said, fixing his smile firmly. "I'll let you carry on, then. If you want me, I expect I'll be around."
Harry began to walk without purpose, clearing his thoughts of all care, enjoying the sun on his face, and especially the breeze, which was welcome after more than an hour spent tending a simmering cauldron. He was halfway to the frog pond before he remembered he'd been looking for Ron. He thought about going back and asking Hermione and Mrs. Weasley if either of them knew where Ron had gone, but when he turned around he saw them busily casting spells in every direction, Mrs. Weasley nodding approvingly at Hermione's spellwork. Not wanting to interrupt their labors for something so trivial, Harry resumed his meandering walk. Feeling somewhat useless surrounded by witches and wizards who could do magic at will, Harry sat down against the hedge behind the vegetable patch and closed his eyes. He never knew how long he dozed. He was just starting a dream where he was standing in front of the Ministry, casting spells in every direction and daring someone to come and throw him in Azkaban, when a large hand on his shoulder shook him awake.
"Harry! Wake up, mate!"
Harry came awake with a start and reached for his wand without thinking. But a moment later he saw a tall figure standing over him, blue eyes shining above a broad smile.
"Nice reflexes, Harry," Ron said approvingly. "Reckon Hermione'd be pleased."
Pushing himself up on slightly stiff legs, Harry asked, "Where've you been?"
"Practicing, wasn't I?" Ron answered with a grin, his head tilting indicatively to the side. Harry now saw that Ron had his Cleansweep 11 slung over his left shoulder.
"Practicing alone?" Harry said, hoping he sounded casual.
"Yeah," Ron said (was it Harry's imagination, or was there the merest trace of disappointment in Ron's answer?). "Got a bit peckish, so I came in for a snack. Join me, then?"
Harry followed Ron back to the house. The back garden was deserted now. Harry saw piles of folding chairs, a stack of tables, and a large, rumpled shape that he took to be the canopy Hermione had mentioned. Passing these, Harry and Ron entered the kitchen and found Mrs. Weasley sitting at the table, reading an old number of Witch Weekly. If Ron's declaration to Harry in their fourth year had been accurate, his mother had no interest in the magazine save for the recipes. Sure enough, when he was close enough to see the page Mrs. Weasley was reading, he saw moving photos of a witch preparing some culinary masterpiece that the accompanying text guaranteed could be created by anyone who followed the simple instructions below.
"Oi, Mum," Ron called out. "Anything to eat?"
"There's a bit of beef left in the ice box," Mrs. Weasley said, not taking her eyes from the magazine. "Left from the meal you helped make."
"Leftover leftovers," Ron shrugged, but he took out the platter and used its remaining contents to make three sandwiches, one of which he handed to Harry.
"They're better cold on a day like today," Ron said as he returned the bread to its cupboard while Harry placed the now-empty platter in the sink. "No shade in the paddock, you know - not up in the air."
Harry concurred as he bit into the sandwich, finding the cold beef satisfying against the heat permeating the heavy July air. If things kept on as they had been, it would be a scorcher on Sunday. Harry realized that his school dress robes might be a bit heavy for Summer wear. It might do for him to buy a new, lighter set in Diagon Alley when he was in London on Thursday. He wondered if he ought to go without Ron. It might be bad form for him to make such a purchase, knowing that Ron would have to look on impotently, unable to buy new robes of his own. Ron had a perfectly good set of dress robes, bought for him by Fred and George (using some of the Triwizard gold Harry gave them). Ron's brothers had surprised Harry by having the foresight to buy enlargeable robes, which Mrs. Weasley lengthened by letting out the hem. By now they had probably been modified as much as they could be, but they should fit Ron well enough this year. They could always be subjected to an Engorgement Charm, of course. But either way, they would still be older, outdated robes against Harry's new ones. Harry decided he might carry on with his own old bottle-green dress robes after all, allowing Ron the newer by comparison.
Harry hadn't realized how famished he was. He and Ron both consumed their sandwiches in minutes, chasing them with cold pumpkin juice. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, Ron jerked his head toward the doorway and strode upstairs, attacking his second sandwich as he had the first. Harry followed, and they entered Ron's room and fell onto their beds without ceremony.
"Blimey, it's hot," Ron announced unnecessarily.
Harry had no intention of disagreeing. He'd been glad to abandon his cauldron for the day, though he dreaded resuming his task tomorrow. But tomorrow felt like a long way off as he stretched out on his camp bed, the breeze from the open window cooling his face. The breeze wasn't cool, exactly, but it was welcome all the same, helping to dry the perspiration pasting his bangs to his forehead. Without meaning to, he drifted off to sleep.
As he had been before, Harry was awakened by as hand on his shoulder. But it wasn't Ron's hand this time. It was smaller, its touch gentler.
"Hermione?" Harry said happily as he allowed his eyes to open at their own speed. But the soft eyes that looked down on him were not framed by a cloud of bushy brown hair, but a curtain of silky red.
"Sorry, Harry," Ginny smiled apologetically. "I didn't know you were asleep. I thought you were just thinking."
"Hi, Ginny," Harry said. When his thoughts cleared a moment later, he thought to ask, "Where've you been all morning? I didn't see you anywhere."
"I was off visiting Luna," Ginny said as she sat down on Ron's bed (which Harry saw was empty, Ron having gone). "I haven't been to see her since leaving school. I'm a terrible friend, aren't I?"
"No you're not," Harry said at once. "You've had a bit on your plate, haven't you, what with the wedding and all. How's Luna?"
"Same as ever," Ginny chuckled.
"Did she tell you I've invited her to the wedding as my guest?" Harry asked tentatively.
"As a matter of fact," Ginny said, "she just told me, right after I asked her."
"You asked Luna to come to the wedding?" Harry said in surprise.
"Yeah, I know," Ginny shrugged. "Dunno what got into me."
"I know exactly what got into you," Harry said, smiling across the narrow gap separating the two beds.
"What?" Ginny said with overstated indignation. "You think I invited her for Ron? Get on! We're mates, Luna and I. Why shouldn't I invite her as my guest?"
"No reason," Harry said, his smile growing softer.
"But as you've brought up Ron," Ginny said, "he's why I came in. He wants you to come along with us for another practice. I need to get in form if I'm to help the team this year. I'll be the only returning Chaser, so I've got to be up to the task. Whoever we recruit to fill the other two spots, it's down to me to show them the ropes, and as Ron keeps going on, I can't do that if I'm out of condition, can I? He wanted me to come along this morning, and I suppose I should have done, but I hadn't seen Luna since leaving Hogwarts, and she doesn't have anyone to talk with when her dad's at work. So, you want to come along and give me a good workout, then?"
"I'll be glad to help," Harry said. "When are we leaving?"
"Quick as I have a bit to eat," Ginny said. "Not too much, mind, or a few sharp dives will have me heaving all over the paddock. But I set off this morning without breakfast, and I'm going to keel over if I don't get something inside me. So, let's say ten minutes, shall we?"
"Right," Harry said. "See you then."
Ginny vanished through the door, her long, red hair trailing after her like a streak of fire. Harry got up and opened his trunk. He took out his Firebolt, examining it appreciatively. His heart always twinged slightly every time he set eyes on his broom. It had been a present from Sirius, to, in the old Marauder's words, "make up for thirteen birthdays and Christmases missed." Holding it now, Harry would have drawn his wand and reduced it to ashes to have Sirius walk through the door right this minute. But his was not the power to change what was, however much he wished otherwise. This broomstick was a sort of legacy, a tiny piece of his godfather that Harry could cherish in place of the real thing. He had never failed to keep it in top form. To do otherwise, he believed, would dishonor Sirius' memory. It was in splendid form now, balancing perfectly in his hand, its handle gleaming, its tail twigs straight and uniform. It was, as its manufacturer boasted, a championship broom. And Harry would use it to win another championship - his last - for Gryffindor.
Harry carried his broom reverently as he left Ron's room and walked downstairs. He had just set foot on the second floor landing when he noticed that Hermione's door was ajar. He took a step forward, but came up short when he heard voices coming from inside, engaged in a conversation. But it was not Ginny's voice he heard, alternating with Hermione's. It was Ron's. Harry knew he should keep moving down the stairs, but some power beyond his ken rooted his feet to the floor. He knew it was impolite to listen to a conversation without its participants' knowledge. All the same, he stood in silence as Ron's and Hermione's voices carried clearly into the hallway.
"How will you know when it's done?" Ron said, and Harry was certain he must be talking about the potion Hermione was brewing in Ginny's room. There was a hint of noxious vapors drifting into the hallway, a smell like a squashed toad that had been in the sun too long.
"When it starts to turn yellow," Hermione said, "Until then, I'm stirring it every ten minutes, three turns to the right, one turn to the left."
There was a pause, followed by a rustling of what Harry was sure were the pages of a book.
"It says here," Ron said, "to stir it three times to the right. Where do you get the extra turn to the left?"
A short silence ensued, followed by a sharp laugh from Ron.
"You got it from Harry's book, didn't you?" A pause followed in which Harry could almost see the blush on Hermione's cheeks through the wooden door separating them. "What changed your mind?" Ron asked. "About the book, I mean. You were dead set against it last year."
"Harry changed my mind," Hermione said. "He convinced me that we need all the advantages we can get when we go up against Voldemort." Harry heard a muffled squeak, as if a chair (presumably the one in which Ron was sitting) had just jerked sharply on the wooden floor. "Ron," Hermione said in mild reproval, "when are you going to stop reacting to the sound of Voldemort's name? (Ron's chair made only a small noise this time.) I'm not asking you to say the name if you don't want to, but the least you can do is stop looking so horrified when others say it. If we're to go off together on the Horcrux quest, you're going to hear Harry and me say Voldemort's name hundreds of times. Are you going to jump like you've just sat on a knarl every time? It'll be hard to get much accomplished if that's how it's going to be."
"Sorry," Ron said. "I'm getting better."
A tense silence followed, and Harry could imagine the small frown on Hermione's face as if she were standing right in front of him.
"Dumbledore told Harry that fear of a name increases fear of the thing," Hermione said. "Goodness knows that there's enough to fear about Voldemort already. But there's a difference between reasoned fear and fear without reason. We all have good reason to fear Voldemort. He's the most terrible Dark wizard who ever lived, and with Dumbledore gone, there's no one left who can match him in terms of sheer power. If we're to defeat him, it'll have to be with more than power. We'll have to use our brains and our wits. Our reasoned fear strengthens us, because it reminds us how difficult our task will be, and how diligently we'll have to work to bring it about. But if we fear even the sound of his name, that fear is a weakness, not a strength. It robs us of our clarity of thought, and without that, we're lost before we begin. That kind of fear becomes a weapon for Voldemort to use against us. Merlin knows he has enough of an advantage already without our giving him even more.
"So I want you to promise me, Ron. Promise me you'll conquer your fear of Voldemort's name. You can start by just thinking his name to yourself. Whenever your thoughts turn to our mission, when you think about who we're going up against, I want you to see him in your mind and call him by name. When you can do that without thinking, it will be only a short step to saying his name out loud. Can you manage that?"
Another silence followed, in which Harry imagined Ron's rueful nod.
"Good!" Hermione said, confirming Harry's mental image. "Now, would you hand me that jar of eel's eyes, please?"
Harry, already feeling guilty at having listened for so long, took a step toward the stairs. But he stopped again when Ron spoke in a very different voice than Harry had heard earlier.
"You're really good at this," Ron said, sounding genuinely impressed. "You have a real knack for potions. Of course, if your O.W.L. list is any indication, there isn't anything you're not good at."
Again Harry imagined Hermione's cheeks going pink at Ron's compliment.
"Since Snape's old book's already come up," Ron said, "I should tell you that Harry's letting me copy some of the notes from the margins - not the Dark spells," Ron said quickly, and Harry could almost see the momentary alarm in Hermione's eyes, "just the ones having to do with potions."
"Well," Hermione said, sounding relieved, "I think that's good. As I said, we all need to learn as much as we can before we go off. Snape and his mum came up with a lot of innovations that raise the level of potion brewing to new heights. If Harry's right and Snape never shared his improvements with anyone else, we'll have a very big advantage that might make a difference when we're up against it. Something we learn this year could very probably save our lives."
"Well," Ron said, his tone conveying to Harry the abashed look that must be spreading across his face, "that's not the only reason I want to learn how to brew those special potions."
"Oh?" Hermione said. "Why, then?"
"I - " Ron said haltingly, as if wishing he hadn't begun, but knowing it was too late to turn back. "I want to join the Slug Club."
"Oh," Hermione said quietly.
"Yeah," Ron said with a bit more confidence now. "I told Harry there'll be loads of important people at those parties Slughorn's always having. I want to become part of that crowd. I think it'll help me, you know, after we get back and start living normally again."
"You may be right," Hermione said. "It's certainly worth a go, at any rate."
"Yeah," Ron said again. "But I was wondering if you'd - well, if you'd - "
"Help you?" Hermione said brightly. "Of course I will! Did you think you even had to ask?"
"Thanks," Ron said. "But that wasn't what I mean, exactly."
"Oh?" Hermione said.
"See," Ron said stumblingly, "I won't know anyone there - I mean, I wasn't invited last year, like you and Harry were. So I was wondering if you'd, um...if you'd come to the parties with me, so I'd at least have someone there I could, you know, relax around. I know you'll be invited - you're bound to be brilliant in Potions again, so how could Slughorn not invite you? Only I thought, what with your work schedule being so massive, you might not want to come like you did last year. Not that you'd have to come all year, mind. I just thought, you know, until I get to know everyone..."
A short silence followed, and Harry found that he was holding his breath as he awaited Hermione's answer.
"Of course," she said in an understanding voice. "I'll be happy to go with you to Professor Slughorn's parties."
"Thanks, Hermione," Ron said, sounding nearly as relieved as Harry had when he'd been cleared of improper use of magic charges at the Ministry two years ago.
Knowing he had heard far more than he should have done, Harry made a desperate lunge for the stairway. But in his haste, he moved his back foot a moment before his front foot had left the floor. His left toe hooked onto his right heel, and the rubber soles of his trainers locked as if fused by a Sticking Charm. With an inarticulate cry, he pitched straight through the doorway and landed on his face in the middle of Ginny's room. Jerking his head up, he saw Ron and Hermione looking at him in surprise. They were wrapped in a hug, no doubt initiated by Ron in gratitude for Hermione's promise. The scene held for a moment, then Ron and Hermione jerked apart.
"Harry!" Ron said, speaking a moment before Hermione. He fumbled for words for an instant, then, seeing the broom lying at Harry's side (it had slipped from Harry's grasp when he fell), he said, "So, Ginny found you, then? You, um, ready to have a practice?"
Scrambling upright, Harry snatched up his broom and said, "Yeah, Ginny told me. You ready, then?"
"Yeah," Ron said. Harry saw that Ron's broom was standing in the corner. Ron snatched it up and rushed through the door, not looking back. Harry looked at Hermione for a moment, his expression blank.
"I, um, just agreed to help Ron with his potions this year," Hermione said. "As you could see, he was ever so grateful."
"Right," Harry said. "Well, I'd best be off before Ron and Ginny leave me behind. I'll, uh, see you later."
"Have a good practice," Hermione smiled.
Harry answered with a smile and a nod, and he was off down the stairs. He burst into the kitchen just in time to see Ginny rinsing out her dishes in the sink, per her mother's instructions.
"Ready, Harry?" she called over her shoulder.
"Right," Harry said. "Got your broom?"
"It's in the shed," Ginny said as she set the clean dishes on the counter to dry, not bothering to towel them off. "Let's go."
Ron was already outside, opening the door to the broom shed with his wand. Harry swallowed his brief twinge of envy and smiled.
"I want you to put me through the paces, Harry," Ron said, handing Ginny her broom. "I want to be the best Keeper at Hogwarts this year."
Harry refrained from mentioning that, as all four Houses would be rebuilding from the ground up this year, Ron was bound to be the best Keeper if only by default. Instead, he said, "You will be. We're going to train like we've never trained before, Captain."
Ron's chest swelled at this address, pridefully acknowledging the title he had sought for so long. Ginny grinned at Harry as Ron led them over the back hedge and up the hill to the paddock.
"What are we using for a Quaffle?" Ginny asked as they broke through the trees and entered the enclosed space that was their makeshift pitch.
In answer, Ron walked over to a shapeless lump lying at the edge of the trees, bending to pick it up.
"What is that?" Ginny said with a chuckle.
"My book bag," Ron said with mild indignation. "I stuffed it with leaves and sealed the flap with a Sticking Charm. It was Luna's idea, actually. If we can't have a real Quaffle, this'll do in a pinch."
Ginny shrugged and swung her leg over her broom. "Chuck it here, then," she said. "Let's see how it feels." Ron pitched her the bag, which she caught easily. She hefted it, slapped it a few times to test its solidity, and finally nodded. "Not bad."
Without a word of warning, Ginny whirled and heaved the makeshift Quaffle at Harry. Though surprised, Harry caught it as easily as Ginny had. She grinned.
"Haven't let your reflexes waste away over the holiday, I see," she said approvingly. "Let's see if your throwing arm's as good."
Harry's throw was high, but Ginny slammed her knees together around her broom handle and kicked off in the wink of an eye. She caught the bag one-handed, and Ron's face broke into a grin.
"Nice catch!" he said. "You haven't lost your reflexes, either. I think we're going to have a smashing season this year."
"Only if we can find four more players as good as we are," Ginny said immodestly.
Ron's smile flickered for only a moment. "We will," he said confidently. "At least, we'll put together a better team than the other Houses. That's all we really need, innit?"
"Can you show me some of those unusual moves Luna used when you and she practiced?" Ginny asked. There was no taunt in her voice when she named Luna, nor merest glint in her eyes. Ginny's competitive spirit was roused, and she intended to use every advantage to win the Quidditch Cup this year. It was as much for Ron as for herself that she wanted to win, though she would never admit this to her brother. Harry was not fooled, however.
Ron demonstrated some of the moves Luna had used that had most impressed him, and Ginny watched closely, asking him to repeat them several times until she had a blueprint of them in her mind. When she was satisfied, she took the "Quaffle" from Ron and soared as high into the air as the surrounding trees would allow. Harry and Ron joined her a moment later.
"What are we using for a goal?" Ginny asked.
"Oh, right," Ron said. "Hang on."
Ron drew his wand and used it to describe three large circles in the air, each at a different height. Harry wasn't aware that Ron knew that spell, the same one Hermione had used in their own practice session (one having nothing to do with Quidditch) two nights ago. The lines he drew remained in the air like streaks of silver, easily seen against the dark green of the trees. Even Ginny was impressed.
For the next twenty minutes, Harry and Ginny took turns throwing the "Quaffle" at the three rings. Ron darted back and forth, blocking every shot.
"You realize," Ginny said, her Weasley pride wounded at her repeated misses, "that we can't throw this thing as hard as we would a real Quaffle. It's too light, and it wobbles in flight. It's about as aerodynamic as..."
"As a bag of leaves?" Harry offered, his eyebrows rising. Ginny laughed, Ron joining her a moment later.
"Seriously, Ron," Ginny said, "if you're going to be the Keeper you were last year, we need to find a way to test your flying better."
"What do you have in mind?" Ron asked with equal seriousness. Sibling rivalry was being submerged by their mutual desire to do their best for the team this year.
Tapping her chin, Ginny said, "Could you maybe Transfigure your bag into something, I dunno, less soft? And the leaves, too, while you're at it."
"I never thought of that," Ron confessed.
Harry saw the indecision in Ron's eyes. He knew that Ron hadn't mastered the finer aspects of Transfiguration as he, Harry, had. That deficiency was reflected in their O.W.L. marks. Harry had got an Exceeds Expectations, while Ron managed only an Acceptable. Wanting to spare Ron another assault from his sister's sharp tongue, Harry thought quickly.
"We may be overthinking this," he said, commanding the attention of both Ron and Ginny. "Hang on a minute."
Harry pointed his Firebolt and the ground and swooped low. He made a couple of passes before leaning down and catching up something with his hand. At that distance, neither Ron nor Ginny could see what he'd grabbed. It was so small that it was completely engulfed in his hand. Harry zoomed back up to his starting point and opened his hand. Ron, who was closer to Harry than Ginny was, leaned forward to see what was in Harry's hand.
"A nut?" he said. Harry nodded resolutely.
"It's solid and aerodynamic," Harry said, "and it's thin-shelled, so it's not too heavy."
"It's also closer in size to a Snitch than a Quaffle," Ron pointed out.
"It is now," Harry agreed cheerfully. "But little things can grow into big things, can't they?"
Ron's face lit up at once. Harry nodded inwardly, remembering one of the courses in which Ron had earned an E on his O.W.L.'s. "Of course! An Engorgement Charm! Brilliant, Harry!"
Ron instructed Harry to hold his open palm out in front of him. He drew his wand, pointed it at the nut, and said, "Engorgio!" Ron held his wand in place as the nut began to swell in size. When he jerked his wand away, the nut, which Harry was now holding in both hands, was roughly the size of a Quaffle.
"Not bad, if I do say so myself," Ron preened as he put his wand away.
Ginny took the enlarged nut from Harry. She tested its weight, tossed it up and caught it. She tucked it under her arm and raced around the paddock once, returning to her starting point with a satisfied look on her face.
"Let's test it out," she said.
They practiced for another ten minutes. Ron blocked every shot Harry took, but Ginny scored three times. Harry wasn't sure, but he thought Ginny must be using some of the moves Ron had shown them, the ones devised by Luna. If Ginny could teach those maneuvers to the new Chasers and get them to work as a team, her brother might well have the championship he wanted so badly.
"Good flying, Ginny," Ron said, taking his turn now at swallowing his wounded pride at having been scored on.
"You did good, too," Ginny returned, salving her brother's punctured ego. "Remember, if you didn't need improvement, you wouldn't be here. None of us would. We have to work out what we're doing wrong and learn not to do it when it really counts."
Harry thought Ginny sounded more like a captain of Quidditch than Ron had done. If she returned for her seventh year, he was certain she would be named to replace Ron as captain of the Gryffindor team. She might have had the job now if not for Ron. If he, Ron and Hermione had gone off according to his original plan, Ginny would almost certainly have been named Quidditch captain this year. Harry hated himself for thinking it, but between the two of them, Ginny was probably better qualified than Ron in every respect, including leadership. He put that thought aside, wishing it hadn't occurred to him, and stepped in to help take some of the sting from Ron's displeased expression.
"You have to expect a few goals now and then," he reminded Ron. "Have you ever seen a match end with a nil score on either side?"
"I nearly happened at the Quidditch World cup two tears ago," Ron said.
"And how many students at Hogwarts are good enough to play for the Irish National Team?" Harry challenged.
"Bet you could," Ron returned half-jokingly.
"Not the way I've been flying lately," Harry said. "I've hardly been on a broom for a month. The Ministry frowns on wizards flying broomsticks around Muggle neighborhoods. We're neither of us at the top of our form. As Ginny said, that's what this practice is all about."
"I just realized," Ginny said now, "Ron and I have had a good workout, but Harry hasn't done anything."
"What do you mean?" Ron said. "He's been flying beside you all this time, hasn't he? He's taken just as many shots on goal as you have."
"But Harry isn't a Chaser," Ginny said in a weary voice that reminded him of Hermione. "He's a Seeker. His job is to catch the Snitch, not score goals. Good job that, too," she smiled at Harry, "because if the last few minutes are any measure, you'd never make the team as a Chaser."
Harry pantomimed indignation, but he didn't doubt that Ginny was only too right. By all accounts, his father had been a cracking good Chaser - though, judging from all the time he spent playing with the Golden Snitch between classes, he must have longed to be a Seeker, which position accorded the most glory (and, correspondingly, made a bigger impression on the girls - though not, he suspected, on his mother, which may have helped explain his fancy for her). Like his father, Harry's skill at one position was not duplicated in another. Ginny was a rare exception, a first-rate Chaser who also made a passable Seeker. More than passable, as she'd won as many games as Harry had over the last two years, what with Harry's seemingly endless detentions during that time, first from Dolores Umbridge, then from Snape.
"There's still plenty of daylight left," Ginny observed. "Let's get Harry some practice before we go in."
"What are we going to use for a Snitch?" Ron asked. "Another nut?"
Harry had nothing better to suggest. It would be the right size, but it would hardly be a proper practice if the best they could manage was for Ron and Ginny to throw it across the paddock for Harry to chase after. A real Snitch would try to evade capture, requiring Harry to think and act with lightning speed.
Harry pointed his broom downward, prepared to dive in search of another nut to substitute as a Snitch (Ron wanted to keep the enlarged one for future practices). It was then that he saw that the paddock was no longer empty. At first he thought Luna had turned up, as Ginny (and perhaps Ron) had hoped. But Luna was recognizable even at a distance by her long, dirty-blond hair. The figure below did not resemble Luna in any way. But that was not to say she was not easily recognizable to Harry, nor to Ron and Ginny. Harry zoomed down and landed smoothly at the new arrival's feet.
"Having a good practice?" Hermione asked brightly.
"Ron and Ginny are," Harry said, nodding as the pair alighted next to Harry. "I've got a bit of a problem, though."
"What's that?" Hermione inquired.
"It's easy to make do with an improvised Quaffle," Harry said. "But there's no substitute for a proper Snitch."
"You're right," Hermione agreed. "There isn't. And - " Hermione reached into her pocket, and when her hand emerged, it was closed into a fist around something Harry could not identify through her fingers. Smiling, Hermione said, "That's why I brought one with me."
"Are you joking?" Harry said, his eyes widening as they focused more intently on Hermione's hand. "No, that's never!"
Smiling brightly, Hermione opened her hand. A tiny winged ball was revealed, glimmering in the bright sunlight with a rich golden sheen. It quivered on Hermione's palm, and she closed her fingers around it just as the wings were beginning to thrum with life.
"Where did you get it?" Harry asked. Two shadows had appeared on either side as Ron and Ginny stepped up, their interest nearly as keen as Harry's.
"Well," Hermione said slowly, enjoying the excitement she was creating, "it was the day after the championship match. You and Ron went up to your dorm after lunch to polish your brooms before packing them away, and I went for a walk on the grounds. I had a lot to think about then, as I'm sure you remember." Harry nodded. "So, as I was getting in sight of the pitch, I spotted Madam Hooch levitating a dustbin out of the Quidditch lockers. I don't know why, but I went over and asked her what she was doing. She said she was binning some items that were due to be replaced. I looked inside, and I saw that one of them was a Golden Snitch with a damaged wing. It was so bad off that it couldn't even fly out of the bin to escape."
Harry almost thought to hear a trace of sadness in this comment. It was as if Hermione's innate compassion for all creatures (with the possible exception of Blast-Ended Skrewts) included even inanimate objects that resembled living things.
"Madam Hooch said it would never fly properly again," Hermione said, "and since there was no fixing it, she was going to replace it. She said the school equipment has to be turned over from time to time. They were due for some new brooms - used ones, actually, but newer than the lot they were replacing - and she was going to add a new Snitch to the list. They usually buy old brooms that have been traded in at Quality Quidditch Supplies for new ones, but the Snitch has to be new or the matches would be compromised. Well, I asked her if I could have the Snitch, seeing as she was binning it anyway, and she said I could. I was going to save it for your birthday, but when you gave me that book, saying it was an early birthday present, it seemed only right that I do the same."
"Will it fly?" Harry asked. "Only you said Madam Hooch was binning it because it was damaged."
"I don't expect it will fly as well as a new Snitch," Hermione admitted. "But I've fixed the wing so it's about 90% of what it should be. That should do to be getting on with, don't you think?"
Even as Hermione spoke these words, her hand began to vibrate. The Snitch was trying to escape. She laughed, tightening her grip just enough to keep the Snitch from bursting free, but not enough to crush the wing she had labored so hard to heal.
"But how did you fix it?" Harry asked.
"Well," Hermione said, "I thought that since a Snitch resembles a bird, maybe there was something Hagrid could do to help. He was caring for animals long before he became Care of Magical Creatures teacher. Even if he isn't allowed to do magic, strictly speaking, I knew he must have a book that tells how to heal animals. I remembered when Hedwig turned up with an injured wing, and Professor Grubbly-Plank healed her, so I thought if I could find the spell she used, it might work on a different kind of wing. I didn't know if I could bring it off, but there was nothing to lose, and I looked at it as an exercise in healing."
She paused as the Snitch in her closed hand vibrated harder, trying to break free of her gentle grip.
"I think the patient is doing nicely," she chuckled.
"This is brilliant, Hermione," Harry said, excitement dancing in his eyes.
"It took me a bit of time to get it so it would fly again," Hermione said. "I was going to give it to you at King's Cross so you could have it over the holiday and think about the upcoming season. Then, when the school was attacked..." She hesitated, resuming in a quiet voice, "When I thought we were going off at once to find the Horcruxes, I decided I'd hang onto it and make it a birthday present. I thought it might be a nice souvenir to take along, to remind you of happier times.
"Then," she said more brightly, "when you owled me and said you were returning to Hogwarts, we didn't know then if there'd be Quidditch this year, so I thought I'd make it a present anyway. Even if there were no official games, you could use it on the pitch in mock contests to keep your spirits up. But now, after everything that's happened," and her voice softened even as her eyes grew less so, "it seems that it's become more than just the plaything it was. It's become a symbol of hope." Her eyes falling onto her humming fist, she said, "I took something that was broken and made it better. Maybe that's a sign that we can all of us go off when our time comes around and make things better for everyone."
A silence fell over the foursome. It was broken unexpectedly by the sound of gentle laughter from Hermione.
"What's so funny?" Harry asked, finding Hermione's humor infectious.
"I was just picturing you this year at Hogwarts," Hermione said, "playing with this the way your dad used to do, you know, turning it loose and catching it at the last second to impress all the girls."
"And you want me to impress the girls at Hogwarts this year the way my dad did?" Harry teased. Ron and Ginny laughed.
"When we decided to ask Professor McGonagall to carry on with Quidditch this year," Hermione said, "I gave it some thought, and I decided that the sooner we put it to use, the better. You can use it to get in form for the season, and we can all use it as a symbol, reminding us that, no matter how bad things look, there's always hope that we can make them better. You keen to have a go, then?"
Harry couldn't wait to turn both of Hermione's wishes into reality. But for the present, there was very little he could do to bring the latter to fruition. The first, however, was another matter entirely. But just as he was reaching out to take the Snitch from Hermione, Ron stopped him with a question he hadn't considered.
"Once we turn it loose," he asked, "how do we stop it from just flying away and never coming back?" As if to underscore this concern, the hidden Snitch thrummed even louder, trying to break free of Hermione's hand. "It looks like it can't wait to take off, and even if it isn't in top form, there are still too many places it can hide around here. It's not like we can just throw a Containment Spell around the paddock, like the pitch at Hogwarts. And can you imagine if the Muggles in the village see it flying about? We'll have more Ministry owls swooping down on us that we can count between now and September first."
Harry silently damned Ron for thinking so rationally. By contrast, Hermione seemed genuinely impressed at Ron's reasoning.
"I've thought of that," she said. "As Ron said, we can't enchant the paddock to keep the Snitch from flying away. But just as we did for the wedding, there's another spell we can use that easy to cast, and it should do until we get back to school. Since I only just decided to bring it out, I haven't done the spell yet, so..."
Hermione drew her wand and motioned for Harry to step closer.
"The moment I open my hand," she instructed, "be ready to catch the Snitch." Harry nodded, his muscles tensing with anticipation. "On three," Hermione said. "One, two - "
On "three," Hermione opened her hand. The Snitch's wings buzzed, but the moment it leapt into the air, Harry caught it as easily as he had seen his father do in Snape's memory he'd visited in Dumbledore's Pensieve. It struggled to escape, and Harry tightened his hand a bit more, careful, as Hermione had been, not to damage its newly-healed wing.
"Hold your hand out," Hermione said. Harry complied, and Hermione touched his hand with the tip of her wand. A golden glow enveloped his fist, fading quickly until it was gone.
"There," Hermione said, pocketing her wand with a pleased smile. "You can let it go now, Harry."
Looking doubtful, Harry opened his hand. The Snitch burst straight up, its wings a golden blur, and zoomed away. Ron groaned. Harry echoed his sentiment as he watched the Snitch grow smaller and smaller in the distance. But his almost-groan turned into a gasp of surprise when he saw that the tiny golden pinpoint had stopped receding. It was darting around and around high overhead, but it was not flying away. It almost looked as if it was tethered to an invisible string. Harry looked at Hermione, and her face was glowing brighter than the sun.
"What did you do?" Harry asked.
"I bonded the Snitch to your bio-signature," Hermione said. "No matter how hard it tries, it can't fly more than a hundred yards away from you in any direction."
"I'd love to use that spell when it counts," Ginny said admiringly. "Gryffindor would never lose a match."
"That's exactly why this spell is outlawed in any form of competition," Hermione said. "But since this Snitch won't be used in a real match," and she narrowed her eyes meaningfully at Ginny, whose calculating expression might have been stolen directly from Fred or George, "there's nothing to stop us from making use of it for our own purposes."
"You sure we can't smuggle it in somehow and substitute it for the new Snitch Madam Hooch is bringing in?" Ginny grinned playfully.
"It won't be quite the same as game conditions," Ron observed. "I mean, a Snitch isn't supposed to just hang about, waiting to be caught, is it?"
"Oh, it won't hang about," Hermione said with assurance. "It can't actually escape, but it'll still do everything it can to avoid being caught. That's what it was created to do, and my spell hasn't dampened the original enchantment."
Without warning, Harry kicked off from the ground in a blur of speed. Squinting upward, Hermione, Ron and Ginny saw the tiny speck that was the Snitch dart away. Harry raced after it. The air swooshed as Harry pushed his Firebolt to greater speed. It was over in a minute. Harry spiraled down, his hand held up to show that the Snitch was his prisoner.
"Good show, Harry," Ginny said.
"Yeah," Harry said, his smile not as bright as it might have been. "But it was still too easy. I mean, the paddock isn't as big as the stadium at school, so the Snitch couldn't build up as much speed as it would need to stay ahead of me."
"We need something to even the odds a bit," Hermione said thoughtfully. "And I know just the thing. Harry, when you go after the Snitch in a match, the other Seeker is trying to catch it also, right? And from what I've seen, it's virtually no holds barred. Apart from grabbing your broom tail, the way Malfoy did that time, another Seeker can vie for the Snitch any way he can. So what we need is for you to compete for the Snitch with someone else."
"Smashing!" Ginny said. "It'll be me against Harry, and may the best Seeker win!"
"And what do I do while all this is going on?" Ron asked. Already the magic rings he'd conjured were fading, in that way matching his own diminishing enthusiasm. "Do I referee?" It was a reasonable presumption, if less than appealing.
"You can do that, too," Hermione said, her eyes twinkling. "But I have another, more important role in mind for you. You're going to be - a Bludger!"
"I'm going to be a what?" Ron said, thinking he must have misheard.
"A Seeker has to do more than compete against the other Seeker," Hermione said. "He also has to keep an eye out for Bludgers that want to knock him off his broom. I don't want you to really knock Harry off his broom," she said quickly. "Just dart across his path, swoop past his head to distract him, that sort of thing. Do what a real Bludger would do, only without breaking Harry's arm the way Dobby's Bludger did. The harder it is for Harry to focus, the harder he'll have to work to overcome these obstacles to achieve his goal."
Harry's eyes were now glowing like Hermione's. He opened his hand, and the Snitch darted away. It flew to the very edge of the trees, then stopped as its magical "tether" reached its limit. Frustrated by Hermione's spell, it began to dart around at treetop height, flying about at random, but never managing to achieve a greater distance from Harry than the restriction imposed upon it would allow.
"If I'm going to be a Bludger," Ron said, "I might as well be a proper one." Turning to Hermione, he reflected, "Too bad we don't have another broom. You could referee. You don't have to fly well to do that. Pity Mum traded in my old Shooting Star when she bought me this broom. It would have been perfect. Even at top speed, the bleedin' thing seemed to be standing still."
Harry saw a momentary flash of horror pass over Hermione's eyes like a cloud shadow at Ron's suggestion.
"No," she said in a controlled voice. "That's fine. I'll - just watch from here."
Shrugging, Ron turned to Harry and said, "Ready, mate?"
"Ginny," Harry said, his old captain's instincts asserting themselves without a thought, "you fly to the other end of the paddock. I'll stay on this end. Ron, you hover in the center where we can both see you. When you give the signal, Ginny and I'll go after the Snitch."
"Right," Ron said, too caught up to in the situation to question Harry's instructions, which he might have interpreted as a usurpation of his own leadership.
"You'd better fly your best, Harry," Ginny said, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. "I hate to lose."
"So do I," Harry said, his own eyes hardening over his smile.
Ginny took off, dwindling in the distance until she was no more than a dark speck against the green canopy. Harry sped off in the other direction. Ron grinned at Hermione, then shot straight up to hover in the center of the paddock. He raised his arm and looked at Harry and Ginny in turn. Each nodded in recognition of Ron's impending signal. Ron brought his arm down, and Harry and Ginny were off like rockets. They came at the Snitch from opposite directions, but the tiny winged ball was not to be caught so easily. Harry had read in Quidditch Through the Ages (a present from Hermione) that a Snitch possessed a memory of sorts to enable it to remember how a Seeker attacked and counter it more effectively when it was threatened again in a similar manner. This was a short-term memory, ensuring that each new match began with an unadulterated Snitch. But in this brief encounter, it easily remembered how Harry had trapped it the first time, and it was not to be caught in the same manner again.
Ginny's added pursuit contributed a new element to the chase, prompting the Snitch to react more swiftly than it had done before. It eluded Harry twice, though the second time his aim was spoilt by Ron, who swept across his line of vision in a blue of red hair and indigo robes for a fraction of a second, which brief interval was all the Snitch needed to speed away. Ginny nearly caught it that time, but she inadvertently used the same move Harry had employed earlier - a standard move all Seekers learnt early on - and the Snitch changed direction so quickly that its pursuer nearly ploughed into the ground in an unplanned Wronski Feint. When the Snitch darted away from Ginny, however, Harry, who had found his quarry again by its golden sheen against the dark boughs, dived like a bullet and ensnared it with a bark of triumph. He swooped low to show Hermione, who clapped her hands as Ginny swept in, her long hair trailing behind her like the tail of a comet. She was not smiling.
"I'd have had you a couple of times if it weren't for this ancient broom," she pouted. "Charlie bought it used, and it hasn't improved with age. How am I supposed to give Harry a proper challenge if I can't at least come close to matching him in the air?"
"That's a good point," Hermione said. "Ron!" she called out as Ron drifted slowly down to join Harry and Ginny.
"What?" Ron said as he eased down another few feet so that Hermione would not have to shout up at him.
"Switch brooms with Ginny," Hermione instructed.
"Switch brooms?" Ron said. "What for?"
"Ginny's right when she says she needs a better broom to give Harry a real test. Your broom is much better than hers."
"A Cleansweep 11 isn't in the same class with a Firebolt," Ron argued, drawing on the only excuse he could think of to avoid the inevitable.
"It's still a first-class broom," Hermione countered, puncturing his argument as easily as he expected. "And it's actually newer than Harry's broom, isn't it? Go on, Ron. You can play Bludger just as well on Ginny's broom. I'm no expert, but I've seen enough games that I know a Bludger can't turn as fast as a broom. All you need is straight-on speed, and Ginny's broom can manage that."
With an inarticulate grunt, Ron acknowledged defeat and landed to swap brooms with Ginny. She mounted her brother's Cleansweep gleefully, caressing its sleek handle, which Ron had polished only that morning.
"This is fantastic," she said. "Thanks, Ron. I promise, I won't damage it. I flew Harry's broom at school, and it's still in one piece, isn't it?" Ron nodded as he reluctantly mounted Ginny's broom.
"Ready for another go?" Harry said eagerly. Ginny smiled broadly. Ron grunted again and soared back up to his neutral position while Harry and Ginny separated again.
This time, when Ron signaled for the mock combat to begin, both Harry and Ginny leapt forward like arrows from twin archers' bows. It was a real contest now, with both Seekers playing for keeps. Ginny made good use of Ron's broom, catching Harry off his guard twice. Harry caught the Snitch after a furious battle, dodging Ron at the last second and grabbing the Snitch when it was inches from Ginny's outstretched fingers. He laughed, and Ginny's face hardened. When the contest began again, Harry was a bit full of himself over his recent victory. He paid for his overconfidence when Ginny made a mad dash, and he spun around in a flash and sped past her. But the extra speed of his Firebolt proved a mixed blessing. Ginny had seen the Snitch, but she had flown in the opposite direction. She turned with lightning speed a moment after Harry shot past her. Realizing at once that he had been duped, Harry looped and rolled, coming level and speeding toward the tiny flash of gold he had now spotted. But Ginny had seen it first, and she snatched it from the air almost under Harry's nose.
"Good one, Ginny!" Ron called out, feeling that he had earned a part in his sister's victory in that she had used his broom to outfly Harry so spectacularly.
"I told you!" Hermione called up, waving her arm excitedly. "It's down to the flyer as much as the broom!"
Harry was a good sport, congratulating Ginny with an accompanying thumbs-up.
"The day isn't over," he reminded her as she released the Snitch and sped back to her starting position, looking back over her shoulder with a saucy smile.
Ginny's first triumph of the day proved to be her last. Now that Harry was taking Ginny seriously as an opponent, he gave no quarter. He played fair, as did she. But, relying on his greater experience and his superior broom (and giving no small credit to his natural talent, which he unabashedly rated higher than Ginny's), Harry caught the Snitch the next five times. To her credit, Ginny did not give up. If anything, she increased her efforts with each new match. In spite of this, Harry's victories became more spectacular with each catch. The harder Ginny flew, the more splendidly Harry rose to the challenge. The fifth and last time, he deftly avoided a diving Ron (who came to his sister's aid time and again in true brotherly fashion), looped Ginny twice as if she were hovering motionless in mid-air, and allowed the Snitch to come to within an inch of her outstretched hand before exploding forward and plucking it from the air as easily as picking an apple from a low-hanging branch. Ginny squealed in frustration as Harry looped her again, holding out his fist to show the fluttering wings just under his closed fingers.
"Bravo!" Hermione cried at the top of her voice. "Brilliant!"
Wearing a Cheshire-cat grin, Harry swooped down and landed easily on the grass in the center of the paddock. Hermione ran toward him, her bushy hair flying in the wind. Harry opened his hand casually, allowing the Snitch to dart up and away. He opened his arms, and Hermione crashed into him, laughing. His ego feeling as if he must be channeling his father, Harry caught up Hermione and crushed her lips with his. Hermione responded with equal ferocity, growling deep in her throat like a she-tiger. They kissed with a passion that startled both of them, but not as much as it stunned Ron and Ginny. The two Weasley siblings landed, staring almost in shock as Harry and Hermione showed no signs of coming up for air.
When they parted at last, Harry grinned at the blush of passion coloring Hermione's cheeks. She seemed less bold as her heart rate slowed and she realized that she had an audience. She pointedly avoided looking at Ron and Ginny, and Harry laughed gently.
"It's not as if we've never been in this spot before, you know," he said quietly. Hermione's cheeks went, if possible, an even deeper pink. But she could not deny the truth of Harry's assertion. She could remember every moment of the scene to which Harry was alluding. She did not doubt that Ron and Ginny remembered as well. But none recalled that moment as keenly as Harry, whose thoughts tumbled backward to a place not so far removed in either time or distance, yet for all that seeming as if it were a million miles and an equal number of years from the here and now.
Harry hurried away from Snape's dungeon, his detention finished for the day. But the harm had been done. The Quidditch match would surely be over by now. Had Gryffindor won or lost? He hoped for the former, but he fully expected the latter. Without Harry playing Seeker, would the team have been good enough to triumph over Ravenclaw?
He hesitated outside the crowded Great Hall, then ran up the marble staircase; whether Gryffindor had won or lost, the team usually celebrated or commiserated in their own common room.
"Quid agis?" he said tentatively to the Fat Lady, wondering what he would find inside.
Her expression was unreadable as she replied, "You'll see."
And she swung forward.
A roar of celebration erupted from the hole behind her. Harry gaped as people began to scream at the sight of him; several hands pulled him into the room.
"We won!" yelled Ron, bounding into sight and brandishing the silver Cup at Harry. "We won! Four hundred and fifty to a hundred and forty! We won!"
Excitement such as he had never known surged through Harry. The celebratory atmosphere was seeping into and through his brain, spurring him to join in the mayhem swirling around him like a floodtide. Though he had never drunk firewhiskey, he was certain it could not impart a greater intoxication than he was feeling at this moment. He felt an uncontrollable compulsion to do something wild and spontaneous, and damn the consequences!
Harry looked around; there was Ginny running toward him; she had a hard, blazing look on her face. But Ginny was not the only person moving toward Harry. Turning about so quickly that Ginny's open arms closed on empty air, Harry saw Hermione moving toward him and bolted forward. Her face was glowing with the reflected triumph of Gryffindor's victory, her dark eyes dancing. Harry had never seen her look so beautiful. And without thinking, without planning it, without worrying about the fact that fifty people were watching, Harry threw his arms around Hermione and kissed her.
For a moment, Hermione froze in Harry's embrace. Then her lips melted into his, returning his kiss with a warmth that surged through Harry like an electric charge.
After several long moments - or it might have been half an hour - or possibly several sunlit days - they broke apart. The room had gone very quiet. Harry and Hermione stared into each other's eyes, each of them asking the same silent question: What just happened?
"I've been wanting to do that properly for ages," Harry said, and though he spoke in a whisper, there was little chance that his words had not been heard by everyone in the room, so complete was the overpowering silence.
"So have I," Hermione returned, her words barely audible, though her face was only inches from Harry's.
They came together again, slowly and more deliberately. The moment their lips met, several wolf-whistles pierced the stillness, accompanied by an outbreak of nervous giggling. The kiss held until neither had breath in their lungs to carry on another second. They parted reluctantly, and for the first time they remembered that they were not alone. Harry saw Romilda Vane looking as if she might throw something. But her expression was benign next to Ginny's. Hermione was transfixed for a moment by Ginny's accusatory stare. Harry turned Hermione around to walk the both of them to a spot less centered, and they both saw Ron, still holding the Cup and wearing an expression appropriate to having been clubbed over the head. For a fraction of a second, three pairs of eyes locked, green, blue and brown. Then Ron sighed, a sound as of his soul deflating from deep inside. He gave his head a tiny jerk, as if to say, Well, if you must. Harry and Hermione sighed as well, their smiles returning hesitantly.
Taking Hermione aside, Harry said in a hushed voice, "I don't want to spoil the party, but we need to talk. About a lot of things."
"Yes," Hermione replied. "We do."
"How about tomorrow, after breakfast," Harry said.
"We'll have a walk," Hermione suggested. "Out past Hagrid's, where no one will hear us."
Harry nodded, and together they rejoined the celebration, catching up two brimming goblets to toast Gryffindor's championship. Their eyes met as they drank, a silent communication that they were toasting more than a Quidditch victory. They had just walked through a door, leaving an old, comfortable room to enter a strange land where everything was new and a bit frightening. But there was no turning back. That door had closed behind them forever, and no Alohomora spell, nor all the magic in the world, could reopen it. The only way now was forward, and they knew that they would make that journey - one lasting, perhaps, the rest of their lives - together.
"Hey, you lot!" Ron called out with a throaty laugh. "This is a public place, you know. Keep that behind
closed doors, eh?"
Harry and Hermione separated and turned to face Ron and Ginny.
"Sorry," Harry said, not sounding sorry at all. "Couldn't help myself."
"Are we going to carry on?" Ron asked. "With Quidditch, I mean," he clarified when Harry and Hermione exchanged an amused look, their chests rippling with silent laughter.
"Let's go in," Harry said. "I'm feeling a bit peckish after all that flying and...everything. We can get in some more practice tomorrow."
"If the wedding plans don't get in the way," Ron reminded him. "Beyond that, I reckon we'll have to wait until Friday, won't we? I don't expect you'll have much time on Thursday, what with this and that."
"No," Harry agreed, a cocked eyebrow serving in place of a smile. "Thursday's booked solid."
"Let's go, then," Ron said, exchanging brooms with Ginny and shouldering his Cleansweep. "Come to that, I could use a bit of a nosh myself."
"Is there ever a time when you're not hungry?" Harry laughed.
Ron paused for a moment before replying, "I'll get back you on that."
Hermione retrieved the Snitch with a Summoning Charm. She produced a small box from her pocket, explaining to Harry that it had once held a set of earrings that Parvati had binned. Hermione saved the box, which, when sealed with a Locking Spell, did nicely to keep the Snitch. There was insufficient space inside for the tiny sphere to beat its wings, and once it was inside, its rebellious vibrations quickly ceased. Harry pocketed the box, thanking Hermione again for his early present.
The foursome walked back to the Burrow, Ginny lagging behind, an unreadable expression on her face.
Time is running out. I need to get Chapter 10 up no later than Friday. Wish me luck.