Part IV
Slytherin vs Gryffindor
November, 2023

. . .

James Potter is trying to kill his little brother.

Albus, covered in butter and jam, stares bleakly down at the smoking remains of his morning toast. He'd barely taken his first bite before his breakfast exploded, spraying jam up his nose and singeing his eyebrows. Albus' eyes, protected behind his glasses, glare reproachfully at the red-and-gold table beyond, where James is twirling his wand idly, doing his best to look innocent.

Scorpius chooses this moment to slide into the seat opposite Albus, blocking his view of James. He raises an eyebrow. 'You've got jam on your nose.'

Albus, muttering under his breath, wipes his nose on the sleeve of his robe, ignoring Scorpius' disapproving look. It's a habit he shares with James, this utter disregard for his clothes and his standard of personal hygiene in general, because Albus like James is a teenage boy and would rather have jam on his sleeve than on his nose.

His muttering has not gone unnoticed, but Albus is surprised to find Scorpius looking only rather disappointed. 'Bit pathetic, really. It's going to take more than booby-trapped toast to win them the match today.'

'A Bludger to the head would suffice,' Albus points out, trying to get the butter out of his hair with a napkin, but succeeding only in spreading it about. Scorpius, rolling his eyes, gives his wand a lazy wave and siphons the greasy substance out for him. 'Though, if I hadn't been wearing my glasses, that could well have blinded me.'

Scorpius waves a dismissive hand. 'If he wanted to disable you, he would have done it by now, he's had weeks.' A wicked grin, well-known to Albus, spreads over his face. 'I wouldn't put anything past him once we've won, though.'

'You seem awfully confident,' Albus points out. 'I'm the one who has to catch it before they kill me.'

'You concentrate on the Snitch, we'll deal with them,' Scorpius says firmly. 'Anyway, don't worry. Gryffindor are too noble to win the match by underhanded means.'

'This is my brother we're talking about, right?' Albus says in disbelief.

Scorpius smirks at him, and Albus drops it, because he knows nothing he says will convince Scorpius. Over his shoulder, James is also smirking at him from across the hall. Very discretely, he draws the tip of his wand from one side of his throat to the other.

Albus sighs. He knows that, regardless of who wins, this is going to end badly.

. . .

Harry blinks at the wall outside his office. He's got to be joking.

Draco, evidently impressed at his own ingenuity, beams at him from the doorway. 'Isn't it awesome?'

'You're insane.'

Draco rolls his eyes in a very tolerant fashion, shaking his head as he steps in beside Harry to admire his work. 'You say insane, I say: genius.'

There are a dozen or so sheets pasted to the wall, fruits of Draco's relatively quiet work over the past few months. All are rough designs of various slogans, obviously aimed at interesting young witches and wizards in joining the Ministry Aurors. The largest and most central proclaims:

AURORS GET THE BABES
A job that pays – in more ways than one! Enlist today!

'I was thinking we could use an old picture of Weasley, just along the edge there,' Draco adds, looking pleased. 'Think she'd be keen?'

'I am going to kill you,' Harry tells him.

'Don't even try to pretend it's not true,' Draco says. 'No girls even looked your way until they started proclaiming you were the Chosen Boy. Heroes are always popular.'

'That is not—nor any of your bloody—this job isn't about getting laid!' Harry snaps, flustered, perhaps a bit too loudly. His employees are staring at him round the edges of their cubicles. 'Get back to work!' he tells them sharply, before seizing Draco by the shoulders and propelling him back to the safety of his office.

'Oh please,' Draco says, ignoring the look Harry gives him as he slams the door closed. 'Every job is about getting laid. Why else would anyone get out of bed in the morning?'

'Oh, I don't know,' Harry says, slumping down at his desk, 'to pay the mortgage?'

'Ah,' says Draco, 'my point exactly! You'd still be living in that shack of an apartment, living paycheque to paycheque, had you not married one of said babes and produced your own little spawn.'

'You certainly have a way with words,' Harry remarks, marvelling at Draco's logic. 'Well, now that we've taken care of the wizard recruits, what genius plan do you have up your sleeve to hook young witches?'

'Oh, that'll be much easier,' Draco assures him, smirking. 'Once they get a good look at all of your young, handsome wizard recruits—'

'You're unbelievable,' Harry tells him.

'Sex sells,' Draco insists firmly. 'Anyway, that, on top of the benefits and pay, should be more than enough to get them interested.'

'Recruits aren't paid as much as Aurors,' Harry reminds him.

'No, but they're paid a lot better than most, especially for right out of school. Besides,' Draco adds, 'the hours are mad. Compulsory overtime equals extra gold. Kids love gold.'

'You would know.'

'And,' Draco continues, 'I sent an owl to McGonagall.'

Harry raises his eyebrows, intrigued. 'And?'

'She was kind enough to reply with a list of NEWT students that showed some interest to our inquires.'

Draco hands him the list, a roll of parchment that's already been opened. Harry scans it quickly, and frowns. It's relatively short, with both familiar and unfamiliar surnames of sixth- and seventh-year students currently studying the subjects required for enlisting with the Aurors. One name in particular leaps out at him.

He looks up at Draco, whose grey eyes are as unreadable as ever. 'You're okay with this?'

Draco's mouth twists into a funny shape, not quite a smirk. 'Are you?'

Harry, unsure, does not answer. 'It's about time to head out,' he says instead, standing. He shrugs on his cloak, looking curiously at Draco when he doesn't move. 'Aren't you coming?'

Draco blinks. 'Coming where?'

'The match,' Harry says, blinking as well. 'First of the season? It's Albus' first game.'

'Oh.' Draco suddenly seems very interested in his fingernails. 'I don't usually—lot of work to do, you know—'

'Oh, bollocks,' says Harry, throwing him his cloak. 'You're coming. Slytherin actually have a fair chance at winning this year.'

'As opposed to an unfair one?' Draco snaps, glaring up at him.

'Anyway,' Harry continues, unfazed, 'I would have thought you'd like an excuse to see Scorpius.'

Draco says nothing, but stands and puts on his cloak. The scar on his throat shimmers in the light as he fixes the clasp. Once ready, he gives Harry a pointed look. 'I'm putting this down on my timesheet,' he declares.

. . .

The sky overhead is the colour of steel, a dark contrast to the fresh snow on the ground. The wind howls as it cuts through the stadium, badgering the door to the changing room. Albus shivers and pulls his cloak tighter around him. Scorpius scoots a little closer and Albus leans on him, grateful for the warmth. The rest of the team, heads bent towards Max, trying to hear his pre-game spiel, do not take notice.

'If I die,' Albus whispers through chattering teeth, 'Jamie gets my Eclipse.'

'Over my dead body,' Scorpius hisses back. 'I'd sooner burn it.'

'You're supposed to reassure me,' Albus points out, only somewhat sarcastically. Scorpius winks at him. For some reason, he's not cold at all, even though he's lent Jocelyn his cloak. Albus shudders as another blast of wind slams into the door, sneaking in through the gap at the bottom. Max is saying something about offensive tactics but Albus can't hear anything over the howling wind outside the door.

'You'll do brilliant,' Scorpius tells him. 'I won't let him near you.' Albus doesn't point out that he isn't worried about James so much as a Bludger with his name on it. Scorpius, reading his mind, adds, 'Jake and Canis are on your defence full-time.'

'What about you guys?' Albus asks, alarmed by this news.

Scorpius smirks. 'We've got a few tricks up our sleeves, don't worry.'

'You don't need to play dirty on my account.'

'Think of it more as tradition.'

Albus rolls his eyes.

'Oi, you two,' Max calls, and they both look up in time to catch the broomsticks Max's tossed them. 'Let's go!'

Trailing behind the rest of the team, Albus uses Scorpius to shield himself as they leave the changing room. Just his luck, he thinks, that an early winter storm decides to blow in the day of his first match. He rubs the bridge of his nose nervously; Scorpius has confiscated his glasses, temporarily fixing his eyesight again for the match, and Albus feels naked without them.

His thoughts are interrupted as he walks headlong into Scorpius, who has come to an abrupt halt just outside the door. Slightly dazed, he comes up beside his friend, and blinks. 'Dad?'

'Hey,' Harry says, looking rather large and imposing in his Auror gear. A long cloak is flapping in the wind behind him, and half-hidden behind it stands a taller figure Albus recognises at once. It's only Scorpius' grip on his elbow that keeps Albus from greeting the elder Malfoy, who looks about as pleased to be there as Scorpius does to see him.

'Father,' Scorpius says shortly, voice as rigid as his posture. Mr Malfoy acknowledges him with nothing more than a glare.

Harry, oblivious to this, has come to stand before his son, and is beaming. 'Nice broom,' he remarks with a significant look. He glances quickly at Scorpius, then back to Albus. 'I'm glad you're finally giving it a go.'

'Er. Yeah.' Not my idea, Albus wants to add, but Scorpius' grip is so tight that it's cutting off the circulation to his forearm so he simply says, 'I, um, sorry I forgot to send an owl. Been busy. Loads of schoolwork, you know.'

'Your brother sent enough owls for the both of you,' Harry remarks, looking amused. 'Your mum finally caved and bought him the broom.'

'Did she,' Scorpius says, making Albus jump. He's still looking at his father; Harry's eyes turn to him again, then back over his shoulder at Draco, who is keeping his distance. Scorpius finally looks up at Harry, who seems unaffected by the sharpness of his gaze. 'Anyway, Mr Potter, we've a game to win, so...'

Harry nods and Scorpius moves to follow the rest of the team onto the pitch, dragging Albus with him. Harry calls 'Good luck!' as they pass, but when Albus looks back both their fathers are already making their way to the stands.

'That was,' Albus huffs, jogging to keep up with Scorpius' stride, 'um. Unexpected.'

Scorpius doesn't answer, releasing Albus to pull his Eclipse out in front of him.

'Captains, shake,' calls the referee. Max attempts to break James' hand in his grip; James, smirking, makes a rude gesture with his free hand. 'Mount your brooms!'

Fourteen figures climb onto their brooms, hovering steadily over the ground despite the formidable wind blowing through the stadium, shaking the stands. Albus can see his friends and family, blurry through the tumult of snow, all of their eyes fixed on him. James, who will be fighting neck-and-neck with Scorpius for the Quaffle; Dominique, who'll be watching the goalposts; Hugo, who will be aiming every Bludger he can get a bat to at Albus' head; and Lily, little Lily, who's going to be racing him for the Snitch. Albus swallows heavily; he wonders if it would be better to take an early Bludger on purpose, just to put himself out of his misery.

The Quaffle soars through the air, until gravity takes hold and drags it back down to earth. There's silence but for the howling winds, as if the entire stadium has taken one giant breath and held it, and then the world around him explodes into chaos.

'Gryffindor grab possession of the Quaffle thanks to some aggressive flying by Potter!' Chad Jordan is commentating, and he's Albus' only clue to what is going on, for the pitch below looks like a snow globe that's been shaken furiously. He can barely discern the house colours of the dark shapes dashing to and fro beneath him. 'A Bludger from Carrow throws him off, he passes to Walker—intercepted by Malfoy! I've never seen anything turn that fast! Malfoy's in and out of there before Walker's had time to turn around, but not for long, Potter is breathing down his neck—Malfoy fakes left, passes to Rosier, going for a goal—SAVED by Weasley, who returns the Quaffle to Potter—'

Albus wrenches his eyes from the game with enormous effort, Scorpius' voice in his head, chastising him for not being on the lookout for the Snitch. Across the field, Lily is cruising at a steady pace, eyes on the sky. How they're supposed to find the Snitch in this mess, Albus has no idea; every time the sun glimpses through the cloud cover, each flake of snow glimmers, filling the sky with a million Snitch-like flashes of gold.

'—Yaxley SCORES for Slytherin, but Gryffindor still lead sixty to thirty! Seems Slytherin finally managed to find a Chaser who can keep up with Malfoy and Rosier, but Weasley's still outmatching them so far! And Walker has the Quaffle, streaking down the left side, Malfoy right on her tail. A Bludger from Weasley gets her clear, she passes to Potter—ouch, that's gotta hurt! Collision between Potter and Rosier, looks like a foul—but no, the ref clears it, and Potter's mid-field before Malfoy catches him up, taking the Quaffle right out from under him! Passes to Yaxley, back to Malfoy, Rosier—Yaxley again—'

Chad is stumbling from one name to the next now, barely able to keep up with their passes. Their Chasers are as good as Gryffindor's, but Dominique is the best Keeper in school and Albus can tell they must be getting desperate; this strategy is effective but involves so much concentration that they're unable to look out for Bludgers and Carrow and Avery have left Albus to guard the Chasers.

Lily passes by, not ceasing in her search even to glance at him. Disgruntled, Albus veers away from her, gliding smoothly to the other side of the pitch, his robes flapping wildly in the wind.

'Slytherin SCORE!' Chad's voice is all but drowned out by the booing coming from three-quarters of the stadium. 'Walker's got the Quaffle! Slytherin'll be pulling their tricks now to catch up—I'm just telling it how it is, Professor!' McGonagall looks as if she's about to flog him.

Albus' eyes are scanning the sky; the sun breaks through briefly, enveloping him in a golden swirl. Below him, Scorpius surges past, the silver in his uniform gleaming in the sudden light, Quaffle under his arm and James tight on his tail. Albus blinks, and the sun is gone, but the gleam remains—breath catching in his throat, he turns the head of his broom to earth, and dives.

. . .

Harry sees it the moment Albus does. He can almost feel the wind whipping at his robes, and see the ground rushing up at him, fingers outstretched—

'Good lord,' Draco says beside him, sounding awestruck. 'It's you all over again.'

It's obvious that they both spent the better part of their school years scanning the skies for that golden ball; it takes the commentator a second longer to realise what's happening. 'POTTER'S SPOTTED THE SNITCH!' The stadium screams, and Harry's eyes are glued to the tiny figure of Albus, speeding almost vertically towards the ground. Lily is only a moment behind him, but with his lead, the Aspect has no chance of catching him. The Snitch, Harry sees, is hovering about five feet off the ground, flitting in small, nervous circles; and there, to the left, a well-aimed dark blur from Hugo is hurtling towards it, on course for Albus' head. Both James and Scorpius are shouting, their words lost in the surrounding roar of the stadium.

Albus sees it coming. Almost reluctantly, he unhooks a leg from the stirrup, places his foot on the tail-end of his broom and kicks down, pulling out of the dive at a sharp forty-five degree angle. The Bludger slams past, swirling the snow on the ground, and the Snitch vanishes in its wake.

There's a great groan from the stands; the commentator resumes his play-by-play: '—an amazing piece of flying from both Seekers! Potter nearly gets the Snitch, saved by a well-aimed Bludger from Weasley! With Gryffindor at one-hundred-and-ninety to forty, Potter's off with the Quaffle again—'

'Close your mouth, Potter,' Draco remarks, shooting him a sideways look. 'I know dignity isn't exactly your forte, but—'

'Shut up,' Harry says, but he's grinning. 'I've seen him fly, but never like that—it's like, I mean, I knew he didn't like to really try around James, but he's not even breaking a sweat.' Draco is giving him an odd look. 'What?' Harry demands.

'You never watched any recaps of your own games, I take it,' Draco says, looking away. Out on the pitch, Scorpius has the Quaffle again, and is driving it home for the goal. 'He flies like you.'

Harry, caught off guard, struggles for a retort, but before he can think of anything, another roar from the crowd drowns out his thoughts; it's Lily this time, arcing across the mid-field, her hair blazing like a red-orange flag in the wind as she shoots past. The Gryffindors in the stadium are deafening, on their feet and screaming support.

It's over much quicker from the stands, Harry reckons, than in the field. On a broom, the moment stretches out for what seems like hours, everything going in slow motion. All eyes focused on Lily, almost no one notices the dark green blur above her, spiralling down. Lily has the lead, but she's flying against the wind, and on an Aspect; Albus is flying with it, and also has gravity on his side. He gains on her like a meteor, and he passes down and in front of her before she gets within reach, so quickly that for a moment it seems no one knows exactly what's happened.

'SLYTHERIN HAVE THE SNITCH!' yells the dumbfounded commentator, as if he's never heard such words before. The stadium stills in shocked silence for a split second, before all those clad in green and silver burst into cheers. Harry, like the entire Gryffindor team, is still catching up. He's not sure whether to cheer or not; neither, it seems, is the rest of the crowd. 'SLYTHERIN WIN! AND—BLOODY HELL THEY'VE TIED ONE HUNDRED AND NINETY WITH GRYFFINDOR!'

Harry can see McGongall box Chad upside his ear with her earmuff for swearing. Draco, beside him, is smirking, and claps him jubilantly on the back. 'Well done, Potter.'

. . .